In the morning, I'm juicing two apples, two carrots, two celery

“In the morning, I’m juicing two apples, two carrots, two celery, two beets, two ginger. I’m drinking that every morning to try to keep the cancer away.” Thus spoke Roddy Piper, the fierce wrestler known to the world as “Rowdy” yet remembered by those who listened as a man of candor, courage, and deep humanity. These words, simple in their detail, shine with the weight of mortality: a warrior who once fought men in the arena now fought for his life with the humble tools of discipline, ritual, and hope.

The origin of this saying rests in Piper’s battle with illness. Having lived a life of physicality, spectacle, and struggle, he found himself confronted with cancer, an enemy unseen and unyielding. In response, he turned each morning into an act of resistance, not with fists or fury, but with the quiet strength of nourishment. His juice—apples, carrots, celery, beets, ginger—was more than food; it was a prayer, a shield, a daily affirmation that he would not yield without a fight. In his words, we hear not only the recipe but the determination of a man who sought life in every cup.

The ancients would have honored such wisdom. The Stoics taught that to confront death is to learn how to live, and that each small act of care for the body is a preparation for endurance. In Greece, the athletes of Olympia consumed special diets of figs and barley not merely for strength in competition, but as a sign of their dedication to life itself. Likewise, the early healers of China and India believed that food was medicine, that the balance of herbs and roots could protect the body from decay. Piper’s ritual echoes this ancient truth: that to eat and drink with intention is to align oneself with the will to live.

History too provides examples of warriors who turned to ritual to endure suffering. Consider Alexander Solzhenitsyn in the Soviet gulags, who survived years of imprisonment by training his body with small exercises, by rationing his strength carefully, and by holding fast to the belief that each small act of discipline preserved life. Or think of Lance Armstrong, who after his battle with cancer returned to the grueling discipline of cycling, his every day shaped by training and diet as an act of defiance. Piper stands among them, not only as a fighter in the ring, but as one who fought for life itself with a cup in his hand.

From this we learn a profound lesson: the struggle for life is often fought in small rituals, not grand victories. To juice fruits and roots each morning may seem insignificant to the world, but to the one who fights disease it is an act of courage, an assertion of will. The battle against illness is not only in the hands of doctors—it is also in the choices we make each day, the foods we consume, the habits we cultivate. Piper’s words remind us that even in weakness, there is strength in routine, in care, in refusing to surrender the body or the spirit.

Practical wisdom follows: tend to your body as though it were a temple. Begin your mornings not with neglect, but with intention. Whether through nourishing food, exercise, prayer, or reflection, create for yourself a ritual that declares: I choose life, I choose strength, I choose hope. Do not despise the small things, for they are the foundation upon which health and courage are built. And when hardship comes, let your daily rituals be both your shield and your song.

Thus, remember Piper’s words: “I’m drinking that every morning to try to keep the cancer away.” They are not only the reflection of a man facing illness, but the cry of all humanity seeking to endure. Let his wisdom remind us that courage is not only found in the roar of the crowd or the clash of combat, but also in the quiet discipline of the morning, when we choose once more to live, to fight, and to hope for the dawn of another day.