You have seen Teddy Roosevelt’s famous quote about the Man in the Arena. But have you really read it? Have you absorbed it? “It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.” Soak it in. “…there is no effort without error or shortcoming.” “…if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.” My goal, this week and every week, is to keep you from becoming one of those cold and timid souls. Sure, there might be less heartbreak, but there is also no joy in that life. It’s a life that puts you on the sidelines. You live in a constant state of mediocrity. Since a life without putting yourself into the arena doesn’t experience the lowest lows, it also cannot experience the highest highs. It’s a constant middle-ground, a life of “blah.” It numbs you. It’s why people who never step into the arena themselves are always trying — and failing — to find joy in other people’s failures. They want to feel something, like they know the people in the arena do, but they aren’t willing to take the risk required to feel something real. I don’t want any of you to live that middling, numb, mediocre life. I want you to feel the highest highs. And for that, I need you to learn that you’ll also have to experience the lowest lows. It might not seem fair that the same map can lead you to either brutal heartbreak or total greatness, but that’s life. We saw it in the Super Bowl. Haters will call the Patriots losers. But there are no real losers who play in the Super Bowl. I don’t mean that in the participation trophy sense, because I can’t stand the idea that everyone deserves a trophy. I mean that everybody who goes all out, who steps into that arena and gives everything, is a champion, even if they don’t deserve a trophy. They have lived life fully, rejecting the numb mediocrity most people accept. The only real losers are the ones who never leave the safety of the sidelines. After these Olympics, Lindsey won’t go home with a medal. She will go home with the heart of a champion. I hope she knows that she did a great public service for all of us. She demonstrated that thriving means being comfortable on that razor’s edge of victory and defeat. She reminded us that coming up short in a worthy cause beats becoming one of those cold and timid souls. She showed us how to live, not just to exist. They don’t have a medal for that. Life’s greatest wins live inside you. My challenge to all of you this week comes in two parts, and one is easier than the other. Let’s start with the easier one: don’t be a loser who hates from the sidelines. I have a feeling most of you can already check this one off, because this is the positive corner of the internet. But if you find yourself naysaying or enjoying other people’s failure, it’s the first sign that you are falling into that numb, cold, timid life. Stop it. Now, the harder one. Take the risk. Put yourself out there. All of you have something you’ve shied away from, something where you thought about jumping into the arena but hesitated when you thought of the risk of failure. You might fail. But I promise you’ll find that even failure means a fuller life than the sidelines. It’s time to start living. arnoldspumpclub.com/blogs/ne… 2/2

I love the Olympics. Winter, summer, every single games, I tune in. I love it because we see how sports bring us together. I love it because we are reminded that sports are the ultimate equalizer. Look at weightlifting in the summer Olympics or downhill skiing now. The weights and the mountain don’t care what country you come from, how much money you have, or what religion you are. The weights and the mountain are the same for every single competitor. I love it, most of all, because the Olympics remind us of a core life lesson: greatness and heartbreak live right next door to each other. You can’t find greatness without a few meetings with heartbreak and failure. We saw this very clearly over the weekend. Like many of you, I’ve been following my friend Lindsey Vonn’s inspirational comeback. She’s 41, one knee is completely rebuilt, and now she went into the Olympics with a freshly-torn ACL. As storylines go, you can’t get any better. It is gutsy. It is brave. It is a little bit crazy. And it brings out all of the losers to do their naysaying. “Why would she do this?”  ”She must be missing something in her life.” “It’s irresponsible.” What these people don’t understand, because they’ve never tried anything great, because they’ve never pushed themselves to the absolute edges of their limits, because they’ll never know their real potential, is that there is no such thing as risk-free greatness. Yesterday, when her Olympic dreams ended in that horrible crash that left all of us praying for her in front of our televisions, the haters were out in full force. I don’t need to repeat it. Twitter has given losers enough of a platform; I won’t be amplifying them in this newsletter. (1/x)