Post by High Tide on Dec 12, 2016 21:59:34 GMT -5
The question comes to my mind a lot. Why am I here? Usually it occurs after I'm laying on my back after a hard fought, but lost battle inside the PCW ring. The only reason I can come up with? It's because I love it. PCW, the job, wrestling as a whole. Could I imagine myself anywhere else? The sea maybe, the ocean, hell a long enough River would suit me just fine. Yet even my love of the open water paled slightly, only slightly to the love that I have had for wrestling.
My funds are limited, but I pooled together what I had and sprung for a fitness coach for this last week. I thought I was doing well enough on my own, but after a string of losses, I figured it was no big coincidence. What better a time than before Collision Course? A match in which I find myself against two opponents who have soundly beaten me since my return. Seromine and The Fanatics (sounds like a great band name, I should copyright that), and the ever present Andy D. On such a big stage against two men that I have something left to prove, I figured it was worth the investment.
At least I had come up with an answer to the question that plagued me a ton, for the present anyways. I knew exactly why I was here, at a public park, with my exercise routine on display for all to see. I couldn't bear the thought of losing to these two men again, not without throwing everything I had at them. They were going to have to work damn hard to earn their paycheck.
It seemed as though I was not only paying for a fitness coach, but a psychological one as well. I have always trained in private, not wanting others to see me in a time where I feel vulnerable, but Weldon, my trainer, would not budge an inch. I threw every damn excuse in the book at him, and he told me I would either meet him at the park at 4:30 or he'd cancel the last day with no refund. To hell with that, money was too valuable to throw away, and here I was, doing pushups to the sound of smartphone cameras clicking. Click. Click. Click. I tried to time my pushups with the clicks, but I would be deluding myself if I said there was nearly enough. I might be recognizable, semi-famous even, but I was no Justin Bieber. I slowed down, setting my own pace that wasn't reliant on the slowly fading clicks.
“Laps, twenty, let's go High Tide. Don't slack either, you don't want to disappoint your fans,” Weldon barked at me mid pushup. I stood up eyeing him, his tall, athletic, brown haired, smug ass grinning body staring at me with one of the most unrelenting looks I'd ever seen outside the ring before.
“Gotta get the most out of my dollar,” I snipped back at him, jogging over to the outside fence that enclosed the park and beginning my first of twenty laps. By the third lap, my breathing was ragged and I was sure I was panting. I had to slow my pace, or I wouldn't even get halfway through the laps. The slow pace gave me time to think though. Could I actually do it? Could I win against the steady Andy D, who I always seemed to have a hell of a time picking a win up over? Could I defeat Seromine and his followers, insurmountable odds it seemed and I had already lost once? Better yet, could I someone get one man out of the action long enough while I pinned or submitted the other? Probably not, but didn't all those famous people say knowing your flaws is the first step to success?
My legs pounded the grass hard as I picked up some steam on the fifteenth lap. I wanted to end this session strong, on a high note. I needed whatever pick me up I could get, because at Collison Course I have something to prove. I want to prove that I am not an easy win. I want to prove that I can hang with the big boys and the big names. I want to prove that I can hold my own and put up a good fight. Really, in all honestly, what I want to do is show people that I still have what it takes to win. I want to see High Tide as a name people look at and shit themselves. I don't want them to see a washed up, drunken pirate. I want them to see a fierce competitor that will do WHATEVER it takes to snag the win, the title, all of it, no matter how legal or illegal “whatever it takes” is. I want to embody greatness.
Last lap now, and I can't help but laugh at myself a little. I am a long way from greatness. PCW has some amazing names, new and old, that will stand the test of time. Who could forget names like Heavy Metal or Non Compos Mentis? Or even the active roster. Grimm, the obvious name that sprung to mind, Murdoc, Andy D. The list was quite impressive, but to run over it would take too much time. I've made the point I just need to make sure that I realize what I am chasing, what CALIBER I am chasing, and put in the equal effort. I wasn't going to achieve greatness overnight, no. It would start with the little things. The little things like these twenty laps. The little things like this week of extra training that I had never shown a damn slightest interest in before. The little things like going into my match against Andy D and Seromine and put up a fight and if the opportunity came by to steal a win, then that was exactly what I would do.
Twentieth lap finished and I look at my watch. Still eight minutes of paid time left. Weldon would probably just leave early.
“Ten more laps Tide, and make them quick or you're paying for overtime.”
My funds are limited, but I pooled together what I had and sprung for a fitness coach for this last week. I thought I was doing well enough on my own, but after a string of losses, I figured it was no big coincidence. What better a time than before Collision Course? A match in which I find myself against two opponents who have soundly beaten me since my return. Seromine and The Fanatics (sounds like a great band name, I should copyright that), and the ever present Andy D. On such a big stage against two men that I have something left to prove, I figured it was worth the investment.
At least I had come up with an answer to the question that plagued me a ton, for the present anyways. I knew exactly why I was here, at a public park, with my exercise routine on display for all to see. I couldn't bear the thought of losing to these two men again, not without throwing everything I had at them. They were going to have to work damn hard to earn their paycheck.
It seemed as though I was not only paying for a fitness coach, but a psychological one as well. I have always trained in private, not wanting others to see me in a time where I feel vulnerable, but Weldon, my trainer, would not budge an inch. I threw every damn excuse in the book at him, and he told me I would either meet him at the park at 4:30 or he'd cancel the last day with no refund. To hell with that, money was too valuable to throw away, and here I was, doing pushups to the sound of smartphone cameras clicking. Click. Click. Click. I tried to time my pushups with the clicks, but I would be deluding myself if I said there was nearly enough. I might be recognizable, semi-famous even, but I was no Justin Bieber. I slowed down, setting my own pace that wasn't reliant on the slowly fading clicks.
“Laps, twenty, let's go High Tide. Don't slack either, you don't want to disappoint your fans,” Weldon barked at me mid pushup. I stood up eyeing him, his tall, athletic, brown haired, smug ass grinning body staring at me with one of the most unrelenting looks I'd ever seen outside the ring before.
“Gotta get the most out of my dollar,” I snipped back at him, jogging over to the outside fence that enclosed the park and beginning my first of twenty laps. By the third lap, my breathing was ragged and I was sure I was panting. I had to slow my pace, or I wouldn't even get halfway through the laps. The slow pace gave me time to think though. Could I actually do it? Could I win against the steady Andy D, who I always seemed to have a hell of a time picking a win up over? Could I defeat Seromine and his followers, insurmountable odds it seemed and I had already lost once? Better yet, could I someone get one man out of the action long enough while I pinned or submitted the other? Probably not, but didn't all those famous people say knowing your flaws is the first step to success?
My legs pounded the grass hard as I picked up some steam on the fifteenth lap. I wanted to end this session strong, on a high note. I needed whatever pick me up I could get, because at Collison Course I have something to prove. I want to prove that I am not an easy win. I want to prove that I can hang with the big boys and the big names. I want to prove that I can hold my own and put up a good fight. Really, in all honestly, what I want to do is show people that I still have what it takes to win. I want to see High Tide as a name people look at and shit themselves. I don't want them to see a washed up, drunken pirate. I want them to see a fierce competitor that will do WHATEVER it takes to snag the win, the title, all of it, no matter how legal or illegal “whatever it takes” is. I want to embody greatness.
Last lap now, and I can't help but laugh at myself a little. I am a long way from greatness. PCW has some amazing names, new and old, that will stand the test of time. Who could forget names like Heavy Metal or Non Compos Mentis? Or even the active roster. Grimm, the obvious name that sprung to mind, Murdoc, Andy D. The list was quite impressive, but to run over it would take too much time. I've made the point I just need to make sure that I realize what I am chasing, what CALIBER I am chasing, and put in the equal effort. I wasn't going to achieve greatness overnight, no. It would start with the little things. The little things like these twenty laps. The little things like this week of extra training that I had never shown a damn slightest interest in before. The little things like going into my match against Andy D and Seromine and put up a fight and if the opportunity came by to steal a win, then that was exactly what I would do.
Twentieth lap finished and I look at my watch. Still eight minutes of paid time left. Weldon would probably just leave early.
“Ten more laps Tide, and make them quick or you're paying for overtime.”
