Hope.

With a crisp image in his mind of how the final figure would look, the sculptor inspected his block of stone. He lifted the chisel and took weary stab at it. A quiet clank resonated through the space as the sculptor set the chisel back down on the ground. It was obvious that nothing had changed.

Fat.

The others in the room snickered, laughing at the new guy; he would never be able to turn that massive rock into a figure. They, the others, had been exercising their skill for years now, chiseling away at muscles, defining abs, their sculptures were almost perfect.

Drive.

He picked the up the dumbbell again. However hard it was to complete the daily workouts , it was worth it. He would have to stick it out in the gym day to day to earn the respect of the fit men, to cut away at his figure, and to become the sculptor and sculpture of perfection.