I graduated from high school at 165 pounds, so twice a year, I

When Don Felder said, “I graduated from high school at 165 pounds, so twice a year, I get back to that number — I never let it get to 172-73. Then I go back to doubling the cardio. This week, I’m on a complete liquid diet, a juice fast. It keeps me lean and hungry,” he was not simply speaking of physical maintenance, but of the discipline of remembrance — the art of staying true to one’s prime. His words hold the rhythm of a warrior who measures time not by years, but by effort; who fights not against age, but against complacency. Felder’s quote, humble in its description of diet and exercise, is in truth a philosophy of mastery — of returning again and again to the place where strength, clarity, and hunger first met.

The origin of this mindset lies deep in the spirit of musicians, athletes, and warriors alike — those who know that excellence is never permanent but must be reclaimed. Felder, the legendary guitarist of The Eagles, speaks with the awareness of one who has lived through both triumph and temptation. The world has given him fame, yet he refuses to let indulgence dull his edge. His vow to return to 165 pounds twice a year is not a matter of vanity, but of discipline — a symbolic pilgrimage back to his youth, when energy and hunger burned without limit. Like the ancient samurai who polished their blades daily though they had not seen battle in years, Felder maintains his ritual not out of necessity, but out of reverence for mastery.

The phrase, “It keeps me lean and hungry,” reveals a wisdom that echoes through centuries. To be lean is not merely to be light of body, but to be free of burden; to be hungry is not to suffer, but to strive. The ancients knew that comfort breeds decay, while hunger sharpens the spirit. The philosopher Seneca wrote, “Wealth consists not in having great possessions, but in having few wants.” Felder’s practice of fasting and doubling his cardio is thus not punishment, but purification. It is a way of stripping away excess — of returning to simplicity and focus. The musician, like the warrior, knows that when the body is clean and the mind is alert, creation flows unimpeded.

There is a story of Heraclitus, the philosopher of fire, who said, “Character is destiny.” He believed that the strength of a man’s will determined his fate far more than circumstance or luck. Felder’s self-imposed regimen mirrors that same principle. To keep one’s body within limits, to hold oneself accountable to a number, a habit, a ritual — this is to forge character through repetition. The untrained see his juice fast as deprivation; the wise see it as renewal. For every time he returns to his 165 pounds, Felder renews his covenant with discipline — reminding himself that control is the foundation of freedom.

In his practice we also glimpse an ancient truth about cyclic renewal. Twice a year, he returns to equilibrium — much like the seasons of the earth. Spring purges the old; autumn sheds the excess. So too must man, if he wishes to remain sharp, undergo his own cycles of refinement. The liquid diet, the cardio, the returning to the old number — all are forms of ritual cleansing, reminders that growth demands returning to origins. The body, like the soul, thrives on rhythm — the steady pulse of exertion and rest, fullness and fasting, creation and withdrawal.

Felder’s words also carry an emotional weight: the desire to stay “hungry” even after one has achieved greatness. Many rise once but fall when success softens them. But the one who remains hungry, who still disciplines the body and sharpens the mind, remains vital long after others have grown dull. It is the same principle that kept Alexander the Great restless after every conquest, or Leonardo da Vinci sketching inventions in his old age. To stay hungry is to stay alive — to refuse the comfort that lulls the heart into mediocrity.

Thus, the lesson of Don Felder’s quote is clear: discipline is remembrance. It is the act of honoring one’s best self, not once, but continually. The weight, the workouts, the fasting — these are not ends in themselves, but reminders that mastery must be renewed through ritual. Each of us must have our “165 pounds” — a personal standard, a place of balance that we return to when life grows heavy. The wise do not chase perfection; they maintain equilibrium. They know that excellence is not a gift, but a garden — and a garden must be tended, again and again.

So, children of the modern age, take this as your counsel: Be lean in body, but also in soul. Cut away what dulls your spirit. Fast not only from food, but from distraction and excess. Let yourself be hungry for improvement, not comfort. And when you stray — as all do — return to your balance, your measure, your inner 165. For as Don Felder reminds us, it is not the hunger that weakens a man — it is the forgetting of hunger that makes him old.