His Toughest Fight

...happened outside the ring. Here’s how he learned the hard way.

Tyler O'Shea
August 03, 2025 • Estimated Reading Time: 18 minutes

I’ve followed Ed Latimore since 2018.

He’s a pro heavyweight boxer with a story more powerful than any punch he ever threw in the ring.

Ed grew up in the projects, battled addiction, and rebuilt himself – brick by brick – into a disciplined man that over 200,000 people turn to for hard-earned life lessons.

In today’s edition…

I interviewed him.

If you’ve ever felt like the odds were stacked against you, Ed’s story will remind you that scars don’t disqualify you. They build you.

Let’s dive in 👇

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Boxing Forced Him to Stop Running From Hard Things, But His Toughest Fight Was Outside the Ring

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If you're a long-time reader, you know I started Joker Mag because I believe underdogs teach us more than the superstars ever could.

Ed Latimore is that kind of underdog.

He grew up in poverty, surrounded by addiction and violence. No mentors. No silver spoon. Just the will to break the cycle.

He battled alcoholism and won. Not just once, but every day, for over a decade and counting.

He became a professional heavyweight boxer. Not because it was easy, but because it was the only way out – and he made it count.

He earned a physics degree after failing out of college. He rebuilt his brain the same way he trained his body: with discipline and grit.

Then he made his comeback to boxing at age 40 after nine years away from the ring. No one expected it. He stopped his opponent in the first round.

Ed turned his pain into purpose.

Then he wrote a book. One that isn’t just about boxing, but building strength where there was once nothing.

It’s his memoir, tracing the hard-earned lessons he’s learned at every stage of life:

Lessons from growing up in public housing with a single mom.
Lessons from failing high school, dropping out of college, and battling addiction.
Lessons from the ring – the hardest sport there is – and how it gave him the strength to turn his life around.
And much more.

Ed's book isn't motivational fluff. It's a blueprint for anyone who’s ever been counted out. A game plan for life’s toughest rounds, told by a man who’s survived them and come back stronger.

I was fortunate enough to connect with Ed after he subscribed to this very newsletter.

In our exclusive interview, he shared more about his childhood, his toughest opponent, and a sneak peek at lessons from his new book.

Quick note: I had to trim this interview to fit the email character limit. You can read the full feature over on Joker Mag.

You’ve said boxing was your only way out. What was it about “the hurt business” that made you believe it could lead to something better? Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally?

First, I want to make something clear—I didn’t start boxing until I was 22. I wasn’t some kid in the neighborhood who got discovered in a gym or taken under a coach’s wing early on. I had already gone through a lot by the time I ever stepped into a ring.

The damage from my childhood was done. I was emotionally immature, directionless, and still struggling with drinking. But that poor foundation is exactly why boxing became such a powerful turning point for me.

Boxing gave me something I’d never really had before: a real goal that demanded sacrifice, discipline, and consistency. It gave me structure in a life that had none. And even though I drank through most of my amateur career, I know for a fact I would have been a lot worse off if I hadn’t found boxing when I did.

The sport gave me something to care about—something I earned through effort and commitment. And when I say “earned,” I’m not talking about money. Amateur boxing doesn’t pay anything. What I earned was pride, progress, and a sense that I could accomplish something with my own two hands. I didn’t want to be a failure. Winning fights, improving in the gym, stepping into the ring—that gave me a sense of place in the world that nothing else had up to that point.

I didn’t really know what to expect when I started. I just knew I wanted to be more than what I had always been. Boxing was a hard path, but it was the first hard path I chose for myself. And because it was hard, it was meaningful. It forced me to grow—not just physically, but mentally and emotionally.

People think boxing is all about throwing punches, but a huge part of the sport is mental.

You learn to manage fear, focus under pressure, and stay composed even when everything in you wants to quit. And surprisingly, it also forced me to become more social. You can't go through training camps, travel for fights, or work with coaches and sparring partners without learning how to communicate, how to be part of a team, and how to take criticism without falling apart.

Over time, boxing stripped away a lot of the emotional and behavioral “impurities” I was carrying around. It was the crucible that reshaped me. And eventually, it brought me to a crossroads: I could keep drinking, or I could keep boxing—but I couldn’t do both at the level I wanted to compete.

That’s when I got serious about sobriety. Not because someone lectured me, but because the discipline I learned in boxing showed me that I was capable of change—and that the fight outside the ring was just as real as the one inside it.

So when I say boxing was my way out, I don’t mean it saved me in some dramatic, overnight way. I mean it gave me the tools to rebuild myself, piece by piece, from the inside out.

Quote from Ed Latimore: "I didn’t really know what to expect when I started [boxing]. I just knew I wanted to be more than what I had always been."

Mike Tyson once said, “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth." Boxing is a sport that reveals character fast. What did it show you about yourself that no other part of life ever could?

Boxing showed me that I wasn’t an idiot and that I had real agency in my life. That might sound simple, but when I first stepped into a boxing gym at 22, I didn’t believe in myself at all.

I had already failed high school. I was bouncing between dead-end jobs. I wasn’t a gifted athlete, and I didn’t think I was particularly smart. At that point, I honestly thought that maybe I just wasn’t cut out for anything better.

But boxing gave me proof that effort could change outcomes. When I started, I was clumsy. My footwork was the joke of my local boxing community. There was nothing about me that screamed “natural talent.”

But I trained hard. I studied the sport. I kept showing up. And over the course of three years, I went from being a walking punchline to winning the Pennsylvania Golden Gloves, the National PAL tournament, earning sponsorships that changed my life, and reaching a peak national ranking of #4 in the USA Boxing super heavyweight division.

That transformation gave me something I had never experienced before: the belief that improvement is possible if you commit to the process. And if I could do it with my body, maybe I could do it with my mind, too.

That belief is what gave me the courage to go back to school in my 30s. I didn’t just want a degree—I chose physics, one of the hardest majors you can take, because I wanted to prove to myself that I could do something difficult. I had failed half of my math classes in high school and barely scraped by in the rest. But this time was different. Boxing had taught me how to push through frustration, how to stay disciplined, and how to learn.

I graduated with a physics degree because boxing gave me a reason to believe that I wasn’t stuck. It taught me that I wasn’t doomed to be the product of my environment, my mistakes, or my past failures. More than any fight I ever won in the ring, that realization changed my life.

So yeah, boxing reveals character—but it also builds it. It forced me to stop running from hard things. It gave me the confidence to stop telling myself, “I can’t,” and start proving to myself that I could.

Ed Latimore quote: "While I’ve fought a lot of tough battles in my life—addiction, failure, poverty—the invisible fight to believe I deserve love and belonging has been the hardest. And the most important."

You didn’t just fight opponents, you also fought addiction, failing out of high school, doubt, and failure. What was the toughest opponent you ever faced that no one saw?

The toughest opponent I ever faced wasn’t in the ring—it was learning how to trust people, accept love, and believe that someone might actually care about me without wanting something in return.

Growing up without my father and being physically and verbally abused by my mother created a deep sense of emotional isolation. On top of that, I was constantly getting into fights, which only reinforced this idea that the world was hostile and people couldn’t be trusted. There were other traumatic experiences from adults in my life, too—things I rarely talk about—that left lasting damage.

So I became like one of those stray dogs that flinches every time someone tries to pet it. Always on edge. Always expecting pain. And to cope, I drank.

Alcohol gave me the illusion of connection. Drinking friends are the perfect distance—you’re never alone, but no one ever really gets close. You don’t have to be vulnerable. You don’t have to deal with the underlying feelings of inadequacy or fear of rejection. You just float along in this surface-level version of belonging that doesn’t demand anything from you except another round.

It took me years to recognize that I was using alcohol to avoid facing those deeper emotional wounds. Getting sober in 2013 was the first step, but the real work started after that—learning how to sit with those feelings instead of trying to numb them, and slowly allowing myself to believe that I wasn’t broken or unlovable.

Even now, with everything I’ve accomplished, I still have moments where I feel like I don’t belong. Like I’m a burden. Like people are just being polite and don’t really want me around. That voice still shows up sometimes, even after all the work I’ve done. And ironically, that kind of self-doubt doesn’t just impact your personal life—it affects everything.

In boxing, for example, you can’t just show up and fight. You need to be part of a community, build a fanbase, sell tickets. You have to believe that people want to support you. And when you carry the belief that you're unwanted or a burden, that kind of promotion becomes incredibly hard.

So while I’ve fought a lot of tough battles in my life—addiction, failure, poverty—the invisible fight to believe I deserve love and belonging has been the hardest. And the most important.

You’ve said that your new book, Hard Lessons From The Hurt Business, isn’t just a boxing book. It’s a book about building strength – a blueprint for anyone who’s ever been counted out and still wants to win. For the underdogs reading this, who feel like they’re still on the ropes, what’s the first step to building that kind of strength?

The first step isn’t flashy. It’s foundational. It’s deciding to become your own corner coach in the fight of your life.

In Hard Lessons From The Hurt Business, I break this down through the lens of twelve rounds, each representing a key life lesson. And the earliest one for underdogs is this: if you can’t beat your environment, change it.

That doesn’t always mean moving to a new place. It means changing your inner environment first—your mindset, your routine, and your willingness to fight for something better. Real strength starts quietly, inside, before anyone else can see it.

Here are three practical lessons from the book to help someone who’s still in the corner, still catching their breath, take that first real step forward:

Frame your mental fight like a training camp. Every fighter knows that the preparation starts long before the bell rings. You don’t jump into the ring unprepared. You build structure. You train with intention. You make time to focus. That applies to life too. You can’t wait for a perfect moment to change. You start now, by building a routine that supports your growth.
Treat pain and hardship like sparring partners. In boxing, you don’t avoid getting hit. You learn from it. Every round teaches you something if you pay attention. In life, you take hits too—some small, some devastating. But each one is a chance to sharpen your awareness, build resilience, and come back stronger.
Own your agency. One of the core ideas in the book is this: make things happen, or things will happen to you. That’s the real choice we all face. You’re either directing your life, or you’re being dragged through it. Taking agency means choosing discipline, even when it’s uncomfortable. It means showing up, even when no one’s watching. It means refusing to let your past decide your future.

So if you feel like the world has counted you out, remember this: the first move is internal. You make the decision that you’re worth fighting for. Then you show up for yourself, day after day. No one else can do that for you. Not a coach, not a friend, not a mentor. You have to step up first.

It doesn’t happen all at once. You build it quietly, brick by brick, round by round. And that’s how underdogs win long after most people thought they were finished.

How can our readers support you, your work, or any causes you care about?

The best way to support me right now is by checking out my new book, Hard Lessons From The Hurt Business: Boxing and the Art of Life.

It’s not just for fighters or boxing fans—it’s for anyone who’s been knocked down by life and is ready to get back up stronger. I wrote it as a blueprint for underdogs, people rebuilding from rock bottom, and anyone trying to find strength, discipline, and meaning in their struggle.

You can grab a copy through my site at edlatimore.com or find it at most major retailers. If it resonates with you, share it with someone else who needs it. Word of mouth means everything, especially when the story is personal.

You can also follow my work online. I’m most active on Twitter/X (@EdLatimore), where I share lessons on sobriety, resilience, personal growth, and fighting your inner demons with the same intensity you’d bring to the ring. I also write a free newsletter at edlatimore.com/newsletter, where I go deeper on the ideas that have helped me turn my life around.

And honestly, if you take anything from my story, let it be this: you are not your past. You’re not your worst moment. You’re the habits you build, the people you choose to surround yourself with, and the values you commit to living by. If my work can help even one person believe that, then it’s worth it.

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I want to give a huge thanks to Ed for taking the time to do this interview. I'm inspired by the lessons he shared from his journey, and I hope you are too.

Now go check out his book!