Post by Donnie Harris on Apr 20, 2024 0:43:05 GMT -5
-Working out: it’s the only thing that gave Donnie some of his motivation, much of his purpose. It drove him to be the very best, like no one ever was.
However, with all the time he spent working on his body, he knew that his mind suffered. Never was it more obvious facing SYNN at the last Danger. They fought, and they fought hard. It felt like when he ran into the wall that was BRADDOCK. But something different happened in facing SYNN: a draw.
Fighters usually only know three constants: win, lose or no contest. A proper draw is a foregone conclusion and very rare. There’s so much pressure for performing properly and at peak condition, but Donnie hit another wall. The only difference this time? The wall fell with him. Their arms draped over each other in a futile pinfall attempt, the timer zeroed, and there would be no victory. Tied at one fall apiece, Donnie and SYNN laid each other out.
Donnie was already in Cleveland, at the gym, shutting everything out around him, focusing on the heavy bag, delivering barrage after barrage of punishing combinations, circling the bag to divide his sets. His skin had rivulets of sweat running down his body as he continued to deliver his five- to seven-strike combinations to the bag.
However, as he did this, Donnie’s eyes reddened, sinking a bit into his head as his eyes became misty. Donnie kept the pace up, slowing slightly between strikes as the fatigue started to set in, but, even as he continued to punish his body with the overexerting cardio workout, his knees gave out, Donnie collapsing to his knees against the heavy bag, his fists, contained in weighted boxing gloves, breaking his fall as good as they could. The warrior’s throat burned with the restraint against the sobs that wished to erupt from him, pure despair and frustration wreathing his mind like that crown of thorns everyone loved to talk about. The draw might as well have been a loss. Donnie could barely hold back the tide of emotion that threatened to break his stoic state.
His arms like noodles and his legs like gelatin, Donnie used his teeth to undo the Velcro on the one glove, kneeling weakly on the floor as he slowly peeled away the second strap with his freed hand. He waited a moment before popping back onto his feet, his feet firmly planted underneath him before drying his face with his black towel, resisting the urge to scream until his lungs imploded with the force of his exhaled breath. He took the gloves to his duffel bag, hanging up nearby, placing them in the bag. For the first time, he considered bailing out of a workout early, but he knew that he couldn’t. He still had the cool-down cardio.
Considering his skin was red from the exertion and his muscles were screaming from what felt like a military workout gone wrong, each muscle group crying from the strain, Donnie walked over to a treadmill and turned it on, breathing deep and slow as he subtly limped his way to a full, unimpeded gait before he became a full run. Once the running started, 30 minutes was put on the clock...-
-The next thing Donnie remembered, he was waking up in a hospital bed. Hooked up to IV electrolytes, Donnie had no idea how dehydrated he was. Of course, as he sat up, his workout gear in a chair across the room, he curled up, his knees hiding his face; Donnie didn’t even need to look around, because he could feel it: the crushing weight, the foreboding silence, the painfully unoccupied space.
He was alone in the room. He was alone in the hospital. He would be alone in his hotel room. He was alone, period. Finally, he broke down, weeping, sobbing quietly as he wrapped his arms around his knees, rocking back and forth like he used to do as a child every night before going to sleep, hiding as much as he could from anyone who could be bothered to see what was going on.
But Donnie couldn’t wallow, either in his self-pity, his depression or the hospital bed. He did obey the doctor, letting them pump another bag of electrolyte-enriched IV saline, since his health insurance covered the visit, so he just hit Twitter, looking around, sighing in derision and depression at all these people just spouting off their bullshit, but at least Alice Knight, his latest ally, was having some fun picking on Bifford and being all cute. However, the first thing that went through his head was disgusting to him; there would be no chance. He closed Twitter and just turned on a couple of mobile games, collecting the daily rewards and going through that so that he wouldn’t get the ping that would come of it. As soon as the IV bag was empty, he called the nurse and asked to be unhooked; after providing his insurance info to the proper resident, his costs were covered and he got in a taxi to take him back to his hotel.
All things considered, Donnie was only disappointed that he couldn’t finish his damn workout. Oh well, given the gravity and type of the match, pure horsepower wasn’t what he needed to work on. He needed to work on delivering some serious torque.-
-As the scene faded in from black, Donnie stood against a simple white and blue background, the blue being the canvas tarpaulin material that covered the gym mats attached to the wall and continued across the ground, under Donnie’s bare feet. It was clearly a training area, and Donnie’s attire, a full gi complete with brown belt, told the rest of the story. He wasn’t sweating yet, but the promo needed to be prepared, and why not show off his Brazilian Jiu Jitsu repertoire in the form of his earned brown belt, which was considered almost on par with black belt in most fighters’ minds?
Donnie’s thumbs were hooked into the belt as he rested his hands on it, gazing into the camera, locked into position, stern and stoic as he began to pace, the camera panning to follow.-
)Donnie Harris(
Khloe, I have to admit that you had everyone, even Easton, convinced that you had him beat for that Anarchy title, and it was a damn travesty that you got so close to clinching that strap, only to have Britlyn rip that rug out from underneath you. I’m hoping that you have your rematch at Shockwave. You earned it, even after cashing in the Revival title; you deserve that rematch, and I’m sure, with Easton Alexander being the sport he is, he will grant that for you, because you had him scrambling. But Khloe, life is never going to be that easy or treat you that well. At the end of that match, just because that bell rings, it doesn’t mean your ordeal is over, oh hell no, and, with what happened at the end of it all, and with how susceptible you are to getting locked up on some painful holds, your naivety needs to get shaken out and quickly.
-Donnie continued to pace as some of the students in the dojo were training, mostly white belts with greens and blues. He thought about what else to say, but, even with limited options, he knew what needed to be said.-
)Donnie Harris(
Khloe, you’re going after something that I held dear, and I will be pursuing it again, whether Clyde Newton does the right thing at Shockwave or not, and I’m not going to give you a chance to take your shot at the Anarchy strap for granted. You know that you earned your spot, and, just because you’re cavorted in other feds, that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you waltz your way into something like this. I’m going to make sure that, win or lose, you understand what you’re walking into, and it’s not going to be pretty, especially since you’re being forced into something that is much more my speed, in the form of the submission match.
-Donnie brings his hands up from his brown belt and he cracks his knuckles with a bone jarring crunch and crackle.-
)Donnie Harris(
Also, Khloe, I need you to understand that you are facing a former Anarchy champion. I beat Alexandra Calaway for that title, and I held it up until Easton’s eventual return, so it was a few months. In that time, I continued my war with BRADDOCK, facing all challengers both in OCW Blue and in Outsiders, and I was still wearing the Anarchy title around my waist with pride. And now, watching you get to this point, I’m looking forward to watching you bash heads with Easton, but you cannot forget your more immediate challenge: Donnie Harris. One of very few to kick out of the Bram Stoker, you will need to make sure you’re at your peak fitness, and you’re damn fit, I must say, and that you’re ready for war. I need you to appreciate the gravity of your situation, Khloe, just as much as I appreciate you having to sacrifice that rematch at the last Danger for the sake of my 30-minute Ironman against SYNN. The war I went through is the same war that I will go into fighting the second the first shots are fired. Every battle is the one to end all battles, every skirmish like dropping those nukes on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. That is what it takes to be a fighter, a warrior... an Eliminator. I just hope, for your sake and for the sake of your match against Easton Alexander, you’ll be able to prepare yourself, Khloe.
-Donnie bows to the camera, showing Khloe his respect, before straightening back up slowly.-
)Donnie Harris(
Because I’ll eliminate you at the first sign of weakness.
However, with all the time he spent working on his body, he knew that his mind suffered. Never was it more obvious facing SYNN at the last Danger. They fought, and they fought hard. It felt like when he ran into the wall that was BRADDOCK. But something different happened in facing SYNN: a draw.
Fighters usually only know three constants: win, lose or no contest. A proper draw is a foregone conclusion and very rare. There’s so much pressure for performing properly and at peak condition, but Donnie hit another wall. The only difference this time? The wall fell with him. Their arms draped over each other in a futile pinfall attempt, the timer zeroed, and there would be no victory. Tied at one fall apiece, Donnie and SYNN laid each other out.
Donnie was already in Cleveland, at the gym, shutting everything out around him, focusing on the heavy bag, delivering barrage after barrage of punishing combinations, circling the bag to divide his sets. His skin had rivulets of sweat running down his body as he continued to deliver his five- to seven-strike combinations to the bag.
However, as he did this, Donnie’s eyes reddened, sinking a bit into his head as his eyes became misty. Donnie kept the pace up, slowing slightly between strikes as the fatigue started to set in, but, even as he continued to punish his body with the overexerting cardio workout, his knees gave out, Donnie collapsing to his knees against the heavy bag, his fists, contained in weighted boxing gloves, breaking his fall as good as they could. The warrior’s throat burned with the restraint against the sobs that wished to erupt from him, pure despair and frustration wreathing his mind like that crown of thorns everyone loved to talk about. The draw might as well have been a loss. Donnie could barely hold back the tide of emotion that threatened to break his stoic state.
His arms like noodles and his legs like gelatin, Donnie used his teeth to undo the Velcro on the one glove, kneeling weakly on the floor as he slowly peeled away the second strap with his freed hand. He waited a moment before popping back onto his feet, his feet firmly planted underneath him before drying his face with his black towel, resisting the urge to scream until his lungs imploded with the force of his exhaled breath. He took the gloves to his duffel bag, hanging up nearby, placing them in the bag. For the first time, he considered bailing out of a workout early, but he knew that he couldn’t. He still had the cool-down cardio.
Considering his skin was red from the exertion and his muscles were screaming from what felt like a military workout gone wrong, each muscle group crying from the strain, Donnie walked over to a treadmill and turned it on, breathing deep and slow as he subtly limped his way to a full, unimpeded gait before he became a full run. Once the running started, 30 minutes was put on the clock...-
-The next thing Donnie remembered, he was waking up in a hospital bed. Hooked up to IV electrolytes, Donnie had no idea how dehydrated he was. Of course, as he sat up, his workout gear in a chair across the room, he curled up, his knees hiding his face; Donnie didn’t even need to look around, because he could feel it: the crushing weight, the foreboding silence, the painfully unoccupied space.
He was alone in the room. He was alone in the hospital. He would be alone in his hotel room. He was alone, period. Finally, he broke down, weeping, sobbing quietly as he wrapped his arms around his knees, rocking back and forth like he used to do as a child every night before going to sleep, hiding as much as he could from anyone who could be bothered to see what was going on.
But Donnie couldn’t wallow, either in his self-pity, his depression or the hospital bed. He did obey the doctor, letting them pump another bag of electrolyte-enriched IV saline, since his health insurance covered the visit, so he just hit Twitter, looking around, sighing in derision and depression at all these people just spouting off their bullshit, but at least Alice Knight, his latest ally, was having some fun picking on Bifford and being all cute. However, the first thing that went through his head was disgusting to him; there would be no chance. He closed Twitter and just turned on a couple of mobile games, collecting the daily rewards and going through that so that he wouldn’t get the ping that would come of it. As soon as the IV bag was empty, he called the nurse and asked to be unhooked; after providing his insurance info to the proper resident, his costs were covered and he got in a taxi to take him back to his hotel.
All things considered, Donnie was only disappointed that he couldn’t finish his damn workout. Oh well, given the gravity and type of the match, pure horsepower wasn’t what he needed to work on. He needed to work on delivering some serious torque.-
-As the scene faded in from black, Donnie stood against a simple white and blue background, the blue being the canvas tarpaulin material that covered the gym mats attached to the wall and continued across the ground, under Donnie’s bare feet. It was clearly a training area, and Donnie’s attire, a full gi complete with brown belt, told the rest of the story. He wasn’t sweating yet, but the promo needed to be prepared, and why not show off his Brazilian Jiu Jitsu repertoire in the form of his earned brown belt, which was considered almost on par with black belt in most fighters’ minds?
Donnie’s thumbs were hooked into the belt as he rested his hands on it, gazing into the camera, locked into position, stern and stoic as he began to pace, the camera panning to follow.-
)Donnie Harris(
Khloe, I have to admit that you had everyone, even Easton, convinced that you had him beat for that Anarchy title, and it was a damn travesty that you got so close to clinching that strap, only to have Britlyn rip that rug out from underneath you. I’m hoping that you have your rematch at Shockwave. You earned it, even after cashing in the Revival title; you deserve that rematch, and I’m sure, with Easton Alexander being the sport he is, he will grant that for you, because you had him scrambling. But Khloe, life is never going to be that easy or treat you that well. At the end of that match, just because that bell rings, it doesn’t mean your ordeal is over, oh hell no, and, with what happened at the end of it all, and with how susceptible you are to getting locked up on some painful holds, your naivety needs to get shaken out and quickly.
-Donnie continued to pace as some of the students in the dojo were training, mostly white belts with greens and blues. He thought about what else to say, but, even with limited options, he knew what needed to be said.-
)Donnie Harris(
Khloe, you’re going after something that I held dear, and I will be pursuing it again, whether Clyde Newton does the right thing at Shockwave or not, and I’m not going to give you a chance to take your shot at the Anarchy strap for granted. You know that you earned your spot, and, just because you’re cavorted in other feds, that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you waltz your way into something like this. I’m going to make sure that, win or lose, you understand what you’re walking into, and it’s not going to be pretty, especially since you’re being forced into something that is much more my speed, in the form of the submission match.
-Donnie brings his hands up from his brown belt and he cracks his knuckles with a bone jarring crunch and crackle.-
)Donnie Harris(
Also, Khloe, I need you to understand that you are facing a former Anarchy champion. I beat Alexandra Calaway for that title, and I held it up until Easton’s eventual return, so it was a few months. In that time, I continued my war with BRADDOCK, facing all challengers both in OCW Blue and in Outsiders, and I was still wearing the Anarchy title around my waist with pride. And now, watching you get to this point, I’m looking forward to watching you bash heads with Easton, but you cannot forget your more immediate challenge: Donnie Harris. One of very few to kick out of the Bram Stoker, you will need to make sure you’re at your peak fitness, and you’re damn fit, I must say, and that you’re ready for war. I need you to appreciate the gravity of your situation, Khloe, just as much as I appreciate you having to sacrifice that rematch at the last Danger for the sake of my 30-minute Ironman against SYNN. The war I went through is the same war that I will go into fighting the second the first shots are fired. Every battle is the one to end all battles, every skirmish like dropping those nukes on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. That is what it takes to be a fighter, a warrior... an Eliminator. I just hope, for your sake and for the sake of your match against Easton Alexander, you’ll be able to prepare yourself, Khloe.
-Donnie bows to the camera, showing Khloe his respect, before straightening back up slowly.-
)Donnie Harris(
Because I’ll eliminate you at the first sign of weakness.