Post by emmanuelle on May 27, 2023 7:37:03 GMT
Alexandria, Louisiana
Global Fitness Center
Emmy had a harder time finding the place than she thought she would. Alexandria was a small town by her standard, a population of only around 40,000 or so, but the traffic was a pain. It was also a pain to walk into a gym where she had never been before and see some of the leering eyes watching her. Besides that, she was still resentful at another party that Carlos’s school in his native Baton Rouge was temporarily closed, but those were family matters that had no place for her to interject her opinion. After Carlos’s sister assumed control of all of their family's assets, she went about making his life a living hell in private. Even so, the imposing former world champion took it upon himself to continue to train his small but loyal class of students.
In fact, that’s where she saw him. He was busy in an MMA cage in the gym, going over some armbar transitions with a promising young student. She didn’t say a word as he went through the lesson, stretching the poor young man and countering his offense with merciless holds. Once he was finished with training and sent his prospect to the locker room, he finally came face to face with his former star pupil.
For a few moments there were no words exchanged. Honestly, there wasn’t a need for them. Carlos could see everything on her face. The confusion of having lost matches she thought she would win. The rage of feeling disrespected and undervalued. The pride of knowing what kind of wrestler she was and could be. The hesitancy to ask for help when it came to figuring things out. She was carrying that same powder-blue UCLA duffel bag that she had brought with her nearly four years ago to his gym.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“I need help.”
“I know. If you’re coming here of all places, there must be a reason and we both know why. There’s no need to explain it to me. I’ve seen it on your face on television and I can read your body language now. This is a new training facility but you know you always have a place anywhere we go.”
With that, she went to go suit up. She remembered the rules well: all black attire, regardless of how hot it was. No phones. No jewelry. No food. No drinks but water. No bullshit, only the bare essentials. The first hour or so there was no wrestling training whatsoever, just brutal exercises. Running drills, Hindu squats, “mountain climbers”, anything that the old bastard could think of to push her. There was no let up, no time for rest.
“You remember the rules don’t you? *My* rules? Rule #1: Don’t complain. I don’t care what your problems are. When you come here, you go back to square one. There’s no privilege, no prestige. No resume. Here, in this place, you are just another grunt working your way back up. You clean up after yourself. You accept coaching and criticism. You help those around you not because you’re told to, but because you feel the obligation to help them grow. Is my training too hard? You think I’m too mean when I criticize you, Emmy?”
She was too out of breath to offer much of an answer. She thought she trained hard. THOUGHT. But just two hours back in the unrelenting hands of her mentor, she realized just how much she had been slacking off, just how much she needed to grow again.
“Tough shit.”
Carlos was a little surprised to see her response. She didn’t give him the usual backtalk that she did when he first trained her. Just a coy little smirk. She knew what was coming next. Sparring with her trainer was tough even with a full tank. As tired as she was then? Nearly suicidal. Suplexes, submission holds, incredibly stiff strikes. He was going to see how much she was willing to take…and she would prove she could take everything and then some. She was proving all over again that she belonged.
“Don’t come here and say, ‘Carlos, I had a tag team match with a partner I don’t know and we lost.’ ‘Carlos, I’m under a lot of stress trying to help train a tag team.’, ‘Carlos, my schedule as a champion elsewhere is making it harder to focus on business in another place.’ YOU made these choices. YOU signed the contract to compete. YOU took all this work on your shoulders. You know you’re strong enough to do it, so no fucking whining.”
It was like he was in her head without her even saying anything. That was how in sync he was with his protege: he already knew what excuses he would give before she even bothered to make them.
“Do you remember the second rule? ‘Perfection is MANDATORY.’ There’s no room for mistakes here. You fuck up a move, you run. You get lazy during one of my drills, you run. You didn’t come here to keep up with your same sloppy-ass habits. You came to drop them. And you ARE going to drop them…or I will drop YOU. Your talent has never been a question. I’ve told you that from the beginning.”
This was what she needed.
“You know what I questioned? Your desire. Your intentions. I didn’t think you were serious enough. I didn’t think you were tough enough back then. And you proved me wrong, didn’t you?”
This was where she needed to be.
“Do it again. I know all about failure. There were times in my career where I didn't believe, where I had to go back to basics and build myself up. That’s what you have to do now. I know you. I KNOW that you’re seething that you’re on the pre-show instead of the main card. You want more for yourself. Go get what you deserve then! You have a chance to make a statement to the entire world that you didn’t sign an IWF contract to collect a few paychecks and move on when you get bored.”
This was HOME.
Louisiana springs and summers are not fun. It’s hot, it’s humid, and there’s not much to do but eat, drink or train. But I think that I needed to go back to where this whole wrestling thing started.
Losing the two matches that I have, there’s no excuses to be made. In the tag match, I wasn’t good enough to help my partner win and in the match with Sorcha Wynne I wasn’t good enough. Because of that, I’ve fallen behind in my mission to help this place grow. I’ve fallen off to the point that I’m going to be in this preshow three way with a lady by the name of Alexandra Calaway and some little shit named Adi Gold. Now, I’ve not even had a conversation with Adi, but I’ve seen her work on SPLAT TV and I have to say that I’m not a big fan of her acting. I mean, she reminds me just a little bit of the kind of douchebag rich kids who think they can be great actors but have the acting ability of an untrained dog pissing on someone’s furniture.
As for Alexandra, this is the kind of match that I’ve been hoping for and that I desperately needed. I need someone who is good enough to push me. Good enough to make me want to get better. I see that you’ve put together an impressive career. Titles, a loyal fanbase, a reputation for toughness that you don’t get for just showing up and rolling on the mat for ten minutes.
You’re a killer.
Guess what, sweetheart, so am I?
There’s no secret that I’ve been in a little slump lately. Maybe it’s been trying to deal with situations elsewhere. Maybe I’ve had a couple of off nights and haven’t been living up to my abilities. Maybe I’ve been coasting a little off my success.
Here’s one thing that you both need to understand for certain: I’m coming for both your heads. I’m not in a good mood, ladies. Losing pisses me off plenty enough but coming down here to this damned sauna of backwater state to train for the past few days makes both of you very acceptable targets to take my frustrations out on.
The plans that you both have? Not my business. The aspirations you have? They’re about to blow up in smoke. Why? Because it’s time for me to get back on track, back to the forefront of this Women’s Division here, and back in the big time. It’s time for me to remind everyone, just in case they happen to have forgotten, that no matter how much GOLD you have lying around in your travel bag or in your family, you do NOT measure up anything close to the Platinum Standard.
Nothing personal ladies, but I need this.
Global Fitness Center
In fact, that’s where she saw him. He was busy in an MMA cage in the gym, going over some armbar transitions with a promising young student. She didn’t say a word as he went through the lesson, stretching the poor young man and countering his offense with merciless holds. Once he was finished with training and sent his prospect to the locker room, he finally came face to face with his former star pupil.
For a few moments there were no words exchanged. Honestly, there wasn’t a need for them. Carlos could see everything on her face. The confusion of having lost matches she thought she would win. The rage of feeling disrespected and undervalued. The pride of knowing what kind of wrestler she was and could be. The hesitancy to ask for help when it came to figuring things out. She was carrying that same powder-blue UCLA duffel bag that she had brought with her nearly four years ago to his gym.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“I need help.”
“I know. If you’re coming here of all places, there must be a reason and we both know why. There’s no need to explain it to me. I’ve seen it on your face on television and I can read your body language now. This is a new training facility but you know you always have a place anywhere we go.”
With that, she went to go suit up. She remembered the rules well: all black attire, regardless of how hot it was. No phones. No jewelry. No food. No drinks but water. No bullshit, only the bare essentials. The first hour or so there was no wrestling training whatsoever, just brutal exercises. Running drills, Hindu squats, “mountain climbers”, anything that the old bastard could think of to push her. There was no let up, no time for rest.
“You remember the rules don’t you? *My* rules? Rule #1: Don’t complain. I don’t care what your problems are. When you come here, you go back to square one. There’s no privilege, no prestige. No resume. Here, in this place, you are just another grunt working your way back up. You clean up after yourself. You accept coaching and criticism. You help those around you not because you’re told to, but because you feel the obligation to help them grow. Is my training too hard? You think I’m too mean when I criticize you, Emmy?”
She was too out of breath to offer much of an answer. She thought she trained hard. THOUGHT. But just two hours back in the unrelenting hands of her mentor, she realized just how much she had been slacking off, just how much she needed to grow again.
“Tough shit.”
Carlos was a little surprised to see her response. She didn’t give him the usual backtalk that she did when he first trained her. Just a coy little smirk. She knew what was coming next. Sparring with her trainer was tough even with a full tank. As tired as she was then? Nearly suicidal. Suplexes, submission holds, incredibly stiff strikes. He was going to see how much she was willing to take…and she would prove she could take everything and then some. She was proving all over again that she belonged.
“Don’t come here and say, ‘Carlos, I had a tag team match with a partner I don’t know and we lost.’ ‘Carlos, I’m under a lot of stress trying to help train a tag team.’, ‘Carlos, my schedule as a champion elsewhere is making it harder to focus on business in another place.’ YOU made these choices. YOU signed the contract to compete. YOU took all this work on your shoulders. You know you’re strong enough to do it, so no fucking whining.”
It was like he was in her head without her even saying anything. That was how in sync he was with his protege: he already knew what excuses he would give before she even bothered to make them.
“Do you remember the second rule? ‘Perfection is MANDATORY.’ There’s no room for mistakes here. You fuck up a move, you run. You get lazy during one of my drills, you run. You didn’t come here to keep up with your same sloppy-ass habits. You came to drop them. And you ARE going to drop them…or I will drop YOU. Your talent has never been a question. I’ve told you that from the beginning.”
This was what she needed.
“You know what I questioned? Your desire. Your intentions. I didn’t think you were serious enough. I didn’t think you were tough enough back then. And you proved me wrong, didn’t you?”
This was where she needed to be.
“Do it again. I know all about failure. There were times in my career where I didn't believe, where I had to go back to basics and build myself up. That’s what you have to do now. I know you. I KNOW that you’re seething that you’re on the pre-show instead of the main card. You want more for yourself. Go get what you deserve then! You have a chance to make a statement to the entire world that you didn’t sign an IWF contract to collect a few paychecks and move on when you get bored.”
This was HOME.
Louisiana springs and summers are not fun. It’s hot, it’s humid, and there’s not much to do but eat, drink or train. But I think that I needed to go back to where this whole wrestling thing started.
Losing the two matches that I have, there’s no excuses to be made. In the tag match, I wasn’t good enough to help my partner win and in the match with Sorcha Wynne I wasn’t good enough. Because of that, I’ve fallen behind in my mission to help this place grow. I’ve fallen off to the point that I’m going to be in this preshow three way with a lady by the name of Alexandra Calaway and some little shit named Adi Gold. Now, I’ve not even had a conversation with Adi, but I’ve seen her work on SPLAT TV and I have to say that I’m not a big fan of her acting. I mean, she reminds me just a little bit of the kind of douchebag rich kids who think they can be great actors but have the acting ability of an untrained dog pissing on someone’s furniture.
As for Alexandra, this is the kind of match that I’ve been hoping for and that I desperately needed. I need someone who is good enough to push me. Good enough to make me want to get better. I see that you’ve put together an impressive career. Titles, a loyal fanbase, a reputation for toughness that you don’t get for just showing up and rolling on the mat for ten minutes.
You’re a killer.
Guess what, sweetheart, so am I?
There’s no secret that I’ve been in a little slump lately. Maybe it’s been trying to deal with situations elsewhere. Maybe I’ve had a couple of off nights and haven’t been living up to my abilities. Maybe I’ve been coasting a little off my success.
Here’s one thing that you both need to understand for certain: I’m coming for both your heads. I’m not in a good mood, ladies. Losing pisses me off plenty enough but coming down here to this damned sauna of backwater state to train for the past few days makes both of you very acceptable targets to take my frustrations out on.
The plans that you both have? Not my business. The aspirations you have? They’re about to blow up in smoke. Why? Because it’s time for me to get back on track, back to the forefront of this Women’s Division here, and back in the big time. It’s time for me to remind everyone, just in case they happen to have forgotten, that no matter how much GOLD you have lying around in your travel bag or in your family, you do NOT measure up anything close to the Platinum Standard.
Nothing personal ladies, but I need this.