I know my job. Win the medals, be happy. Make everyone proud that I'm not wasting my supposed talent.
So I think on that as I throw punches at the punchbag which swings around like some bizarre children's monster.
Just me in the gym- the school lets me work out on my own, so that I don't get distracted from the other boys who are eager and competent but have no talent.
Occasionally one of the PE teachers will come in and cheer encouragement or tactfully suggest improvement, but I asked them not to do that and they rarely come in now. Their nurturing sounds so ridiculous and highlights the fact that they mourn the sport successes of their childhood and as adults, wonder how they ended up here.
Focus. My punches were weak and inaccurate: I could feel that I was hitting the punchbag wrong. My knuckles felt weak and throbbed pathetically. Toughen up- don't let life get to you. Machine!
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