Post by Cale Rosiér on Dec 5, 2007 4:09:23 GMT 1
OOC: www.youtube.com/watch?v=DCg3EgMXmqs Overplayed as it may be, it is a fitting ballad for this post. If you're in the mood for drama, give it a click and listen as you read.
IC:
Riding his bicycle down the mountain rode, each pedal pained his knees and shoulders. Ari the Blitz had made a damn fool of him, and maybe rightfully so. He WAS a damn fool for entering the fight and a sore loser on top of everything. He could have simply made his forfeit and left with relative dignity, but he had to run his stupid mouth, insulting his worthy adversary as well as the institution known as the Fighter's League.
He chained up the red, rusted machine to the same park bench he always used when he biked into the wilderness for an extended solo practicing session. This time was significantly different, however. Usually, when he was hurt in fights in grade school, he'd just stay home and nurse his wounds, always pissed off to no end and bitter as hell towards his offender. In his own mind, the fight was never his fault and his failure was always because of some external circumstance.
Yet, in his free time during the day, he had read through a book that he'd possessed for a long time without ever actually opening. His father had bought it for him only months before the incident that drove them apart. Cale had seen it as a gift of resentment, a kind of mockery to the lifestyle that he led, and a way of showing him how childish he was. Thus, he never bothered to read it.
The book was simply, and in Cale's eyes, MOCKINGLY titled, "No Excuses".
For the most part, the author was the opposite of Cale. Kyle Maynard, the author, had grown up in America. He had a loving and accepting family and a supportive group of friends. He was an excellent, studious, likeable boy who was now 21 years old. They only had one thing in common: They were both excellent wrestlers. Now, Cale had every reason to gripe. He'd had an atrocious family life with constant adversity at school and obvious emotional disturbance bleeding through into everything he'd done. So what reason did this glorified jerk-off have to make excuses? What was so great about the fact that HE, an accomplished, well-liked young man, did not make any excuses?
Kyle Maynard was born with congenital amputation, giving him only 3 major joints: His neck and two shoulders. Still, through this, he accomplished unbelievable physical feats and was extremely tough to face on the mat. He went 35-16 his senior year: An impressive record for a man in his condition.
All at once, Cale's attitude changed. Life was not fair, it is widely accepted, and to be happy, it is necessary only to mercilessly strive towards what we want no matter the cost. Kyle had accomplished this. And although Cale was a state wrestler, a fearsome presence at any tournament, he could not exact the same punishment off of the mat. The excuses for his lack of fighting ability were to end immediately.
As he sprinted into the night, he screamed his lungs out to the black, starry sky.
"I'M SORRY."
"I'M SORRY!"
"I'M SORRY I'VE WASTED EVERYTHING I'VE BEEN GIVEN!"
And after a temporary burst of emotion, he settled into an aggressive run, no longer practicing his wrestling moves that he had long since mastered but working tirelessly on all the martial arts he had neglected to practice for years. Violence was NOT the answer...but it was his vehicle to happiness. It was his vehicle to end the internal commentary in his head that justified everything he said and did out of weakness or fear, the voice that blamed the world for his problems. He wouldn't do it anymore, he would own up the challenges he faced each day. He would win with grace and lose with integrity. But most importantly, he would hold more than his weight, pound for pound, but the weight of anyone that stood in his way. The immense pain stemming from the severe injuries he had sustained the night before was nothing compared to his new feelings of determination and focus. He was the master of his domain, with no monkey on his back and no anxiety keeping him from succeeding to the fullest extent of his ability.
And like that, the habit was broken.
IC:
Riding his bicycle down the mountain rode, each pedal pained his knees and shoulders. Ari the Blitz had made a damn fool of him, and maybe rightfully so. He WAS a damn fool for entering the fight and a sore loser on top of everything. He could have simply made his forfeit and left with relative dignity, but he had to run his stupid mouth, insulting his worthy adversary as well as the institution known as the Fighter's League.
He chained up the red, rusted machine to the same park bench he always used when he biked into the wilderness for an extended solo practicing session. This time was significantly different, however. Usually, when he was hurt in fights in grade school, he'd just stay home and nurse his wounds, always pissed off to no end and bitter as hell towards his offender. In his own mind, the fight was never his fault and his failure was always because of some external circumstance.
Yet, in his free time during the day, he had read through a book that he'd possessed for a long time without ever actually opening. His father had bought it for him only months before the incident that drove them apart. Cale had seen it as a gift of resentment, a kind of mockery to the lifestyle that he led, and a way of showing him how childish he was. Thus, he never bothered to read it.
The book was simply, and in Cale's eyes, MOCKINGLY titled, "No Excuses".
For the most part, the author was the opposite of Cale. Kyle Maynard, the author, had grown up in America. He had a loving and accepting family and a supportive group of friends. He was an excellent, studious, likeable boy who was now 21 years old. They only had one thing in common: They were both excellent wrestlers. Now, Cale had every reason to gripe. He'd had an atrocious family life with constant adversity at school and obvious emotional disturbance bleeding through into everything he'd done. So what reason did this glorified jerk-off have to make excuses? What was so great about the fact that HE, an accomplished, well-liked young man, did not make any excuses?
Kyle Maynard was born with congenital amputation, giving him only 3 major joints: His neck and two shoulders. Still, through this, he accomplished unbelievable physical feats and was extremely tough to face on the mat. He went 35-16 his senior year: An impressive record for a man in his condition.
All at once, Cale's attitude changed. Life was not fair, it is widely accepted, and to be happy, it is necessary only to mercilessly strive towards what we want no matter the cost. Kyle had accomplished this. And although Cale was a state wrestler, a fearsome presence at any tournament, he could not exact the same punishment off of the mat. The excuses for his lack of fighting ability were to end immediately.
As he sprinted into the night, he screamed his lungs out to the black, starry sky.
"I'M SORRY."
"I'M SORRY!"
"I'M SORRY I'VE WASTED EVERYTHING I'VE BEEN GIVEN!"
And after a temporary burst of emotion, he settled into an aggressive run, no longer practicing his wrestling moves that he had long since mastered but working tirelessly on all the martial arts he had neglected to practice for years. Violence was NOT the answer...but it was his vehicle to happiness. It was his vehicle to end the internal commentary in his head that justified everything he said and did out of weakness or fear, the voice that blamed the world for his problems. He wouldn't do it anymore, he would own up the challenges he faced each day. He would win with grace and lose with integrity. But most importantly, he would hold more than his weight, pound for pound, but the weight of anyone that stood in his way. The immense pain stemming from the severe injuries he had sustained the night before was nothing compared to his new feelings of determination and focus. He was the master of his domain, with no monkey on his back and no anxiety keeping him from succeeding to the fullest extent of his ability.
And like that, the habit was broken.