March mentality...

[Gabriel Ellis]

“To complain is always nonacceptance of what is. It invariably carries an unconscious negative charge. When you complain, you make yourself into a victim. When you speak out, you are in your power. So change the situation by taking action or by speaking out if necessary or possible; leave the situation or accept it. All else is madness.”
-Eckhart Tolle

Wednesday, March 30, 2016 11:18 PM
Gabriel’s residence in Niles Canyon, just outside of Oakland

It’s always been a point of fascination with me when people start to claim that they know the next result. That they can in some way tell their fortunes simply by words without actions. Perhaps what really amazes my mind is when they are proven so vastly wrong, they will never, without fail and without reason, look to themselves as the product necessary to change. If I had to guess, I would say it’s a failing in the human condition. Perhaps parents coddle their children too much. Perhaps it is societal rules that are not enforced as they should be, either by lax or by overzealousness. It could even be that some are simply too stupid to realize their own failings. It’s not really a matter of how it comes, only that it is and too many are tricked into claiming their own superiority with little to nothing to hold up to in the end. Certainly in an ideal world there would be less complaining about personal failures and more action taken to correct these shortcomings.

An ideal world though is not what we live in.

Because in an ideal world I would not be roused from my slumber at the dead of night by anyone save perhaps the rare lost traveler who took a wrong turn in the winding canyon roads. Were it not for the insistent ringing at my doorbell I would of course just guess this to be the case. Fortunately I am attired relatively appropriately for greetings so it is only a matter of shuffling out of my bed and getting to my door. Even in a small 850 square foot house it takes a fair amount of time which I am only too aware of as the persistent ringing continues.

“Yes, yes. I’m coming already.”

The assurance only assuages the person on the other end for a moment. As I reach the door the ringing starts again. What warrants such urgency at this hour? I open the door and in the dim porch light I see the silhouette of a ghost. No, not an actual ghost of course, but a ghost of the past in so many respects. She stands there her 6’2 athletic frame hidden beneath her jacket and her dark hair falling over her shoulders, a stark contrast to the peach skin which in turn makes her eyes seem even darker than their true nature. It’s… She is the image of perfection in many ways, but it’s one I must resist because underneath the perfection is… less than what shows outside.

“I’ve never known you to make last minute calls.”

She simply stares at me in response, a look that has unnerved many men and women that she has faced down. Like me, she is a competitor. A warrior. A veritable machine in her own right. Just as I had trained her to be so long ago. But she plays her own games in a manner so drastically different from others it doesn’t register as just playing around. To most others, what she considers games, they would consider outright torture. It doesn’t rattle me in the least. I simply allow her to enter which she does, her face still blank and unreadable, or it would be if I didn’t know her as well as I do. She passes me and moves to the couch. She extends a hand to it as I finally close the door.

“So the last time I saw you, you very nearly took the life of that girl who went to that convention. And you did so in public no less.”

“There were reasons behind it.”

“I’m sure.”

“If you won’t listen to me-”

“Listen to what, Christine?” I advance on her, but she does not recoil. In fact, she draws herself up. We both know I will not be violent, but we also both know what could happen. “More excuses, yes? What’ll it be this time? You were called out? You were taunted into an attack? She was no threat to you and you knew it. She wasn’t even dressed to defend herself.”

“Perhaps you should have been there to save the day again.”

It’s simply too late for me to care about her dark sarcasm right now. Perhaps, in another time, it would have brought a smile to my face, but now…

“I see you cut your hair.”

Her words cut the momentary silence between us. I simply look at her with the same confusion as when I saw it was her at the door. She is not one for words even in her better moods. She prefers her actions and they are always decisive. Admittedly, her words are equally decisive when she chooses to utilize them. So if she is bringing up such a side comment that is neither meant for insult or compliment then she of course has an ulterior motive for this visit.

“So, was his funeral okay?”

“It was a worthy ceremony for the man.”

“He deserved nothing less.”

“He gave me focus in my life. Boothby trained me to be a fighter.”

I nod slowly. He had trained her to be a fighter, but I had trained her to be the warrior she had become. And she had thrown it away for something I couldn’t comprehend. Perhaps it was our chromosomal differences that made it beyond my understanding, but Boothby also had far more patience for her than I did. Still, it wasn’t wise or fair to simply ignore her pleas. Especially the unspoken one she was making.

“You remember where the blankets are then?”

She nods, running her hand along the couch.

“Gabriel, I’m not going to argue that I made a mistake in attacking her as I did. But I did have a valid reason, at least believe that much.”

I don’t honestly know what to believe from her at this point. Once, in another time, perhaps I would have taken her at her word. Now though, she has done more than I rightly care to admit to. Nothing that was directed at me, but her actions reflected poorly on the training both myself and Boothby had given her. She had to know what it had done to me to see how she had corrupted her training.

“Your words are meaningless to me now, Christine. I will be leaving in the morning for my newest employment. I will need someone to watch the place and as you are already here, I can think of no one more suited.”

One might actually expect tears. Or that she might be fighting back tears. She does not. Her face is still blank, but it is obvious she has much on her mind. I walk off and into my room. Only minutes later I hear the shuffling sounds as she makes herself comfortable on the couch outside. With my large frame of a body, it is of course necessary to have equally large furniture. I know she will be more than comfortable out there. It is difficult for me to deny a small pang of guilt and regret as I close my eyes once again, allowing sleep to overtake me.

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Thursday, March 30, 2016 5:53PM
A gym in Las Vegas

Even with Christine’s late night interruption, I find myself still ever focused on the task I have at hand. My upcoming match, a five way elimination match, is sure to be one of the toughest in my career. More than just being a match, it is the debut show of the Valentine Wrestling Society. And many of these competitors are new in their own right. So they will have a strong desire to prove themselves in the ring. That’s good because they will all need to bring as much of their ability as they can. And they are not the only ones.

Facing four other competitors is daunting even for someone of my ability and stature. Not a mountain too high obviously, but still an awesome feat. A necessity, though, on everyone’s part to get the win, but only one person can do that. And today, after travelling and checking into the hotel room, I had to get a workout in. You can probably imagine the stares I get just walking into the place. First, it’s only all too obvious I keep up my workout regimen frequently and intensely. Second, being a man of large stature it’s difficult not to notice as I walk in. Fortunately, the staff at the gym are quite amenable to my situation. The personal trainer they assign to me had apparently worked with wrestlers many times in the past. In many ways, he reminded me of Boothby, relatively elderly, but still youthful in energy and presence. As he spotted me while I pressed weights, he decides to engage me in some casual conversation.

“So you’re gonna be one of the guys at that event tomorrow.”

“Yes. And I intend to win and so on and so forth.”

“Yea, not like there’s a reason to say you’re going to lose.”

“Exactly. That would be rather counter-productive.”

“By the way, what’s your lifting limit?”

“600.”

The trainer nods. Given my physique it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibilities. I will not be winning any of those world’s strongest men competitions, but physical strength only takes someone so far. It is limited. This is the lesson I tried to teach Christine, but one she never took to heart. I don’t know why she insists on her physical prowess over other things, but I’ve learned to not inquire about her reasonings in that regard.

I finish the current set and sit up. The trainer walks up beside me as I untape my hands. The amount on my mind is showing through. More than Christine is the match itself.

“So this match you’re in?”

“Five way elimination.”

“That’s gotta be rough.”

“It’s one of the most taxing matches in almost every way. It can be difficult to outlast one opponent, but to outlast four is as grueling as it gets. And not just outlasting them for one fall, but to outlast to be the last man standing. It’s no better than a melee. And the rules are few and far between. Everything about this match should technically work in my favor, but that would be assuming a lot. And I know next to nothing about these guys.”

“Well, if anyone can pull through, you sure look like you could.”

I offer a light-hearted grin as a show of thanks. I rise and move on to the other activities. But nothing is resolved. That’s fine. Resolution comes through conflict. That’s exactly what will happen at the show.

“Madness is tonic and invigorating. It makes the sane more sane. The only ones who are unable to profit by it are the insane.”
-Henry Miller

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Mental limits only exist in people who think they have them. The mind has no limits though. And whatever one can set their mind to, they will accomplish, however long and grueling that journey may be. And it has to begin somewhere.

Mine begins at March Madness.

And the first step in that journey is to defeat four other men in an elimination-style match. Elimination is very appropriate in many ways. Quite literally, everyone who gets eliminated will have their own paths off to a rocky start. Especially those who will be first or second eliminated. It doesn’t say much if they cannot last at least halfway through such a match. What would happen when more is demanded of them? Because it will be. Grueling or not, few rules or many, it doesn’t make a difference. It’s how they will adapt to each situation that shows what they can be. And those who cannot will not be making it very far. Still, it would be unwise to simply discount all of them. For the most part they have struggled to make their ways to this place so they clearly have something to offer in some regard.

One thing it seems most of us in this match have implied to agree on is this is a chance to form bonds of sorts. This step will show if some of us can work well together. I’m not above such things even if I don’t care for them. But that will come in its own time. For now, the only thing that matters is the match as it is laid out. And, has been only so vividly established, there are four in this match that I will need to overcome.

Landen Dalmon

Brat is an apt name for him indeed. All he has in the world is money. In his world, money is king. It makes the world revolve around him as far as he is concerned. And, naturally, it has given him the complex that he can buy his way into, or out of, any situation. Perhaps he will buy some security for this match. Heh. He’s going to need it desperately. This is not a man by any definition. This is a boy who’s still clinging to a teat. The teat of wealth that gives only the delusion of greatness. As of now, he might be popular and get into clubs as a VIP and have girls wrapped on both arms, but take away that wealth and he will soon find none of that comes ever again. He’s built himself on this pillar of sand and you are probably aware of what happened in the story of a house built on sand. There is a storm coming and it’s one Landon’s money will help him in weathering.

Johnny Gillmen

I’ve known many men like Johnny. Driven, dynamic, unafraid of the risks, yet knowing full well that they are disadvantaged. This is good. It means he is not overestimating his ability, but it makes me wonder if he is perhaps underestimating himself. That is dangerous. To give anything less than you are capable of is a sure way to lose, maybe not the match, but respect for yourself. In my opinion, Johnny has yet to really test himself. Yes he has accolades. Yes he has achieved much, but that means little when you are facing individuals you have never met before. And that seems to be his biggest Achilles’ heel. More so than his size or his half-blindness, he has his dreams, but they cover for his self-doubt. Remember, mental limits only exist because you put them there. And he has put up some of the biggest I have seen. To beat me, he will need to shatter them. If he survives to do it.

Avery Miles

Excuse me, Avery Miles the Third. Seems a proud lineage here to identify himself in such a manner. I cannot fault that. So long as he is not relying on a name to carry him through. I doubt it, but I am no mind reader. What I am, though, is a fighter. And not just any kind of fighter, but one who sees in my opponent, or opponents in this case, what they don’t always see in themselves. And what I see in Avery is something I have not seen in anyone in a long time. A love for the business. No, a passion that rivals the most dedicated. The problem with this kind of passion, it is distracting. It pulls away from enjoying the work one does in the ring. Enjoying is not just about the passion you have, but the sport in and of itself. If he cannot get that feeling, that absolute rush that comes just from landing each move, he will never truly succeed, much less honor the legacy he carries.

Duke Andrews

An enigma wrapped in questions that call themselves the Epitome of Perfection. Another delusion, perfection. One which Duke would be wise to rid himself of if he ever has thoughts to be anything more. To truly be an epitome of anything, one must actually achieve whatever that thing is. In his case, Duke’s “perfection” is little more than a fallacy created by his own mind and perpetuated by an ego. I don’t say these things out of spite or hatred. I don’t know him well enough to claim those things. I can say one thing: for everything he protests to be, one thing he is not is above anyone else. No one is above anyone else in this match. If Duke Andrews wants to go anywhere, especially to any kind of “epitome”, he will need to start here. Against all of us. And perfection can still be ruined.

And there you have it. Four other men and myself looking to start out in the Valentine Wrestling Society. March Madness is indeed upon us. Who will it claim first?