Hell or high water

Talking to the kids on the mat. I learned Corporal's calendar for the 2004 wrestling season. It looks long, but I can barely understand these things. Our region's associations will play among themselves in regional tournaments. From these tournaments there will be athletes going for the State Tournament this year.
"At the end of the year?"
"Yep", said Morales, "when everyone is on vacation. It's a three-day event."
"What do you expect for the season?"
The kids exchanged looks. Panotti said the season would be tougher than ever. Figueira said it would be a good season for learning. I told him he could aim farther still, learning and with the practice of all he would learn. When he could fight the good fight. A fight against himself and his self-denial.
"Something like your teammates, without boasting or denying what you are really worth."
Figueira was silent, weighing my words. Zangrandi said he'd go to the meets and tournaments with a chill in the stomach, but said it was for the thrill of it all.
"But it happens to every one of us", said Morales, "Figueira says it's fear sometimes, but it's not, it's the sheer thrill of it; the closer you come to the mat, the faster your heart beats."
"Of course no one imagines he's going to do so well, nor expects very much, but fear is something we've never had among us, Miss Grisam", hurried Galhardo.
"When it comes to will, I count on everyone. We aren't moving from the fight, I rely on all of us.", agreed Panotti. I was looking at that as a colective defense of cause happening in front of me and a glimpse hit me of how an embryo of colective pride started forming, as shy as undeniable in what they intended to call a team. And, for a moment, I could smile, even if the kids didn't understand the reason why and even though I didn't believe their newly found profession of faith. I kept the moment with me, because I knew pretty soon I was going to need it. This moment, though remote in the vastness everything in life is, is personal, untransferable, it's only ours and might well be the beginning of our preparation for anything, come hell or high water.

The Column | Eat my boots

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