You’re being lead to it. He’s pushing you towards it, trying to make you sit down. That’s when your body begins to resist. That’s when you understand.
You didn’t think it was over. You thought you might go down, but not out. After 2 months of work, 20 hours a week, and 22 pounds cut; you’re not ready to sit this one out.
He’s made his judgment already though and there’s no turning back now. Still you’re refusing the stool.
Where was the count? Where was the chance to prove to yourself that you have what it takes. Prove that you can stand back up from being knocked down.
You’re questioning his right to make the judgement? Who is he to be pushing you in the direction you’re not ready to go. Who is he to be trying to make you sit.
He can’t make you sit though.
That’s when leaning with your hands on the ropes you see the people who matter the most to you. The person who matters the most. They look as confused as you feel. It’s too much for your pride to hold their stare.
What pride is left though after those short 37 seconds?
This wasn’t the way it was supposed to begin. 1–1, with a 0 in front of that. As in zero wins, one loss, one draw right at the start.
This is your moment. No one said it would be a good one. This is you at what feels like your lowest, as a loser, the loser.
Then you’re finally sitting. Not on the stool, but outside unshowered in the alley…
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