London 2012

pluck the strings of my heart. I guess.

I'm just watching the rippling muscles and the agonizingly effusive howls and screeches of victory and the burning tears of defeat. World class.

When I watched the Beijing Olympics in 2008, I wanted to be part of the fanatical cries and bitter pain. I wanted someone to kill my body over and over until I became stronger than attractiveness allows. That was my secret dream, to compete for team that I love passionately in thousands of falls and hundreds of scars, losing for years until the great win, wrung out in exhaustion in a heap on the floor, sweat rushing from every pore into my eyes and onto the ground.

I gotta say, for the past two years, I haven't proved that much of myself. I was born to be a student. Bottom heavy torso, zero athletic talent, a shy teammate, and a really good sense for focus. I read books. I didn't think of my body as anything but a vessel to keep me alive so I can study.

Now I hate that life. I hate sitting in one place. I hate reading textbooks and taking notes. I hate that I have to stay in a lump called AP US History and AP Language and Composition, two ridiculous and useless classes that will teach me nothing but to hate it more (its actually not that bad... but I'm in a passionate mood right now). I hate the softness that I could feel in my legs and the easy flabbering of my arms. I hate the mindlessness and passiveness of SATs (I had to mention them somewhere...) and computer programming and the overrated security of desk jobs. I'm sick of doing things so I can money to live comfortably. Who the flip wants to live comfortably? I have very, very high doubts that God wants me to live in a $650,000 house with 4 bathrooms and a kitchen made of stainless steel. Look at the last tab in this blog... money is so superficial. I don't care if it will buy me bubble tea and a pass to the gym every day. I don't care if it will significantly reduce my stress when I'm doing taxes or something else about which America freaks out so selfishly. Dat healthcare. 

All I want to do is run and run on my sore legs and sweat on the dirty green floors of Midwest. My physical patience has been cut short this summer. Even if I happened to like a boy (le gasp...), I wouldn't stay to talk. I can barely stay to talk to my friends on my verge to run for the second time that day. I feel obsessed with the perpetual soreness in my quads and the clench of my knees in every step I lunge. The individual muscles in my forearm are starting to become prominent in hard light and my body is thickening in a way that isn't fat. There's a point where people workout so much that the opposite of supposed effects occur in sleep: sleep quality gets worse. It's worse. I sleep 6 hours a day so I have time to LoL (okay bad excuse) and run and bike and play. They say to exercise for 4% of your day. That's one hour. Screw that. I'm hooked on at least two and approaching four to five. 

Something might be very wrong. I've lost my focus for math, even the challenging problems that I used to love and kind of cherish because of the very limited access I had to them. Because I wasn't good enough, you know. I'm not a fast runner (working on it) and I'm heck to the no not a very good badminton player. I still play stupid shots and drop war until the point is lost. I still smash like a girl (a decent one, but still not manlike yet) and get nervous and angry at the wrong times. Sometimes I fall and throw my racket up too high and drop it like a fool. Sometimes, when I run, I walk because I'm tired and I hate myself. It happens.

You probably don't think I'm that good. From what you've seen, I'm very much a foolish girl with too big dreams and the biggest and most failing try hard ever. If you're one person, you saw a match that I won 21-19 when I should have won 21-0. You saw me barely cut a first place in 5th singles and bleed unnecessarily all over a court on which too many girls were too disgusted to play. If for some reason some guy who may know me stumbles upon this post, you REALLY think I'm an idiot because you have 9 times my testerone and at least three times my muscle mass. One of you owned me in a badminton match (I'm ashamed) and many of you have watched me flail like a worm who's never seen sunlight with a pulled buttocks (right). I had straight legs in the summit of losing the power I spent two months to build and really, my shots were out of wack. I played like a girl. Okay. I sucked. Thank you boys. 

I hate that everyone sees me this way because what I want to be is so far from that image. Its not like my eyes are set on the Olympics or world championships. Heck no. Nationals are the biggest competition at stake right now, and that's still junior nationals, and that only comes after state, which is really already a big dream that everyone will stick their noses up at me for dreaming of. This junior girl who talks too much about running and stomps too much in anger wants to go to state and place top 4. Lolz. 

It might not happen. But it could. You can feel my legs if you want (actally that's weird. If you do, don't say that I blogged about this and told you to, because that makes me look bad). I know and my club knows that my potential is exploding. In your eyes I will be a try hard girl again and again, and this year, I still be that for months and months and months. But I'm not even trying to prove people wrong. If this too-big dream were to happen, I wouldn't scream I told you so. I would probably scream something like GOD IS SO GOOD HE'S SO GOOD HE'S SO GOOD TO ME. OH GOD IS ABLE and then do some fist pumps and bear hug Coach and Stephanie and Ailynna and just fall. I got a try-hard label for a reason... I try hard. I'm not going to give up because my coach will beat me if I do and because he ordered us team shirts that  cost $25. Trust me. I'm not spending very literally 10% of my life just so I can prove some cocky faces wrong.

We're the best team ever. We're going to dominate. Watch for us. 

The funny thing would be if we got pitted against each other because we have really bad seeds.
Then we would smash drill and the winner will still go on to own in the finals. I know it.

Big dreams.