When you've been doing something for about seven years and you've gotten pretty darn good at it compared to the others in your circle who've been doing it for six years less, you'd humbly consider yourself their superior, right?
Not in an arrogant way, but it can't be helped that you really know your stuff.
I'm a fencer. It's what I do.
My usual Saturday consists of running a few dozen laps(or so it feels), doing their little toe-touches and butt-kicks and whatever, and then silently cheering when Audrey doesn't call me out for skipping the jump ropes, planks, and other menial agility rounds. Again, not to be arrogant, but I'm doing important work, after all.
I'm independent. I have a different coach and a different agenda.
Instead of the silly side-jumps, I'm stretching on the floor. Warding off Carpal Tunnel. Working "to the Dummy," as Coach likes to say.
I'm sucking in air while my legs shriek out in pain from the Bungie cord. It's important work. I feel like I have two hulking iron pistons for legs when I'm done, but by that time, my legs are shanking and they've only just moved on to Planks.
So how do you think I'd feel if I play my hand, but the Ref says it's a counterattack?
Coach asked why I lost the bout. I said I wasn't feeling it.
In reality, Reau was having a bad day, and my legs were still shaking from the Bungie. I took pity on her, but that didn't stop me from winning.
I gave up.
When your ref makes bad calls for your clear-as-daylight parry reposes and lines, why even try? You know no matter how spectacular your Sky Hook was, if it isn't one light, you might as well steal points off the wall.
There was no point besides the affirmation by my Coach, so I lost.
PMS is marchin' early this month..
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