Donezo Manifesto

I’m a generally misunderstood individual. I feel like a teenager stuck in the “nobody gets me” phase and I don’t know why. Despite my best efforts, nobody every seems to get what I’m saying or what I’m trying to do. I can tell someone the sky is blue and they’ll tell everyone I said it’s dark lavender with a metallic texture and how fucking stupid I am to think that. So I can’t just tell people why I’m upset and why everything is bullshit. I have to give them a background. And even though it will more than likely picked apart and misinterpreted and completely dismissed by people that definitely know my life better than me, I’d feel a lot better knowing that I at least tried. So I’m going to cover the last year of my life and then conclude my feelings of the past year based on those experiences. Enjoy.

Comeback SZN

Late April 2016, I was a plump 360 pounds, had the most money I’ve ever had in my bank account, and I just quit my full-time job as a manager at a regional retail store chain. “Loss Prevention Leader” Ron Brown decided to take his talents back to college due to disagreements with management and a general unhappiness with the direction of life. This is probably the riskiest thing I’ve done in my life right next to dropping out of college a year prior. The only thing I was certain of was that I was so much better than the life I was leading.

Fast forward a month and I’m in contact with my former track coach at the school I once left. I ran into him and the head coach at the Wendy’s I ate at every day for lunch a few weeks prior to me quitting. At the time we briefly spoke about how my life has been post-dropout and all my newfound weight. We agreed to keep in touch and update them if I changed my mind about returning to school as they certainly had room for me on the team. When I first texted him, he seemed more concerned than anything. He questioned why I quit what seemed like a good job in a field I enjoyed and what my plan was. After I confirmed his suspicion that I would be returning to school we talked about my return to track. They were just reaching the tail end of their season and nationals were coming up; very busy times for him and the athletes. He assured me that we’d be in touch at the conclusion of the season and we’d begin working for my return.

June comes up and now we’re talking about summer lifts. Now I’ve never been fond of lifting or any real physical activity, but this is all coming after taking a two-year full hiatus from any form of training and being as fat as I was. I was terrified of what was to come. It was also at 7 am, not to imply I’m not a morning person, but because I didn’t have a car and everyone I know isn’t a morning person. Day one comes anddddd I’m 2 minutes late. Already off to a bad start. Then the lift starts… Bless my heart because it almost stopped multiple times that morning. I maybe get through a third of the lift before I’m curled up in the corner struggling to breathe and being asked if I’m going to make it by everyone in there. On that day I did not finish. I did not give up. I showed up for the next day, on time, and ready to go again. Unashamed of how I did the previous lift, I went in and tried my hardest and got as much done as I could. Soon I’m finishing the whole lift. Then I start seeing the results; pounds start flying off, maxes start rising, and the mid lift heart attacks cease to exist. By the end of the summer, I’m down to 305 and one of the strongest people on the team. This is my first major triumph.

We continued lifting throughout the fall semester and at this point I’m seen as a teammate and close friend to people I’d only admired from afar before. It all felt like a WE thing and that motivated me even more as one of my main goals upon rejoining the team was winning a conference championship, something that hadn’t been done since before my parents were born. Late October comes and we FINALLY get to start actually practicing. I was initially disappointed in my distances as they didn’t improve much from before I started lifting and I began to doubt if all the effort was worth it. I did not give up. As more time passed and my technique improved I realized that what I was doing wouldn’t be possible if I didn’t do what I did.

At this point, I’ve been interacting with the team for quite some time. They’ve seen how much I’ve improved physically and are anticipating my debut. We host a small home meet with all the area colleges to see which was the best team in the city. Some of them were under the impression that this would be it. However, I couldn’t compete because I dropped out of school, making me academically ineligible for competitions held in the fall semester. This would be a non-issue if I had good teammates. Unfortunately, they used this as an opportunity to ridicule me and claim athletic superiority. They made it seem as if my current grades were the reason I wasn’t competing or the fact that I dropped out was because I was just failing everything. They dismissed my marks from practices as “un-save-able” and declared that there was no way I’d be able to throw like that at a meet. I didn’t give up. I helped set up the meet. I cheered for them. I provided help where needed. I was a good teammate. But I was anxious to prove them wrong.


Winter break begins and final grades come out. I earned my highest college semester GPA. When I told my teammates about it and excited announced I’d be eligible to throw during the season they laughed me off saying that it’s only because my major was easy. I didn’t give up. First meet rolls around and again, everyone’s excited to see me throw. I normally shy away from attention, but in track and especially since I just got a fresh ass haircut, I was very willing to receive this. As we’re warming up for competition I reflect on my time as a tracklete before. I was decent at best, but one of the top freshmen in the nation at the time. Now those marks wouldn’t bode too well on the team and most importantly in the conference. I was determined to improve. Weight throw was first up. A familiar face was officiating the event; the girl that broke my heart and one of the many reasons I decided to leave school in the first place. That’s not to blame her for me leaving school, but her decision to leave me made it a whole lot easier to leave the school. I expected her to be there and I still wasn’t mentally prepared for the moment. This would have to be my own little way of “proving her wrong”. I go into the ring and murder my old PR. I improved by two whole meters and jump to fifth all time. Externally, I was all smiles and high fives. Internally, I knew those were terrible throws and I had so much more. But again, this is my first meet back and I was just glad to be there and do well in front of someone I felt I had something to prove to. Shotput is almost the same result. I destroyed my old PR, moved up in the all-time standings, and already beat my season end goals, but I know that’s just not me. But with that meet, I assured everyone that the self-proclaimed Dark Lord was back.

Dark Lord’s Ascension

The next few weeks get crazy. We travel to a meet with some very good competition. At this point, I’m listed as a top thrower in the nation, but understanding track and field made me realize that it was all very temporary and if I didn’t improve I would quickly be shot out of that position. For weight, we adjusted my technique to just do one turn instead of the two I did at the previous meet. It’s what I did back in the day and what I felt most comfortable doing as my turning hadn’t really developed at that point. I think everyone was a little shocked with how I did that day. I improved another meter from my PR and now second all time, less than a meter away from the school record. While not improving on shotput that week, I was still given the nod to go to a D1 meet with a select few of my teammates. This is when I started to realize the position I was in. At that meet, in my worst event, I achieved a lifetime PR and made finals at a meet full of division one athletes. The following day we competed with the rest of the team and I was able to throw weight again. Luckily, this was a meet that was closer to my hometown and my brother and father were able to come and watch me compete. My brother was a division one athlete, all-American, and high school state champion and one of my biggest inspirations. We spoke briefly before I competed and he told me how proud he was of all I had already done and overcome and how much more I was capable of. One of my coaches saw me talking to him and after my brother and I finished up our conversation he sparked one up with me. He recognized how inspired and awestruck I was by what my brother said to me and told me something about myself I never realized. People look at me the same way I look at him. That I have what it takes physically to surpass him. It wasn’t literal because my brother was a sprinter and I doubt I’d ever split sub 10 in a 4x1, but I understood what he was saying and I never felt so ready to compete. Throwing starts and I don’t start out too hot. I go into finals in fourth place. I didn’t give up. Each throw I steadily improve on my previous mark until I’m in second place with one throw to go. I go into the ring, reportedly looking pissed, but intensely focused. I was so determined to just throw far. The only thing I was thinking about was I needed to go fast and throw as hard as physically possible. I do exactly that and again it felt like a terrible throw. I didn’t even watch it land; I just wait for the official to say mark, exit the ring, and retrieve my implement. I notice my teammates erupting and tell them to quiet down. They keep pointing at where it landed and telling me it looked amazing. I head over to the official so I can hear what the mark is and he announces it and my teammates erupt again. New school record. First “real” collegiate win (real because I won a meet my freshman year, but it wasn’t really competitive). I go tell my brother and father and throw like shit in shotput and move on to the next meet. We again decide to switch up my technique moving me back up to two turning. After just breaking the school record and becoming the third best thrower in the nation I really wasn’t in the mood to change anything up. But then again I’d listen to coach if he told me to vacuum the turf with a garden hose so I did it. Next meet comes up and it’s one of the only meets where winners receive a prize. One of the few things I miss about high school track is the medals. Every athlete that finishes in the top three gets one no matter what. Unfortunately for me, I wasn’t all that great in high school and didn’t win many. Also, one of my teammates from my freshman year that transferred out came to support me. So this meet meant something to me. I go out there and try to do what now I considered to be my thing. I didn’t do shit. Well, I still got second and threw a fairly competitive mark, but it didn’t live up to my standards and it also meant I didn’t win a prize. I didn’t give up. New week, new meet, and we’re back at the place I broke the school record at before so I was expecting more of the same. However, I was sticking with two turns which I had little faith in. It’s almost an exact replica of the last meet there. I scrape my way into finals, nowhere near leading the competition. So badly during the entire day I felt like I should just go back to one turning no one will stop me I’m an adult he doesn’t know shit I does this I just want to win again. I didn’t give up. Last throw, super pissed, in the ring, feels shitty, teammates erupt, wtf. Broke my old record by half a meter and for a brief moment, I was the national leader. This starts one of the happiest time periods of my life.


Championship season felt like a fantasy. We’re hosting indoor conference, I’m basically guaranteed a spot at nationals, and I felt like I was at my peak. When I say peak I mean I’m physically the strongest I’ve ever been, emotionally the most stable I’ve ever been, and my confidence is at an all-time high. It felt like if I kept feeling that way for any longer they’d have to rewrite the dictionary and just put some cute pictures of me next to the word confidence. ANYWAYS, day one of conference is just shotput; Due to some huge PRs the week before I’m seeded fifth, but I wanted at least third. During warm-ups, I launch a power throw out past the fifth-teen meter line, just short of my full PR. To say I was feeling it would be a disgrace to the phrase feeling it. In usual Ron Brown fashion, my initial throws are hot garbage, but everyone else felt like they should copy me so I go into finals in fourth place. Everybody but the people from our school are throwing like complete shit, creating an opportunity for me to reach my goal of third place and steal some points so we can win conference. After an initial bad throw to start finals and a freshman teammate of mine proclaiming that he’d beat me, I decided to turn up. I broke 50' and solidified myself into third place. Being lower in the order, I had to wait for people to finish throwing to ensure that I maintained that position and when the last person that could bump me down was throwing, I just closed my eyes and waited for the worst to happen. Instead, he fouled every throw in finals and I officially earned my first all-conference honors. Showing up on a big stage in my worst event felt so special to me. I rode that high into the night and right into day two of competition. The real deal. Weight throw. EVERYONE is waiting to see me throw weight. I’ve been talking smack all week about how I’m gonna PR and take the #1 spot in the nation and break all these records. At first, I thought it was because they believed in me. I now realize they just wanted to be there when I crashed and burned. But they’d have to wait for that. Warm ups start and I’m doing my usual thing; talking, joking, being relaxed before it all goes down. I’m never too impressive in warm-ups, mainly because I try not to put a lot of energy into it, and today wouldn’t be any different. Most of my throws went wide left and not that far. I actually threw so poorly in warm-ups people started to question if I was taking the meet seriously or if I was nervous. Then my teammate that won shot the day before and was the defending champion dropped a bomb and it felt like everyone looked right at me. His throw was definitely past my PR. Competition starts and as always I take my opening one turn to ensure I have a way into finals in a worst case scenario. Just like warm-ups, it soars off to the left and out of the sector. Now I’m pissed. It felt like half the people in the area were staring at me, waiting for me to blow it. They couldn’t wait to get their “I told you so’s” out. I didn’t give up. I walk back into the ring, fighting my instinct to take another one turn just to make sure that I get one in, and prepare for a two turn. This throw will go down as the only throw in my college career that just felt right. I. Fucking. Nuked. It. It was in the air for so long that I could hear people begin to cheer before it was even close to landing. For a few seconds, everyone was looking at the same thing in total awe. I was left dumbfounded in the ring, unable to cheer, unable to move from the position I was in when I was balanced enough to watch my throw. A loud thud and clang rang throughout the applause, I slowly walked out the back of the ring and out to retrieve my implement as I always did. Teammates and competitors are all saying congratulations and high fiving me and just looking at me. Only when I was close enough to see where it actually landed did I begin to realize what just happened. Through all the noise, the officials are hard at work making absolutely sure they get the perfect mark. I knew it was serious when they brought out “the special tape”; it was out earlier when the women were throwing when my teammate broke the old conference record. When I see that I go back towards the ring waiting for them to announce the official mark. My teammates competing join me and we all impatiently wait for some good news. The officials disperse and get into their positions. One passes us, pats me on the back and says “good job” while one moves towards the marking board. They all look back at the head official who nods that he’s ready and all the cheering and murmurs fall to silence. 19.59; new school record, new facility record, new conference meet record, new conference all-time record, and new nation-leading throw. As soon as I heard nineteen fifty I started screaming and took off sprinting to I don’t know where. It was at that moment that I knew that I was the best in the nation. The rest of the meet is just a blur of congratulations and trying to calm myself down. It all came back into focus near the end of the racing events when we began discussing the team’s overall score. We were in first by a respectable margin. Keep in mind we had never won an indoor conference championship as a team EVER so we were all pretty excited. I doubt I’ve ever been that excited for races not involving my brother in my life. In between cheering I was score checking and working out possible end scenarios and as the meet drew closer and closer to the end I knew that we finally did it. This is more than likely the greatest moment of my twenty-two years of life.

Beginning of the End

Now we’re getting to the part that got me to where I’m at today. After conference, I felt like I could kill a combination of thirty-seven bears, lions, and whales that have been trapped in captivity their whole lives with my bare hands. This is also the peak of dick riding among my teammates. I had effectively shut them all up at conference and nobody could say anything. I took that as nobody had anything to say rather than they were just waiting for their moment. Training for the week went great and out of the five people going to nationals, I was the only one openly confident about my ability and the outcome. The day comes to leave for nationals and we’re all loading up and receiving new gear and getting nice little goodbyes/good lucks and I’m honestly just happy to be there. The whole first two days I’m just amazed by everything that exists. I wanted to make sure it was an amazing experience. We go to the banquet and I meet up with some old friends/teammates that were now competing for other schools and we all laugh and wish our good lucks and prepare for day one. Unlike conference, weight throw was first and I couldn’t have been happier about it. I just wanted to get out there and do what I do. We woke up the next morning and something weird happened to me; for the first time in my life, I was nervous about an athletic event. I’ve competed for a lot of teams in a lot of ways. In high school, I was a two-sport athlete in track and football. Our football team actually had an amazing season the one year I actually played and made the playoffs for the first time in like twenty to thirty years. I didn’t feel nervous once that season. In track, I was never good enough to qualify for state, but I was just good enough to feel like I was on the cusp of doing it. I didn’t feel nervous once that season. I was actually only recruited by colleges to play football and when I did guess what I never felt nervous. I was truly amazed by this because I was completely un-phased up until that morning. Was I just projecting this whole time? Could I in actuality been the least confident guy in the whole universe to ever live? I still don’t know. Either way, up until warm-ups, I was shitting myself. Nationals is a different meet because everything is super official. Like we were walked out to the throwing area when it was time to warm up. We were supplied implements to throw. When I saw the implements I knew in my head I’d refuse to throw anything but the red and black ones because they’d look sick when they take pictures of me throwing. This part probably confirms people’s belief that I wasn’t in the right mindset/focused/whatever bullshit excuse you made up in your head to make you seem like you know so much about me and my life. Since niggas know me so well, understand that my mind never stops. I’m rarely thinking about what is going down currently even when I focus as hard as I can. I mean during my best throw ever I was thinking about if we were going to go out to eat tonight or if we’d all just be too tired or if the team would even take us to a restaurant or if that’d mess up or budget and how much do we have in our budget nobody ever tells us we sure do pay a lot for our “spirit package” this school has been ripping me off college is a rip off I should drop out oh fuck I did that already why did I do that what am I doing holy fuck that went far. I digress. Warm ups actually went ok. I sent some nice ones out there, my form didn’t feel right, but what’s new. Competition starts and I scratch my first throw. Wasn’t that far, but it felt savable and it definitely would’ve been enough to get me a respectable placing. The second one comes and I’m thinking about conference because I REALLY wanted to one turn just to make sure I get a spot in finals, but I was committed to the gameplan. Well, fuck me because I even took it slightly conservative and still fell out the front. At this point, I’m thinking of stories of highly ranked guys not making finals or even getting a mark at nationals. As I’m walking out of the ring I do the universal choking signal. If you don’t know what that is, grab a friend, shove a whole Popeyes biscuit down your throat, and without words tell them you are choking. I did it to make myself laugh and I thought I might get some chuckles out of the competition as we were all joking around before, but they just kinda looked at me with sad eyes. We all knew what was happening. I was becoming another nationals horror story. After the amazing season I just had, it came to this stage to die a slow, painful death. I stopped feeling nervous. It was something much worse. Have you ever been in the room with someone who is terminally ill and everybody knows it? I truly felt that in the cold air sweeping the field house. It was directed at me. I was gonna die. Right there. In front of everyone. I didn’t give up. I went into the ring, unwilling to go silently. I emptied my thoughts the best I could and thought back to the late Al Davis’ saying of “Just win, baby”. Right into the fucking net. I just kinda watched it fly into the net and felt that feeling consume me. I just fucking died. Looking at the weight thinking “Why would you do that? Why would you go that way? You made my outfit look so good”. Then I fucking lost it. I wanted to fight the weight, net, officials for daring to scratch me when I fell out the front two times before, the competition for feeling as if they beat me, coach for not letting me do me, my teammates for everything they did and would say, and most poignantly myself. I wanted to punch myself in the face, rip my skin off, amputate my hands. I’ve never held more hatred in a moment than I did for myself. How could I do all of this to end it like that? I packed up my shit, and against the will of the NCAA stormed out of the area unsupervised. Doing what any rational person would do in that situation, I stormed off to a secluded location and cried. I cried about the meet. I cried about my life. I cried about everything that I’d been holding back since I left school. Every terrible feeling that I was going to overcome with a national championship came back and attacked me at once. I didn’t speak for the rest of the trip. It is undoubtedly the lowest, saddest point in my life. I told myself I would give up.

On the day, I got a lot of support. For the past month my inbox and notifications on social media were flooded with praise and tagging in group photos and talking about wins and PRs, but that day it was filled with paragraphs. Paragraphs from people telling me that I can come back from this and it won’t define me and how great I was. I didn’t read any of them. “Well then how do you know what they said?” fuck off I know everything. Also, that’s what they said to me later when I saw them in person. Luckily, this was all right before spring break so I got a free week off to sulk and do nothing with my life. The first time I left the house after getting back was to volunteer for the high school meet our school hosts. Freshmen are required to work it, but anybody else that’s available is encouraged to work it. Maybe 10% of people available volunteer. Whatever. This is my first interaction with most of the team post nationals. The first thing I noticed is I wasn’t greeted the same. Maybe I still looked sad, but good lord it’s like going from household name that can’t even go to the store without being stopped to being a middle-aged white man named Jeff with a thot teenage daughter and an ex-wife sapping you for all of your money that she spends on new clothes and her new black boyfriend whose dick is DEFINITELY bigger than yours shetoldyoumultipletimes. The second thing is people were quick with the “told you so’s” that I wrote about earlier. Like it wasn’t even a week ago and they already had shit to say. People that didn’t even “qualify” to throw at conference were making fun of me because of how I performed at nationals. It was the craziest thing. It’s like when NFL QBs are told they suck by the Jeff’s of the world except these were my teammates and I was actively better than them by a mile. It was probably the first time that I took to heart that even after everything I already accomplished they still didn’t respect me. I didn’t give up.

Unnecessary Adversity

Classes and practice started up again and I felt like I could start over again. I was determined in fact to start over again. We had a hard lift the first day back and I made it my bitch. The team is discussing rosters for our first REAL travel meet ever. This had been something I was looking forward to since it was announced over the summer. I used it as one of my motivations, something I had to qualify for. Emails were sent out about the travel roster and for the first time all year I couldn’t find my name. This was quickly followed up with a text telling me that I wasn’t traveling because of my midterm grades and to meet with him before practice the following day. I was so confused. To my knowledge, my lowest grade was a C. I mean it wasn’t the only C, but I wasn’t failing anything and I knew a bunch of the names on the list could not even come close to saying that. I go to practice as usual and warm up with the people in my session. He made it sound like it would be a quick meeting to discuss what the issue was and the plan going forward. That was not the case. Apparently one of my professors put in a midterm exam grade as a zero. The exam was taken the day we left for nationals. I explained the situation to my coach and how it was just a misunderstanding and there’s no reason to handle it this way. He told me that the professor made it sound like I was negligent with completely work and the grade is representative of what I’ve been doing in class and until it was resolved I could not practice with the team or compete at meets because it “resembled behavior of someone not working towards graduation and would make you academically ineligible for current and upcoming seasons”. I confidently left practice thinking this was an easy fix and I’d be back in action in no time. Wrong again :^). This was a part-time professor… I swear I go to a real school, but basically, this is just someone who only teaches a single course on a semester to semester basis. Kinda like a full-time substitute. This holds relevance in many ways. First off, the means that this professor doesn’t have an office or office hours so they cannot be reached outside of their class in any way other than emails. I sent a strongly worded email because I’m annoyed at the situation created and the way it was explained to my coach. DO NOT BE RUDE TO SOMEONE WHO IS IN CHARGE OF THOUSANDS OF YOUR DOLLARS, ELIGIBILITY, AND GPA. But mama didn’t raise no bitch and if you think it’s ok to slander someone when you teach an entry level, required, gen ed, part time then you can bet your ass I’m not gonna walk on eggshells and kiss your ass to correct YOUR mistake. This professor caught an attitude and told me that they’d only be in communications with my coaches to rearrange this. This probably makes you wonder “holy fuck dude what did you say to this professor? Did you curse them out or say something about 9/11?” Nope. Here’s the exact verbatim email that I sent. No edits. Nothing.

“”I wasn’t in class when the midterm was taken because of an away track meet. If we could arrange a time and place to take this so my grade doesn’t require a “miracle” I’d appreciate that.””

This email was apparently enough reason to ruin my life. Welp turns out coach didn’t care that much about my grades or graduation because they never worked out a time for me to make up that midterm exam. But he did care enough to call me into a meeting about how I’m “indefinitely suspended” for that class that the “adults” were handling for me and wouldn’t let me get involved. So I get pissed and basically yell at the two coaches that called me into the meeting and tell them how completely unfair and stupid that is and storm out before I give them a three piece combo with a large soda on the side. With everything that had happened in the past fourteen days, I have never wanted to give up on something so badly in my entire life.

Comeback SZN: Part II

I’m off the team at this point and everybody on the team is buzzing about it. Half of them think that I quit. Let me rephrase that. All of them think that I quit. Because of nationals. Everybody is talking shit. Talking about how I’m a shitty teammate and I shouldn’t have been THAT mad about nationals and how I had it coming anyways and how they KNEW I was just too stupid for school. Fuck em. If you were one of those people fuck you, your family, and everybody you love. It all got back to me and it hurt. In the time that I needed, what I thought was, my team most their back was not only turned, but they were somehow stabbing me. Like how to you stab someone in the back without looking at them? That’s impressive. It was hilarious because every time they ran into me on campus it was all “Omg we miss you on the team” only to find out they were the main ones talking shit. A lot of true colors were shown during this time. I can’t confidently say that anyone unconditionally held it down for me and defended me when I could not defend myself. I’m not one of those “teams are family” guys; I picked track to be my main sport because it’s very individual based. But for people to say and pretend that we’re this big ole happy family and everybody is looking out for everybody and then act the way they did, not only towards me, is disgraceful. Like I wrote before, I’ve been a part of a lot of teams, but this team was by far the fakest, least cohesive group I’ve ever been a part of. I’ve played on intramural basketball teams that support better and are more loyal. I’m the guy who defended the team punching bag when nobody else would and take him under my wing and support him 100% only for him to turn on me and be the ring leader of my haters. I’m the guy that lifted all summer and increased my maxes by more than one hundred pounds in each lift only to be told by someone that skipped lifts all summer, got weaker, didn’t perform well all season, especially at conference that the reason I performed poorly at nationals is because I don’t work hard and I choke under pressure. I’m the guy that supports every teammate, inside and outside of track, no matter what that is constantly ridiculed for everything I do. I’m the guy that will put anybody on a pedestal to raise their spirits, but when anything about my throwing is brought up it’s only because I’m 22 or 6'8" or I took two years off LIKE TWO YEARS OFF WITH NO TRAINING HELPED ME LIKE YES GAINING 100 POUNDS OF FAT IN A YEAR REALLY MADE ME A BETTER THROWER AND NOTHING ELSE YOU GOT ME FIGURED OUT NCAA HATES ME CHECK OUT TIP NUMBER 4 FUCKING IDIOTS MAN THAT SHIT REALLY BLOWS MY MIND THAT THE FACT THAT I DIDN’T PICK UP A WEIGHT FROM SEPTEMBER OF 2014 UNTIL JUNE OF 2016 IS THE SOLE REASON I’M BETTER THAN YOU FUCKING MORONS MAN. I digress.

Long story short, I miss the meet I’d been looking forward to all year and half of the outdoor season. I have another meeting with the coaches and they make it sound like we all misunderstood each other. That was not the case, but I just wanted to practice again so I played along and was told that he needed a couple of days to think about reinstating me to the team (even though according to him I was never off and was apparently never indefinitely suspended). Miss another meet. What’s new? So I finally get a full week of training half way through outdoor and would you look at that I’m still one of the best throwers in the nation. Dropped a top ten mark in the nation on my first full discus practice back. This was my second return. I didn’t want it to be because it was completely unnecessary, but I mean how can you not appreciate the fact that again after no training I just show up, work hard, and am yet again the best guy. Now the team’s buzzing again, but I know that they’re some snakes. Instead of what it was indoor it’s “here we go again” and female teammates saying it’s not that good or they’re better than me and everyone talking about if I’ll throw like that at nationals (again jokes by people that scored less than 5 points at conference). I guess the only good thing is that I got reinstated right before our home meet. So it was time again to put these fools in the dirt at home. It started with hammer, something I had not thrown well at all. My belief was that after conference I forgot how to turn properly and that’s why nationals happened the way it did and why I inexplicably sucked at hammer which has the exact same principles. I’ve been three turning at the few practices I’ve had with hammer so it came as a shock to me when coach walked up to me and told me to two turn for competition. Warm ups came and I gave my first two turn a try and easily had my best throw of the year at around mid forty. The buzzing happens again. Competition comes and I just let loose. I improved on every single throw in the competition. I beat my old PR by ten meters, move up to second all-time, and within striking distance of the school record. I’m jumping around and yelling that nothing and no one can hold me back. I mean I missed almost a month of track and STILL threw pretty darn well. I dick around at shotput and beat the freshman that always tries to say he’s better than me. He catches an attitude and starts trash talking my discus, saying that what I’ve been throwing at practice is probably inflated and making excuses about why I did that. At this point, I’m completely sick of everything involving this team and tell him how it really is. Son, you need to listen and listen close. You’ll never be better than me. Not because you don’t work hard or the fact that you’re a whiny brat that will suck any and every dick to get to the top, but because you just aren’t as good as me. Being “close” isn’t good enough. Be proud of what you do and stop trying to compare to me. You can’t. If I was treated the same way you were you’d piss yourself dreaming about reaching my PRs. But unfortunately, I respect myself enough not to grovel at the feet of coach for attention and praise. Sure that means he’ll want to coach you and you’ll never get kicked off the team for dumb shit, but at the end of the day, everyone knows that given the same amount of years of throwing and training you’d never even come close to what I can achieve. Now keep telling yourself you’re a D1 talent from the bottom of our roster. I digress. He said that he would beat me at discus and my form wasn’t that good blah blah blah. I wasn’t having it that day. At all. I told him, to his face, in front of everyone in our flight that he had no chance of beating me and I’d beat his PR on my first throw. I did. And proceeded to. And he somehow disappeared halfway through discus. And so did his marks for the meet. Funny how that works out. I hope that taught him a valuable lesson about life other than the fact that I didn’t feel like being a good teammate or very sportsmanlike on that day. Chihuahua’s shouldn’t run into a bear’s cave and expect mercy. I didn’t care anymore.

Unnecessary Adversity: Part II

For some odd dumbfuck reason, we had seven am lifting the day after a meet. I wish I knew why, but I prepared like I was going to go to it even though I should’ve been going to the meet the next day at another D1 school. This is an opportunity I missed out on for no specific reason. I woke up at six, twenty-five awaiting my ride because my car was broken down because my life has been going so well and everyone in my house was going to the meet. Wellllllllll I fell back asleep. And stayed asleep. Until eight am. At that point, it wasn’t even worth showing up late to. Showing up two minutes late wasn’t worth it. I’d been getting chewed out and punished for everything recently and I didn’t really want to hear about it or how I’m not trying and how I’d miss more opportunities blah blah blah so I didn’t even bother redundantly texting my coach that I fell asleep again and took my ass back to sleep and when I woke up I continued with my day. Whole day goes by and I get a text from coach. It’s become something I dread. Not because of him as a person, but because of the nature of all of our conversations is either throw like this or you fucked up or I’m saying you fucked up. Well, guess which type of conversation this was? He’s “disappointed” in me “choosing” not to lift and that he’d be removing me from the team. Also sending his best regards to me :^). Fuck that. I’m disappointed that I had to beg you to understand that I missed a midterm when I was with you at nationals. I’m disappointed that you chose to remove me from the team initially and push me as far away as possible because a part-time professor holds more respect with you than me. I’m disappointed that you chose time and time again to disrespect me and not allow me to go to meets that I rightfully earned a spot at, but took people that skipped a week of practice because they had a fucking cold. I missed ONE lift after I just got back on the team and I’m out. Maybe I should’ve called in sick. Take off until conference maybe. Everything that I did for myself, this team, and for you personally was so easy for you to “chose” to quit on. I had every reason in the world to never come back to school, the team, and everything else in the world, but I did. I did every time. Even when it was hard and dumb and I would’ve been better off doing literally anything else. That same level of respect and dedication was not returned to me in the slightest. I didn’t ask for anything and I was still disappointed. I didn’t give up. You gave up on me.

Now it’s late April 2017. I’m broke, no job, failing a class thanks to a part-time professor, off the team, no girlfriend, cars broke down, glasses destroyed, and I’m still kinda fat. I completely regret coming back to school. I’m undeniably worse off than I was a year ago. This confirms my belief that risks are stupid and should never be taken. This also confirms my belief that I’m not cut out for this world. Not taking that risk meant that I’d had to deal with whatever my boss said no matter how stupid or patronizing it was. Taking that risk showed me that I’m still at the mercy of other people. My professor. My coach. Whoever is in charge of something that I hold dear can destroy me if I don’t do everything they say, exactly how they say it, and even then they can just feel like doing it that day. I have to be nice to people that are not nice to me. I cannot be mean to people that are mean to me. Being a kiss ass will get you so much farther than actual talent and hard work. These are terms that I refuse to live on. I refuse to accept the fact that I have to be unhappy or divert from basic self-respect to be successful. I refuse to live in constant fear of having everything I’ve worked for stripped away by those in power. I refuse to live like this. I give up.

This is my donezo manifesto.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.