Chapter 4 : Training
It was yet early in the morning, and the sky was all deep blue when Raghav jerks to the wake. No alarm, no mom nagging.
He is 42 and his body is as young as a child. Next minute he is holding on to the burden of mortgages and lonely nights and then it breaks to this new burst of focus. He's got a mission.
He gets out of bed like a pro, unobtrusive and smooth. The floor is cool to bare feet. He can hear his parents breathing gentle rhythmic in his neighboring room.
He picks up a pair of old shorts and a worn tee-shirt--his home-made stuff.
He is shoelacing his battered canvas shoes and glances at the interface that is floating slightly before his eyes.
[Mission: Foundation of a Champion].
[Day 1/7]
[Task 1: 1 kilometer (Incomplete) running.]
[Task 2: 20 push-ups (Incomplete)]
[Task 3: 30 sit-ups (Incomplete)]
The objectives appear simple on the screen words and figures.
However, Raghav is aware of the fact: having a stamina of 15 points, it is his baseline.
'I now feel like I am climbing the Everest mountain one by one.'
He gets out, and the main door iron latch is groaning.
The coolness of the air of morning and with its smell of damp earth and jasmine flower. The shadows cast by streetlights are long and lonely.
The city is still asleep and a giant is asleep in his body. This is his moment to awake that Gaint that is sleeping ,his secret.
( The Gaint is referring to his old self )
He is going to the local municipal park a small green square with a dusty track surrounding it.
'The way is approximately 500 meters, two circuits. That's the plan.'
He begins by slow jogging without using up much of his energy. The adult aspect of him understands pacing, understands the trick of not going too fast.
Yet the 12 year old lungs are not ready. His chest gives a complete protest within a hundred meters. A Deep gasp with every breath a cry of need more air. A sharp stitch hits his side.
He narrows his teeth, and imagines that disillusioned 42-year-old self. Nothing, says he to himself, a cruel formula. This is what I am paying to have a better future.
He continues running, his jogging becoming a pitiable stumble. And even the half point of the first lap is a marathon finish line.
His legs are lead, his tee already wet. The world becomes a sickening funnel of agony and hard work. He wants to quit.
All the broken fibers cry to surrender, to stride, to simply lie on the grass.
A pop up alert comes up on the screen, and the words are blue ridiculing his pain.
[Stamina decreasing at an alarming rate, they said. Current Stamina: 8/15]
He burnt over fifty per cent of his stores in a single circuit. But he can't stop.
The rules of the mission are quite understandable: no ceasing. If he stops, he fails. If he fails, progress resets. The idea of repeating this suffering is worse than the sufferings.
He starts the second lap. It's a battle of pure will. It is his body that has given in; it is his brain, that obstinate man who has lived and lost that is driving him on.
He recalls the expression of his dad not of anger but of tired resignation as though his dreams were another burden his son had. He remembers the dark quiet of his 2035 apartment, stale pizza and remorse.
Those memories fuel him. He focuses on the pass of a far lamp post right at the beginning and covers out all the rest.
Suffering, scalding lungs, the rubbery weak legs- they fade to a grey background music.
One action--then another--then another.
He passes the imaginary finish line and falls upon the grass, shaking, his chest on fire. He is lying there and it seems like forever, gasping, the world turning.
Then, a little later, there comes a report, as of a choir in his tired head.
[Task 1: Run 1 kilometer (Complete)]
[A little experience is granted to Stamina.]
He did it. This is the worst kilometer of his two lives.
He picks himself up slowly and painfully. The mission's not over. He goes to an isolated place under a large banyan tree and falls on the ground to perform the push-ups.
His legs are too feeble, fidgeting beneath him. He draws four till his body collapses, breast to the ground.
He takes a minute, screaming with his arms, then he can get three. It's a pathetic show. He needs to do them in batches of four, three, three, two, and then six tormenting push-ups alone, each a massive struggle, until he reaches twenty.
[Task 2: 20 push-ups (Complete)]
[Strength has been granted a little experience.]
The sit-ups were equally painful. His abdominal muscles were practically non-existent and he was obliged to fasten his legs beneath a low root of the banyan in order to make the initial few.
Every sit-up was a spasmodic, stilted movement that caused him pain in his stomach. But he completed them, and his body was an entire symphony of pains.
[Task 3: 30 sit-ups (Complete)]
[Finished daily routine of the Foundation of a Champion. Progress: Day 1/7.]
[Return to-morrow and resume the mission.]
Raghav was lying on his back with all his muscles trembling with fatigue. The sunrise was putting the clouds in pink and gold strokes. He had never been so shattered, and so completely whole.
Going home was like a stealth and torture; each movement was a new torture.
He crept into the house and bathed as his mother commenced her morning prayers. He sat with a stiffness at the breakfast table attempting to conceal his feelings.
"Is everything okay, Raghav? "his mother enquired, her shrewd eyes not missing.
"You look pale."
"Tired, Ma, tired," he mumbled, and pushed down a paratha that was as cardboard-like.
School day was one kind of torture.
He had a soreness that was deep and lingering. The hard wooden bench was a punishment on its own. His handwriting was shaky.
But with the mist of physical suffering his intellect was clearer than ever. He was aware that he would have to fulfill his promise that he had never said to his father.
He never doodled in the back of his notebook in mathematics class, which was a subject he had never excelled at. He listened.
The oldest half of himself comprehended the logic of algebra as the 12 year old never did.
He perceived the patterns, the composition. Raghav also lifted his hand when the teacher asked a tricky question which the class was unable to answer, and he responded with the answer in his mind. He talked, his description clear and brief.
All the rest of the classroom and the teacher gazed at him in amazed silence.
The remainder of the day was in the same manner. He was active and attentive, taking in information not because he was compelled to do so, but because he now knew the value of it. This, also, was a part of the training--a good mind in a good body.
At the conclusion of school, Abhinav was there holding a tennis ball. "Ready for a match? I have a new delivery gimmick to demonstrate to you.
Raghav, who would have leaped at the opportunity shook his head.
"Can't today, Abhi. Lots of homework."
Abhinav gazed perplexedly at him. "Homework? You? Are you sick?"
Just need to concentrate, Raghav said, and his sore body made a decision.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
Homecoming was on one leg and the bewildered expression of his best friend weighed on him slightly. It was another cost he was not yet able to share.
At night, he would eventually get into bed after straining to write school assignments and eat a meal where he felt like he was being forced to eat each bite.
His body was a concert of agony, and the soul was calm and determined. He brought up the system interface one more time.
[Ralph: Foundation of a Champion. Progress: Day 1/7 Complete.]
It was a big line on a burning blue screen, or at least it seemed to Raghav like a medal of honor. He had lived the first day, made the first, the most painful step.
He shut his eyes; the profound, dreamless rest of utter fatigue overcame him in a moment. He had six more days to go.
(To be Continue)