The kneeling against a Marcy's guest bed. She was doing a safe job, he was not.
The want to turn pro. A pro coach, none of those myths copywriters and art directors made up with race to the bottom desperation of hustling whales with addiction. To serve selflessly and to bring people up.
Yet with a used laptop and phone, with a rogue coach with gibberish off tangents yet telling the truth. It was all that he's got. He decided to take the leap, with a job at a corporate gym. His young training is what he's got. Luck, the size of his physique.
What does that entail? Sacrifice of hours of other activities to fill a certain desire to fill work hours, working entirely freelance and to make sensible racing to the top. To develop a reputation.
He knew what had to be done. To be made. All the things that were to be quit and the sunk costs of the past life were to be done.
Half-Naked, Nervous. The coach knew he was exposed to the fragility of such a world, all those years being a young sprout, and not making a fuss.
This was a fuss, and it was going to make him a new learning opportunity.
He knew what had to be done. To be made. All the things that were to be quit and the sunk costs of the past life were to be done.
Half-Naked, Nervous. The coach knew he was exposed to the fragility of such a world, all those years being a young sprout, and not making a fuss.
This was a fuss, and it was going to make him a new learning opportunity.
The swelling of doubts coming at the edge. Imposter syndrome rearing it's ugly head and making him choke, he had to lean into it.
He persisted.