My diet is a little bit better. I'm not eating burgers and pizza

In the words of Mike Evans, the athlete forged in the fires of discipline, we hear a truth both simple and profound: “My diet is a little bit better. I’m not eating burgers and pizza anymore.” To the untrained ear, these words may sound ordinary—an athlete speaking casually about his food choices. Yet beneath their plainness lies a sacred principle as old as time: the journey from indulgence to discipline, from comfort to control, from desire to mastery. Evans’ statement is not merely about food; it is about transformation—the quiet, unseen evolution of a man who has chosen purpose over pleasure.

In the modern world, we are surrounded by abundance. The tables of society overflow with burgers and pizza, symbols of instant gratification, of sweetness and salt and ease. But those who walk the path of greatness must eventually rise above the temptations of the flesh. For as the ancients taught, the body is the servant of the will, and if the servant is undisciplined, the master’s purpose falters. Evans’ simple words conceal a deeper victory: he has chosen self-command over appetite, not because he despises pleasure, but because he reveres his potential more.

The ancients spoke of such discipline often. In the schools of Sparta, young warriors were taught to master their cravings, eating little and training hard, not because food was evil, but because strength was sacred. The philosopher Epictetus reminded his students that “no man is free who cannot command himself.” To control one’s desires, he said, is the first act of freedom. When Evans says, “My diet is a little bit better,” he is not boasting—he is testifying to a truth known to all who seek mastery: that greatness begins not with talent, but with restraint.

Yet this act of restraint is not cold denial; it is a turning of one’s energy toward higher purpose. Every athlete, every artist, every thinker knows this secret. Consider the story of Hippocrates, the father of medicine, who taught that food is not merely to fill the stomach but to nourish life. He advised his disciples to eat with awareness, to see food as the builder of strength and clarity. Evans’ avoidance of the foods of indulgence echoes this wisdom. The burgers and pizza he once enjoyed symbolize not evil, but imbalance. To cast them aside is to choose harmony—to feed the body so that it may serve the soul’s greater aim.

The origin of this transformation lies not in vanity, but in growth. As a young man, Evans may have eaten for pleasure; as a champion, he eats for endurance. This is the eternal shift that defines maturity—the recognition that fleeting joys often betray lasting strength. In his quiet confession, there is humility; he does not claim perfection, only progress. “A little bit better,” he says—and in that modest phrase lies the wisdom of the ages. Improvement is not sudden; it is patient, deliberate, daily. The man who changes his habits changes his destiny.

The ancients would have called this temperance—one of the four cardinal virtues, alongside wisdom, justice, and courage. Temperance is not the rejection of pleasure, but its rightful mastery. The man of temperance enjoys what he must and resists what he should. Evans’ words remind us that even small acts of restraint shape character; even the choice of one meal over another can strengthen the will that governs all other choices. To eat rightly, then, is not merely a physical act—it is a spiritual training ground, a proving of one’s devotion to excellence.

The lesson for us, then, is clear: greatness is built not upon comfort, but upon discipline. Each decision—each rejection of excess—is a step toward self-mastery. You need not abandon all pleasures, but you must learn which pleasures serve you and which enslave you. Begin, as Evans began, by becoming “a little bit better.” Replace indulgence with intention. Choose the meal that nourishes your purpose. Choose the habit that strengthens your mind.

And so, in the humble declaration of Mike Evans, we hear the echo of every hero who has ever risen above ease to touch excellence. His words are a reminder that transformation begins quietly—in the kitchen, in the morning, in the choices no one else sees. For the man who learns to master his diet learns to master his life. Let each of us, then, rise to that same challenge: to be “a little bit better” today than we were yesterday, until at last the body, the mind, and the spirit move as one toward victory.