The 1 in 100: What My Father Taught Me About Showing Up

Just For A Moment

There is a song going around TikTok right now by an artist named Max Rebel Walker. It is called "Just For A Moment." Take the Time and Listen to the Song.

It is a raw, grief-stricken prayer from a son asking God for just one more moment with his late father.

I heard it the other day, and it stopped me dead in my tracks.

If you have lost a parent, you know exactly what that song feels like. You know the weight of that prayer. You know what you would give for just five more minutes, one more conversation, one more piece of advice.

I was incredibly fortunate. I got to spend my dad's last day on this earth with him.

I remember the hospital room vividly. The sterile smell of the sheets, the rhythmic hum of the machines, the pale light filtering through the blinds. It was quiet. The kind of quiet that settles in when you know time is running out.

Dad was at WakeMed, and I got there early. It was just me and him in the room. I told him I was going to spend the day with him since he was supposed to be coming home.

He looked at me and said I didn’t need to stay that night… but then he said something that didn’t sit right. He told me he wasn’t going to make it to tomorrow—that he wasn’t coming home.

I brushed it off. Didn’t want to believe it.

We just spent time together. I rubbed his feet, took care of him, and let him talk—just ramble on about whatever came to his mind. It was one of those days where nothing else mattered.

About halfway through, he looked at me and said, “Charles Ray, I want you to stay with me tonight. They’re not going to be able to take care of me the way I need.”

I told him I would. I said I just needed to run out, grab something to eat, and get my phone charger.

And later in the day, as the sun started to go down, he insisted.
Told me to go ahead, get something to eat, take care of what I needed to.

So I did.

And while I was gone… he passed.....

His words have echoed in my head every single day since he passed.

They can't take care of me like you.

To understand the weight of that moment, you have to understand the man who said it. My dad did not come naturally equipped with the emotional tools to show love. It wasn't that he didn't care; it was that the language of love was foreign to him. Over the years, I had to teach my dad how to show love. I had to model it, demonstrate it, and show up with grace even when it was complicated.

And in that hospital room, on his final day, his words were the ultimate proof that the lesson took. He chose me to be with him. The son who had to teach him how to show love was the one he trusted to care for him at the very end.

The Two Sides of Love

I stand between two very different kinds of love. While my dad's love was hard-earned, my mom's love was a force of nature.

For my mom, love wasn’t something she just said—it was something she lived out, loud and clear. She didn’t just tell me she loved me; she invested in me. She made choices that shaped the direction of my life.

When I was a kid, my biggest dream was to train in martial arts. The moment I was old enough, she found a local man who had just earned his black belt. But she didn’t stop at making a call—she went all in. She believed in my dream even before he did.

When he said he’d need 100 students to even consider teaching, most people would’ve walked away. Not her. She took it as a mission. She went out, one conversation at a time, and signed up 100 students herself. Then she secured the local recreation center so he had a place to teach.

That’s who she was.

Her commitment didn’t just open a door for me—it built the entire path.

Martial arts was all I wanted to do as a kid. But I didn’t turn that “want to” into something real—she did. She saw something in me, took action, and put me in a martial art class before I ever had to figure it out on my own. That was her kind of love—generous, decisive, and all in. She took my interest and turned it into a passion… and that’s what set the hook.

That single decision carried me through Kempo Karate, Muay Thai, Judo, Boxing, Arnis, Russian Systema, and Gracie Jiu-Jitsu. Thousands of hours on the mats. I sweat, I bled, I got tapped out, I got knocked down—and I learned how to get back up.

At 14 years old, I earned my first black belt.

But here’s the part nobody talks about when they see a black belt: out of every 100 people who walk into a martial arts academy, maybe one makes it to the Black Belt Level.

Because of her, I learned something most people never do—love isn’t passive.
Love shows up.
Love works.
Love believes… even when no one else does.

One out of a hundred.

Ninety-nine people will quit. They will quit because it gets too hard. They will quit because they get bored. They will quit because life gets busy, or their ego gets bruised, or they decide they don't have the time anymore.

I was the one who stayed.

And I didn't stay because I was the most talented, or the fastest, or the strongest. I stayed because I was shaped by my mom's generous investment and my dad's hard-earned lessons. I stayed because I learned what it means to show up.

The Discipline of Showing Up

My dad taught me that showing up isn't just about being physically present. It's about being there when it's hard, when it's not reciprocated, and when you have to be the one who leads.

When you don't feel like it, show up. When you are tired, show up. When you are failing, show up. When 99 other people have packed their bags and gone home to be comfortable, you tie your belt and you step back onto the mat.

The discipline of showing up in the dojo is the exact same discipline required to show up for your health, your family, and your life.

Most people treat their fitness the exact same way those 99 people treated martial arts. They start with enthusiasm. They buy the gear. They show up for a few weeks. And then it gets hard. The alarm goes off at 5:00 AM, it's cold outside, and the bed is warm.

And they quit.

They don't quit all at once. They quit one missed workout at a time. They quit one excuse at a time. Until one day, they wake up at 50 years old, and they realize their body can no longer do the things their mind wants to do.

The Double Meaning of Readiness

When my dad looked at me on his final day and said, "They can't take care of me like you," he was giving me a mandate.

He was telling me to be the one who shows up for others.

But here is the hard truth that most adults over 40 refuse to face: you cannot show up for others if you have not shown up for yourself.

If your body is broken down, if you have neglected your health, if you have let yourself become weak and fragile, you cannot be the one who takes care of the people you love. You become the one who needs to be taken care of.

You cannot lift a parent out of a hospital bed if your back is blown out. You cannot chase your grandchildren if your knees are shot. You cannot protect your family if you get winded walking up a flight of stairs.

To be the one who can say, "I've got this," you have to be ready. And readiness is not an accident. Readiness is the result of showing up, day after day, year after year, long after the motivation has faded.

Be the One in a Hundred

At PhenixFitt, we don’t train for vanity. We don’t train just to look good in the mirror. We train to build a body that works—strong, capable, and ready for real life. Looking better? That’s just a side benefit.

We train so that when the phone rings in the middle of the night, we are ready. We train so that when our family needs us, we have the strength to carry the load. We train so that when the hardest moments of our lives arrive, we can look the people we love in the eye and say, "I am here. I can take care of you."

The world is full of the 99 who quit. The world is full of people who negotiate with their excuses and let their bodies decay.

Do not be one of them.

Be the one in a hundred. Be the one who shows up.

If you are ready to stop making excuses, if you are ready to build a body that can carry the weight of the life you want to live, the system is waiting for you.

Start your journey today. Show up.

Visit phenixfitt.com or call 833-308-1776

One Life. Stay Ready. — C. Ray