Never Finished: Unshackle Your Mind and Win the War Within

by David Goggins

Rise up, motherfuckers. Let’s work!

“I’d like to thank my mom, who…” The audience gave me another round of applause as my sobs ebbed, and I returned to the present moment. “Who never picked me up when I fell. She let me pick myself up when I was knocked down.”

They say, “Iron sharpens iron,” but I had left the military behind, and there was no one pushing me on a day-to-day basis any longer. Fuck it. I was always destined to be that one warrior. Content to be the motherfucker who sharpens his sword alone.

Some people might be put off by the term, but to me, calling someone a “savage” is the highest compliment. A savage is an individual who defies odds, who has a will that cannot be tamed, and who, when knocked down, will always get back up!

In 2021, I posted an image of my swollen left knee, which inspired a flood of negative comments. Some claimed to have seen my breakdown coming and counted it as a personal win. Others simply liked seeing me in pain. “I’m tired of hearing you run your fucking mouth,” one of them wrote. “I hope I never see your Black ass run again,” wrote another. They were trying to salt my wounds. They wanted me to feel the sting, which I did, and hoped it would bring me down even further. It didn’t. I loved those comments. I loved them so much I made a mixtape. I printed them all out, recorded myself saying each one, and then I looped that bitch. Whenever I have a bad day, I listen to it. Sometimes, I walk around the house savoring it in full stereo.

Winners in life see everything they experience and everything they hear, see, and feel as pure energy. They train their minds to find it. They drop into the gnarly crevices to mine golden nuggets of trauma, doubt, and hate. They do not live disposable, single-use lives. They discard nothing and refurbish everything. They find strength in the bullying and heartbreak, in their defeats and failures. They harvest it from the people who hate them personally and from the online trolls too.

Some people go to sleep with a meditation app. Others open the windows to the night sounds or stream white noise, whale songs, or the lullaby of the sea lapping some lonely shore. When I bed down at night, I listen to my haters. And it’s obvious those punk-ass bitches don’t have the slightest idea who they are dealing with. I’m the person who turns their every negative word into my positive progress. I take what they serve me, roll it up in that wrapping paper I saved way back when, and shove it right up their fucking asses in the form of another work-out, another long run, and another year of leveling the fuck up. Honestly, I should thank them. They make me stronger and more determined to achieve my goals.

I was terrified that if I stopped getting better, if I gave myself a break from any of it, all my insecurities and innate laziness would get the drop on me again. Anytime I felt physically exhausted or mentally zapped, I pictured that twenty-four-year-old fat ass glaring at me with a big smile on his face. A smile that said, “I’m still here, bitch. I am who you really are, and I’m not going anywhere.”

even though I worked out twice a day, I was a part-time savage at best, a glorified Weekend Warrior. Weekend Warriors do hard things when they fit into their busy schedules. They do them to check a box and only when they want to. Then, they dial it back after a couple of long, hard days. When you are a full-time savage, it’s a lifestyle. There is no “want to.” There is only “must do.”

Mental toughness and resilience fade if they aren’t used consistently. I say it all the time: you are either getting better, or you’re getting worse.

I can’t check out mentally when I run, and I don’t use those miles to think about my to-do list. I have to stay locked in because I’m not a naturally gifted runner. The reason I can run at a relatively quick clip for a long time is due to my training volume but also because when I run, I focus on my stride, remain conscious of where and how my feet strike the ground and on my head and shoulder position. I visualize myself running with a tray of full water glasses on my head. I don’t want any sway or bounce at all. I remain still yet relaxed and let my core and legs carry me forward.

The ego is an amazing force. The more I heard about my own success, the more tempting it became to coast, as if I’d finally arrived. Even though I know that the journey never ends and that there is always more work to do, when life stops kicking you in the teeth and serves you a big bowl of praise pudding instead, it’s easy to feel that you are the motherfucking man. Especially if that level of respect was hard-earned. But praise—whether it comes from your supervisors, your family, or anyone else—has a downside. It can soothe the inner savage and keep you from feeling the need to grind.

One of the hottest days of the year was in mid-July, when the mercury climbed above one hundred degrees and the humidity was over 80 percent. The heat index was off the charts, and the air quality was shit too. The county issued a warning advising residents to remain indoors. In Gogglish, that meant it was the perfect day for a twenty-two-mile run.

The world needs doctors, lawyers, and teachers, but we also need savages to prove that we are all capable of so much more.

We have to learn to stop looking for a sign that the hard time will end. When the distance is unknown, it is even more critical that you stay locked in so the unknown factor doesn’t steal your focus. The end will come when it comes, and anticipation will only distract you from completing the task in front of you to the best of your ability. Remember, the struggle is the whole journey. That’s why you’re out there. It’s why you signed up for this race, or that class, or took the damn job. There is great beauty when you are involved in something that is so hard most people want it to end.

Going into Leadville, I expected one long, hard motherfucking day. But how many inconsequential days had I lived by then? Why not spend one single day doing something I’ll be proud of for the rest of my life?

Leadville was a purging of my soul. All the questions I had coming into the event about my inner drive and physical ability were answered. It was as if the high-altitude racecourse itself was a sculptor, and I was its marble masterpiece in progress: the image of a savage reborn. Every mile I ran, another chunk of rock fell away,

Kish trailed us on the gravel road heading to the mountaintop, and with “Going the Distance” blasting through the open windows, she pulled up alongside and smiled. That anthem was an old friend. We’d shared countless dark times, and it never failed to drown out all my internal chatter and wake up my inner savage. I let the music soak in and found my determination to mark a course that had been kicking my ass for four days. “I’m back, motherfuckers,” I yelled, picking up my pace. “You thought you had me! You thought you had me down! Only for a second. I’m back!”

No matter what life serves me, I say, “Roger that.” Most people think “Roger that,” simply means, “Order received.” However, in the military, some people infuse ROGER with a bit more intention and define it as, “Received, order given, expect results.” When used that way, it is so much more than an acknowledgment. It’s an accelerant. It bypasses the over-analytical brain and stimulates action because, in some situations, thinking is the enemy.