Tees With Fitness Quotes

I could get you to smile like that, and without sales tax." I whirled around to find the real Patch standing in the fitting room behind me. He was wearing jeans and a snug white tee. His arms were folded loosely over his chest, and his black eyes smiled down at me. Heat that wasn't entirely uncomfortable flushed through my body. "I could make all kinds of pervert jokes right now," I quipped.

Resilience is not a commodity you are born with, waiting silently on tap. It is self-manufactured painstakingly over time by working through your problems and never giving up, even in the face of difficulty or failure.

Your success is your responsibility. Take the initiative, do the work, and persist to the end.

Keep an open mind and know that you can always learn more.

True sportsmanship is… Knowing that you need your opponent because without him or her, there is no game. Acknowledging that your opponent holds the same deep-rooted aspirations and expectations as you. Knowing that, win or lose, you will walk off the course with pride. Always taking the high road. And always, always, always being a good sport.

He was beautiful. I know, it’s not the manliest way to describe a guy, but in my head, it was the adjective I used most often and it fit him to a tee.

Once your excuses are gone, you will simply have to settle for being awesome!

Believe that your hard work, dedication and persistence will pay off; improve through continual learning and believe in your future.

Think proactively and dynamically. Be realistic, but set your sights high.

Life’s best coaches are those who believe in you and your potential, sometimes even before you do.

Explore, experience, evolve, and exceed your expectations! - No Excuses!

You become limitless when you overcome what holds you back.

Think in terms of opportunities and solutions instead of problems, disappointment, and failure.

Core passions and aspirations should be consistent and in sync.

Excuses fall silent behind self-control, focus, and direction.

True sportsmanship is excellence in motion!

Put some action on your good intentions!

How can you possibly do everything you want to do in life if you start doing a bunch of things twice?

People aspire, learn, and grow when they are ready to commit to the process.

Keep a positive mind. Remember, a failed attempt doesn’t make you a failure—giving up does.

Tell yourself often: I am going to tackle my aspirations head on with the passion and dedication necessary to exceed even my expectations.

It’s not the win that matters so much as recognizing and respecting its value.

This is about me being ready to succeed. When I win in my mind, I truly win. Anything worthwhile deserves some time. I will do it this time! No excuses!

Let your passion in life be as conspicuous as the devilish grin on your face.

Push hard and expect rapid results.

Winners in life visualize their success and look forward to reaping and enjoying the rewards of their accomplishments. They revel in their hard-earned victory, and that reinforces their superior level of self-confidence.

If you are going to become limitless, you must summon the explorer within you.

Value the effort you put forward. Be determined, committed, and involved.

Don't make excuses for why you're not doing what you have already deemed critical to your success.

Live in the present, but live for the future.

When aspirations are perceived to be achievable, ambition and drive can erase excuses.

You must be grounded to take flight.

Push today for what you want tomorrow!

Go BIG or go BIG...there is nothing else!

Aspire to high standards, expect strong results, offer self praise, and stack your confidence.

If you wanted to be average, you would not be reading this book.

A show of confidence raises the bar.

Struggle strengthens the human bond and lightens the burden of the human condition.

When there is no distraction, there is clarity.

Haphazard actions don’t bring results!

You only live once. But if you live your life right, once can mean everything!

Our bodies are more than just a vehicle for our minds. They are the inspiration!

Excellence prospers in the absence of excuses.

An aspirational diet will have you dreaming of success; but it’s the attachment of expectations and tangible goals that feeds the desire, persistence, and fortitude required to make the win.

When you begin to expect that there is always room for improvement, you put yourself in the driver’s seat. Why wait for someone else to figure it out or do it? Expect that you are the one. Expect great outcomes. Expect that you are the best candidate and that you will achieve your goals.

The BIG push means being able to develop and sustain momentum toward your goal; it is the process of actively replacing excuses with winning habits, the ultimate excuses blockers. Moreover, it is being willing to go to the wall for what you want or believe in, to push beyond your previous mental and physical limits, no matter what it takes.

At that point where you have decided to upgrade from aspiration to expectation and have begun to visualize an outcome, something incredibly important has happened, you have committed to the process of change.

Becoming limitless involves mental agility; the ability to quickly grasp and incorporate new ideas and concepts with confidence.

Extend beyond your preconceived limits!

If you are afraid to fail, your successes will be few, common, and unmemorable.

People rise to the occasion without hesitation when they feel inspired and challenged.

Managing excuses means not excusing yourself from the responsibility you need to take with your thought, words, and actions.

From within the mind we look out and envision, contemplating and interpreting each new challenge and the action we will take.

Visualization engages the mind and encourages the body.

For every forward action, there is an equally important forward reaction.

If you give up, you reward failure.

Set aside your repertoire of objections and own 100 percent of your focus.

Don’t expect to be perfect, but work hard nonetheless.

Don’t be tempted to break momentum—work through it.

Don’t hesitate and second-guess yourself. Just be the best you can be in every step you take toward your goal.

Don’t compromise your focus by comparing what you are trying to learn to what you already know. Focus in the moment, on what you are trying to learn now.

Own 100 percent of your focus. The most challenging of endurance drills will bring you to a level of optimal mental and physical performance.

Expectations are made to be exceeded!

Motivation: to think myself successful!

With your visualization intact, commit to act.

True confidence is born of experiencing your hard work and seeing your determination pay off.

Live today as if there will be many tomorrows!

Sustenance! Your health is always the best prescription.

I don't ever want to be a fair-weather anything. Playing through the elements is always better than sitting on the sidelines.

Success is not random.

It’s not enough to fill your head with wondrous ideas—you must initiate action.

Successful continual learning means maintaining a balance and variety of success-oriented attributes, the most prominent being awareness, confidence, persistence, determination, courage, and focus. But curiosity, ingenuity, and creativity may be even more important as it is these traits that fuel the desire to continue to question and challenge the status quo.

When we watch pro golfers, we expect them to play well, to make the shots we know we can’t, and to be entertaining. Their expectation, however, is very different. They expect to succeed!

I have been thinking about the idea of excuses for some time now. They are like menacing demons that creep into our lives without us knowing. They are roadblocks, white lies to ourselves, a reason to set the bar lower, and self-justification for achieving less than our full potential.

Most of us are continually engaged in some form of pursuit. We are seeking excellence within one or more areas in our lives, and that is the basis of our motivation. It is human nature to have a need to get ahead, need a little something more—it’s in our DNA. Although we may not be certain of what we need at any given moment, we know there’s something. It’s a competitive itch and desire to improve that never goes away.

The promise of aspiration is that it is evolutionary. The human condition is such that we are always aspiring to be something more, something better, something nobler. It starts as a thought, a want, a need, or a desire and then grows and evolves with intention and direction, upward with lust and hunger. The continued drive feeds the rise.

The limitless mind lets us dream and examine and explore. It opens us up to opportunity. We come up with a desire, a clear, fresh perspective, and a potential goal to observe from afar. And we wonder, is this it, the right choice, the best choice to follow?

When I think of excellence in motion, I think of the big picture. Because of the magnitude of this concept, I look at it from an aerial perspective. It is a mindset that challenges the boundaries of self-induced limits—that point where you aspire to exceed your expectations, where the mind-body-achievement connection resides and wins time and time again.

When I finally fell into a fitful sleep, I dreamed of the king of thieves and all the ways he could wreck my heart if I wasn't careful.

The physician had asked the patient to read aloud a paragraph from the statutes of Trinity College, Dublin. ‘It shall be in the power of the College to examine or not examine every Licentiate, previous to his admission to a fellowship, as they shall think fit.’ What the patient actually read was: ‘An the bee-what in the tee-mother of the trothodoodoo, to majoram or that emidrate, eni eni krastei, mestreit to ketra totombreidei, to ra from treido a that kekritest.’ Marvellous! Philip said to himself as he copied down the last word. What style! What majestic beauty! The richness and sonority of the opening phrase! ‘An the bee-what in the tee-mother of the trothodoodoo.’ He repeated it to himself. ‘I shall print it on the title page of my next novel,’ he wrote in his notebook.

Her eyes strayed toward his ash blond locks, and she hit upon the perfect term immediately. Intensifying her glare, she spit out, “If I had a choice, I would never ask a Yeti like you!” Park felt himself turning red. He couldn’t remember being this mad at a girl. “You’re calling me a fucking Yeti?” Steeling herself not to cower at the guy’s roar, Violet made herself smirk. “The shoe totally fits, don’t you think? White, monstrously ugly, beast-like character—like I said: Yeti,” she said sweetly.

He even allowed his eye to wander through the crowd, admiring the ass of a sinfully well-built guy leaning on the bar while he ordered a drink. Corey’s eyes scanned him, from his boots up to his perfectly fitting jeans to his muscular arms in a tight black tee shirt to— Oh, fuck me. That’s Angelo! Angelo

a cute jean miniskirt, a fitted scoop-neck white tee, and gladiator sandals that Mom almost refused to buy. (“Why do you want to look like Roman soldier?”) I twist my hair into a loose bun, with a few strands poking out artfully here and there. Putting it up makes room for a silk cord necklace with multicolored glass beads that look good against my skin.

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There’s a short story of Saki’s that you remind me of. ‘Romance at short notice was her specialty.’ That’s the last line, and doesn’t it just fit you to a tee?

You need to let me go, Dmitri, and move on. I am not going to marry you.” “I will have you.” Such conviction, and he’d brought some muscle to try and prove his statement. A pair of brutes exited the car. Dmitri’s order of, “Don’t hurt her,” made her tsk aloud. Please. If he thought to subdue her, he should have brought more guys. As the one gorilla— and seriously, despite his obvious humanity, she had to wonder at his ancestry— grabbed for her arm, she sidestepped, causing him to snare only air. She, on the other hand, didn’t miss. Her foot swung out and cracked goon number one in the knee. He let out a yelp of pain, but before she could take him out fully, the second guy lunged for her. She ducked under his grasping hands and thrust, her fist connecting with his diaphragm. He gasped for breath. She took no mercy and kneed him in the groin, just as goon number one made his next move. With a tinkle of bells, the door to the coffee shop opened, and a very calm-sounding Leo said, “Lay a finger on her, and I will rip your arm off and beat you with it.” As threats went, it was adorable. Especially since, given his size and mien, Leo probably could. The idiot didn’t listen. The thug went to grab Meena’s arm, and curiosity made her let him instead of breaking his fingers. Why exert herself when Pookie seemed determined to come to her rescue? While outwardly he appeared cool and composed, a wild storm brewed in his eyes as Leo growled, “I said don’t touch.” Crack. Yup. There was one guy who wouldn’t be touching anything with that arm for a while, and he’d probably end up hoarse with the way he was screaming. Pussy. In the distance, sirens wailed to life, and it didn’t take Dmitri’s barked, “Get in the car, you idiots,” for the thugs to realize their attempt at a coerced kidnapping had failed. Meena didn’t bother watching the car speed off, not when she had something much more important to attend to. Like a man who thought she needed saving. How her dad would laugh when he heard about it. Her sister, Teena, would sigh about how romantic it was. Her mom, on the other hand, would chastise Meena for causing chaos once again. Turning to Leo, who wore a formidable glower, she threw herself at him. Apparently, he half expected it because his arms opened wide, and he caught her— without even a tiny stagger! She latched her legs around his waist, draped her arms around his neck, and exclaimed, “Pookie, you were awesome. You saved me from those big, bad men. You’re like a knight in Under Armour.” Not entirely true. He wore a plain black Fruit of the Loom T-shirt. But she could totally picture him in one of those form-fitting tees that Under Armour specialized in that would mold his perfect chest. On second thought, given how it would show off his impressive musculature, perhaps she should leave his wardrobe alone. No use taunting the female public with what they couldn’t have. It would also mean less blood for her to rinse if they dared to touch. “I’d hardly say I saved you. You seemed to be doing all right on your own.” She planted a big smooch on his lips and declared him, “My hero.

Win. He was often described in the society pages as an “international playboy,” and she guessed that fit. He was blue-blooded old money, very old money, the kind of old money that disembarked from the Mayflower and immediately called for a caddy and a tee time.

She shifted, bringing them closer. The blanket slipped down to her waist, revealing a blue tee shirt that shouldn't have been sexy, but fit her curves like a second skin and molded her perfect breasts. Their breath mingled. The air charged around them. Their gazes met and locked. Then Lucas sealed his fate and dropped his gaze to her parted lips. "I don't want to be alone tonight," she whispered.

The Advantage of Long Range Technique and Why Close Range Is Deadly Let's be clear: you always want to maintain distance. For the long stick, long range is the optimum strategy. At long range, the opponent must reach out with his hand to hit you. At the farthest range, he can only hit you with that hand: the other hand is too far back to touch you, and his feet are planted as he stretches. If he extends to kick you, his hands can't touch you, while his other foot is planted. In either case, at this longest range only one hand or foot threatens you. With the big stick, you want to maintain a range where you can blast him, but he can't touch you. This is the safest range. As the opponent gets closer he enters a range where he can hit you with both hands and kick you with both feet, so you now have four potential weapons to contend with. At even closer range he can hit with the hands, elbows, knees, head, so the number of threats grows larger still. At this range if he has a knife, he can use one hand to hold you while he stabs with the other, which is easily a fatal attack. At close range an opponent can bring a concealed gun or knife into play, and you may not see the weapon until it is too late. While long range is the desired range, you must realize that you can't always maintain that range, so you must be prepared to fight in close. You not only want to be able to hit at very close range, but be able to drive the opponent back out into the kill zone. Countering the Closing Opponent 1) Recognize the Danger Avoid overconfidence, the delusional thinking, “If anybody tries to tackle me I'll knock him out.” It's not that easy. As long as you're standing, running is always an option, but once an opponent has clinched or tackled you, you lose that option. If you get taken to the ground spectators can very easily kick you in the head, a very powerful, inconspicuous kick that is like kicking a football off a tee. Martial artist Geoff Thompson knew two men who were killed in just such a fashion. A gang tactic is to assign one member to tie you up, sacrificing himself if necessary, so that the rest of the gang can pick you off. Against multiple opponents your primary strategy is mobility, fleeing if possible, but once you're clutched or tackled you've lost that option. A clinching assailant with a knife is your worst nightmare, posing a highly lethal threat.

GOLF (Men’s Journal, 1992) The smooth, long, liquid sweep of a three wood smacking into the equator of a dimpled Titleist … It makes a potent but slightly foolish noise like the fart of a small, powerful nature god. The ball sails away in a beautiful hip or breast of a curve. And I am filled with joy. At least that’s what I’m filled with when I manage to connect. Most of my strokes whiz by the tee the way a drunk passes a truck on a curve or dig into the turf in a manner that is more gardening than golf. But now and then I nail one, and each time I do it’s an epiphany. This is how the Australopithecus felt, one or two million years ago, when he first hit something with a stick. Puny hominoid muscles were amplified by the principles of mechanics so that a little monkey swat suddenly became a great manly engine of destruction able to bring enormous force to bear upon enemy predators, hunting prey, and the long fairway shots necessary to get on the green over the early Pleistocene’s tar pit hazards. Hitting things with a stick is the cornerstone of civilization. Consider all the things that can be improved by hitting them with a stick: veal, the TV, Woody Allen. Having a dozen good sticks at hand, all of them well balanced and expertly made, is one reason I took up golf. I also wanted to show my support for the vice president. I now know for certain that Quayle is smarter than his critics. He’s smart enough to prefer golf to spelling. How many times has a friend called you on a Sunday morning and said, “It’s a beautiful day. Let’s go spell potato”? I waited until I was almost forty-five to hit my first golf ball. When I was younger I thought golf was a pointless sport. Of course all sports are pointless unless you’re a professional athlete or a professional athlete’s agent, but complex rules and noisy competition mask the essential inanity of most athletics. Golf is so casual. You just go to the course, miss things, tramp around in the briars, use pungent language, and throw two thousand dollars’ worth of equipment in a pond. Unlike skydiving or rugby, golf gives you leisure to realize it’s pointless. There comes a time in life, however, when all the things that do have a point—career, marriage, exercising to stay fit—start turning, frankly, golflike. And that’s when you’re ready for

Wear what fits your skin, but be just as comfortable in your skin as you are in an oversized tee.

Where does the word cocktail come from? There are many answers to that question, and none is really satisfactory. One particular favorite story of mine, though, comes from The Booze Reader: A Soggy Saga of a Man in His Cups, by George Bishop: “The word itself stems from the English cock-tail which, in the middle 1800s, referred to a woman of easy virtue who was considered desirable but impure. The word was imported by expatriate Englishmen and applied derogatorily to the newly acquired American habit of bastardizing good British Gin with foreign matter, including ice. The disappearance of the hyphen coincided with the general acceptance of the word and its re-exportation back to England in its present meaning.” Of course, this can’t be true since the word was applied to a drink before the middle 1800s, but it’s entertaining nonetheless, and the definition of “desirable but impure” fits cocktails to a tee. A delightful story, published in 1936 in the Bartender, a British publication, details how English sailors of “many years ago” were served mixed drinks in a Mexican tavern. The drinks were stirred with “the fine, slender and smooth root of a plant which owing to its shape was called Cola de Gallo, which in English means ‘Cock’s tail.’ ” The story goes on to say that the sailors made the name popular in England, and from there the word made its way to America. Another Mexican tale about the etymology of cocktail—again, dated “many years ago”—concerns Xoc-tl (transliterated as Xochitl and Coctel in different accounts), the daughter of a Mexican king, who served drinks to visiting American officers. The Americans honored her by calling the drinks cocktails—the closest they could come to pronouncing her name. And one more south-of-the-border explanation for the word can be found in Made in America, by Bill Bryson, who explains that in the Krio language, spoken in Sierra Leone, a scorpion is called a kaktel. Could it be that the sting in the cocktail is related to the sting in the scorpion’s tail? It’s doubtful at best. One of the most popular tales told about the first drinks known as cocktails concerns a tavernkeeper by the name of Betsy Flanagan, who in 1779 served French soldiers drinks garnished with feathers she had plucked from a neighbor’s roosters. The soldiers toasted her by shouting, “Vive le cocktail!” William Grimes, however, points out in his book Straight Up or On the Rocks: A Cultural History of American Drink that Flanagan was a fictional character who appeared in The Spy, by James Fenimore Cooper. He also notes that the book “relied on oral testimony of Revolutionary War veterans,” so although it’s possible that the tale has some merit, it’s a very unsatisfactory explanation. A fairly plausible narrative on this subject can be found in Famous New Orleans Drinks & How to Mix ’em, by Stanley Clisby Arthur, first published in 1937. Arthur tells the story of Antoine Amedie Peychaud, a French refugee from San Domingo who settled in New Orleans in 1793. Peychaud was an apothecary who opened his own business, where, among other things, he made his own bitters, Peychaud’s, a concoction still available today. He created a stomach remedy by mixing his bitters with brandy in an eggcup—a vessel known to him in his native tongue as a coquetier. Presumably not all Peychaud’s customers spoke French, and it’s quite possible that the word, pronounced coh-KET-yay, could have been corrupted into cocktail. However, according to the Sazerac Company, the present-day producers of Peychaud’s bitters, the apothecary didn’t open until 1838, so there’s yet another explanation that doesn’t work.

I can’t believe you still do stuff like this. Are you ever going to grow up?” “I still do it,” Corey said. “Because you’re a guy. Girls don’t climb walls. Not real girls, anyway. Just tomboys whose closets are filled with tank tops and jeans and sneakers. Who still consider braids and ponytails high fashion. Who wouldn’t know how to apply makeup on a dare.” “Knock it off, Hayley,” Daniel said. I was wearing makeup. Just not a lot. I had my hair down, too, and although I was wearing jeans, they were my fancy ones, paired with a new fitted tee and ankle boots. It might have been the T-shirt slogan that she objected to--BRUNETTE IS THE NEW BLONDE--but I didn’t buy it to set her off. “Am I the only one around here who thinks Maya has a hidden Y chromosome?” Hayley said. “If she does, she’s hiding it pretty good,” Corey said, giving me a lascivious once-over. Hayley scowled at me and opened her mouth to say something else. Daniel started to cut her off, but Corey beat him to it. “Lessons later,” he said. “First, we need to see if this girl is as good a climber as she thinks she is. Challenge time. A race to the top. Maya versus anyone who dares take her on.” “That’ll be a short list,” I said. Corey grinned. “Not when they hear the prize.” He turned to the others. “Anyone who beats our Sweet Sixteen gets to kiss her. The lineup forms behind me.” Brendan got behind him. Daniel grinned at me and joined. The other guys filed in. “Oh my God,” I said. “What are you guys? Twelve?” “No,” Brendan said. “Just really, really immature.

I can’t believe you still do stuff like this. Are you ever going to grow up?” “I still do it,” Corey said. “Because you’re a guy. Girls don’t climb walls. Not real girls, anyway. Just tomboys whose closets are filled with tank tops and jeans and sneakers. Who still consider braids and ponytails high fashion. Who wouldn’t know how to apply makeup on a dare.” “Knock it off, Hayley,” Daniel said. I was wearing makeup. Just not a lot. I had my hair down, too, and although I was wearing jeans, they were my fancy ones, paired with a new fitted tee and ankle boots. It might have been the T-shirt slogan that she objected to--BRUNETTE IS THE NEW BLONDE--but I didn’t buy it to set her off.

Anyone who'd ever seen any movie set in a high school knew how to spot a bully a mile away and Noah fit the part to a tee. Tall and handsome, he might have been charming if he had any sense of humility or dignity. As it was, he was petty and crass, his sense of humor having peaked at pranks and poop jokes.