One man stands ready on the center of the arena, he is alone with his thoughts and his thoughts rage. His muscles bulge and ripple with barely contained power. Will they carry the day for him? Will he bask in the adulation of the crowd and claim the purse for one more day or will he be carried broken and possibly dead from the field of honor?
He has trained hard for this moment with long hours in the gym, intense mental focus spent honing his techniques, and yes some very harsh hormone treatment allowing him to eclipse the normal limitations of his genetics. So far it has been worth it. His career successes have taken him from the abyss of abject normalcy to the very heights of stardom. His mother would have been proud had she lived to see this day. Who would have thought it? He had money, recognition, nice new houses and cars for his brothers and sisters (some of them were even going to college!). He hoped his faceless father was watching this match from some shithole trailer. Fuck you Dad. He’d done all right by his reckoning and if the price of this success was putting his body on the line for the fans of this brutal sport then so be it. He had what he wanted and he gave them what they wanted.
Fuck the fat critics on their comfy chair who bitched about his records not being real. What do they know? They certainly never hoisted 1500 lbs onto their shoulders for a squat set that left them gasping for air, head swimming, and spot dancing on the verge of blackout as the sheer mass of working leg muscle landed them so deep into oxygen debt that they wondered if this was the end. They never trained through the incredible pain of a reattached quadriceps that snapped like a bunji cord during a contest after that same squat routine had strengthened it beyond the capacity of his muscle attachments. When was the last time they had faced an opponent whose success depended on their own annihilation? Never that’s when.
Sure there were a few of them who had competed long ago when the sport depended on science and quackery in equal measure. Was it his fault that he was able to use science to push his performance higher than they could have dreamt? Should he not use free weights and supplements just because they didn’t know how to optimize their own training 5 years ago? That was stupid. The sport was about progress and excitement. It was about pushing yourself beyond your limits and far beyond the limits the fans could even dream of reaching.
As his opponent strides towards him from the lockers a fan stands out in the champions vision; wearing his colors and waving his standard above his head. Their eyes lock and for a moment the champion has his world affirmed once again. This was why he did it, this was why he trained and pumped, this was the goal. He loved the game, the fans loved the game, and he loved to play t for them. Maybe today he would shatter that next seemingly unreachable goal. Maybe today he would push the limits one iota farther than anyone ever thought possible. Maybe today…
