Post by Donnie Harris on Apr 23, 2024 20:01:53 GMT -5
-Even after a potential health scare like the fainting spell that landed him in an ER in Cleveland, Donnie’s home was still the gym. For a couple days after his unfortunate event, he focused solely on bulking up and drinking quite a lot of water and Biosteel beverages, combining it with lower-impact workout, including at the dojo where he filmed his promo recently. It was all about finding a good moderate pace, all the while maintaining Donnie’s high requirement for cardio and endurance training.
After all, Khloe was being taught to break someone’s spirit by taking advantage of someone’s emotional volatility.
Donnie had a night to rest, the one after he was discharged from hospital, and he sat down in his hotel room, opened up his laptop, and he watched Khloe’s promo, as she went to this sage leader sort, who turned out to be her trainer back before she started.
And he looked like a cheap wannabe look-alike of Akuma from Street Fighter; like, really?
Either way, Donnie knew his way around the mat a bit better than Khloe might, especially since all Khloe had was the speed and size to slip away, but SYNN was of similar stature, and she moved with much more force, power and persistence. It was enough to remind Donnie of what was really going to happen at Shockwave, and it certainly had nothing to do with a cute little blonde woman like Khloe Cox.
She was still too soft.-
-The day before the event, Donnie was already cheating on his preferred style of training, by training harder. Normally, he would be parked in front of an all-you-can-eat buffet or high-protein meal, eating like a powerlifter or a strongman, making sure that he had eaten and drank enough to make up for all the punishment he forced his body through in the process of the week or more before the next show. And, with Shockwave coming up, Donnie was in need of ensuring that every cell in his body was honed to perfection, every biological process emphasized, optimized and capitalized in its homeostasis.
Even with Khloe being given a crash course in breaking a man’s spirit by using leverage and speed, which is exactly what BJJ has been training him how to do since he started his study of the martial art, Donnie knew that he couldn’t relax. What’s more, the experience and training he was receiving, it would assist him in graduating to his next belt, but it was still one day at a time, a few hours here and there.
But Donnie wasn’t giving himself a chance to relax or to slow down. Why? Because he was a dumbass that got himself sent to hospital. As far as he was concerned, he got his rest day; he got his chance to slow down and give his body an opportunity to recover. Now, instead of the 48 hours he would try to give himself, it was less than 24, and he knew that he was going to ache a bit more than usual.
And he didn’t care.
Donnie Harris was back in the gym, after four hours of training, wearing the same gi that hung loosely over his shoulders, untied and left open like a simple jacket. Wearing the same loose-fitting gi pants and a workout shirt underneath the gi top, he was barefoot on the workout bike as he pushed himself hard, even pushing through the burning phlegm feeling that came with the steadily increasing weakness in his body.
At least he was totally conscious this time, thank whatever God people believe in nowadays.
But the memory of passing out was still pretty strong in his mind, even as he continued to push himself. In fact, the fear and dread that ran through him, and the adrenaline produced by it, had him ripping through some of his benchmarks for length of time and pedaling resistance on the bike; Donnie ignored it. It wasn’t good enough. He had to keep fighting through the pain and the struggle to breathe. His body was crying for him to stop, but his mind refused to surrender. He refused to let his body dictate his pace.
Abruptly, however, he stopped. He smashed his fist on the panel, because the bike suddenly died on him. Donnie had no idea why it stopped, but the resistance had suddenly fallen off, and, if he wasn’t paying attention, he could have hurt himself with the sudden drop in pressure. Donnie lifted himself off of the exercise bike, his legs streaming with sweat as his face was a weird mix of pale and flushed.
Regardless of how his body felt, Donnie immediately told himself to go to the heavy bag.-
)Donnie Harris(
Finish strong, Donnie, just like you were doing a couple days ago. Hit the bag until the chain gives way; don’t stop a second before that chain snaps, you weakling.
-Donnie peeled off the Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu top off, placing it on his duffel bag before he gloved up in a pair of MMA gloves; he had forgotten the boxing gloves in his hotel room. Attacking it with the same methodical ferocity, Donnie’s breathing matched his jabs, starting at 50% strength while maintaining maybe 70% to 80% speed.
His legs were almost locked with the exertion on the bike, but he couldn’t afford to give up. He imagined his overbearing father, responsible for Donnie’s training and abuse in the past, holding the bag, which ramped up the intensity of the workout. Quickly.
Instantaneously.
Between throwing bombs and throwing curses, Donnie’s strikes were wild and accurate, as the impact of each fist shook the bag with great force. The chain shook, rattling and making a lot of noise as the other patrons of the gym stopped between workouts. They watched and they listened to this man, shaken with baggage belonging to otherwise resolved daddy issues; it didn’t help that, playing in the background, was “Kickstart My Heart” by Motley Crue.
Donnie’s barrage slowed only slightly, just like that day that had him on the ground. He didn’t feel thirsty; he didn’t feel hungry. As the opening guitar riff to “Through the Fire and Flames” was flipped into overdrive, Donnie stood in one place, smiling, retaking his mind and no longer seeing the source of his pain.
On the other side of the heavy bag was a mirror. He saw himself: his ultimate adversary. Donnie’s fists clenched tighter as the song continued, and he felt like he was in an episode of Dragonball Z or something, as everything felt so fluid, so freeing; it was as if the adrenaline had allowed him to enter a pure trance, as his fists, feet, knees and elbows were delivered with lethal precision to the heavy bag. It felt otherworldly, even closing his eyes as his body kept moving of its own accord, opening his eyes suddenly, feeling as if someone physically caught his hand, ripping him from his reverent reverie of combat sport acumen.-
-Donnie looked beat the fuck up as the lights came on, hands taped up and his fingers a little cut, with the tape holding a little bit of the blood. He was sitting in a locker room after what looked like one of his amateur fights in the past, and there was no way of knowing who won or lost. As Donnie leaned back into the wall behind him, there was an ice pack braced against the back of his neck and over his shoulders.
Donnie closes his eyes and breathes deeply as the cold of the ice causes condensation, icy cold water running down his chest and back.-
)Donnie Harris(
Khloe, your expectations are admirable, but they are quite the exercise in futility. I never saw you as a honeybee, let alone a murder hornet, but, compared to me in the grand scheme of the submission game, you are a housefly, a mosquito, flying freely into the bug zapper hanging outside of a trailer in the middle of a hot, humid summer evening. You are a rabbit jumping into a wolf den. You are a moth flying too close to an open flame. You are a goat being released into the T-Rex pen. Okay, that last one is a little too on the nose, but you get my drift.
-Donnie opens his eyes, opening and closing his hands as he breathes heavily, making sure his hands aren’t as beat up as the rest of him.-
)Donnie Harris(
Hey, I’m never going to be someone to say that you or anyone else in your position is a fool for going for more training or seeking out a better understanding of what you’re dealing with. In fact, I applaud you for doing it. It was exceedingly difficult for someone to willingly seek out help, and I know this better than anyone, but we all need support now and again, and, if you want, I’d be happy to help you prepare for Easton Alexander at Shockwave, win or lose. Of course, that’s up to you, as you have Titan Forge to turn to, however, when it comes to a real fight, I have a deeper understanding than most people in this business, whether they admit it or not, because there’s one thing that no one can take away from me, and I’ve proven this in matches with SYNN, BRADDOCK, Easton Alexander, Ally Calaway, and the list goes on...
-Donnie gets to his feet, taking hold of the ice pack as he continues to maintain the pressure on his neck.-
)Donnie Harris(
No one can take away my capacity to take as much violence as I give. No one can shortchange me for the amount of work and determination I put into every match I walk into. No one can tell me that I have a weak constitution. No one can break my spirit.
-Donnie leans into the ice pack, closing his eyes as he relaxes against the cold compress. His eyes open again, facing the camera.-
)Donnie Harris(
Who you want to be isn’t my problem; what you hope to achieve against me is my problem. You can talk about being the Queen Bee and blah blah blah, but calling me out by saying you’re stepping down a level in order to face me, you forget your place, Buzzy Bitchface. I am still the number one contender for EPW’s world title; I am still the last person to possess the Anarchy title. You are not stepping down to face me. We are meeting, eye-to-eye, to determine who is the better between us. All you’ve been snatching for yourself is a big mouth that is going to be shut, and it will be duct taped closed. Talk is cheap, but this is a business that runs on one’s oratory skills, which is something I’ve gotten a bit better with as time goes on, I think.
-Donnie starts to pace a bit, switching the ice pack from one hand to the next, shaking out the arm that was holding the ice to his neck.-
)Donnie Harris(
You need to understand something else, Khloe, and that is that bones will always break; they will break the same way every time, and they require the most work to break. Even the youngest child’s bones are not so hard to snap, even as cartilage, but there is one thing that your Master Ryker is right about, and that is one must break the spirit. I can faint, I can be knocked out, and I can be exhausted to the point of immobility, but you will not break my spirit, Khloe. You will not make me tap. You won’t even be able to lock me in whatever armbar he showed you. Most importantly, you will not have the wherewithal, understanding or strength to break my spirit. I will be a calm blue ocean. I will be the stillest fucking reflecting pool, unlike any the wrestling world has ever seen. And you will be a broken woman, left crawling and crying.
-Donnie takes a deep breath, calming himself down.-
)Donnie Harris(
But I’m more than happy to help you back up again, respect you as Easton Alexander’s most immediate competition and the number one contender for the Anarchy title, because that is what you are and that is what you’ve earned. I’m not taking that away from you, and I’ll be more than happy to help you if you need it. We need to stick together against people who directly oppose us, and I’m not afraid to say that, as little help as you may need, somehow you still need that help, and it was never more obvious than your lack of ring awareness that allowed Easton to nullify your Anarchy title victory.
-Donnie leaves the frame, the scene fading to black.-
-After the scene was over, as Donnie was removing some of the makeup from his face, the former MMA fighter looked at the tape on his hands, feeling the ice against his body. It took him back to those slobberknocker fights where he would dismantle all those fighters that opposed him; how many of them gave up the fight after being destroyed by him? He didn’t know, but the guilt was harsh. Those guys probably banked on the fight game becoming their livelihood, but Donnie had to have crushed some of those dreams, especially after the KO.
Whether it was SYNN, Alice Knight, or even Khloe, Donnie wanted to give back, however he could. He was far from an expert, but he knew that he could be there, in some way, form or fashion. Of course he had his own shit to deal with, but being willing to give of himself, maybe it could right the balance of the world in his own way. Oh well, only one way to find out: time to rest up for Danger.-
After all, Khloe was being taught to break someone’s spirit by taking advantage of someone’s emotional volatility.
Donnie had a night to rest, the one after he was discharged from hospital, and he sat down in his hotel room, opened up his laptop, and he watched Khloe’s promo, as she went to this sage leader sort, who turned out to be her trainer back before she started.
And he looked like a cheap wannabe look-alike of Akuma from Street Fighter; like, really?
Either way, Donnie knew his way around the mat a bit better than Khloe might, especially since all Khloe had was the speed and size to slip away, but SYNN was of similar stature, and she moved with much more force, power and persistence. It was enough to remind Donnie of what was really going to happen at Shockwave, and it certainly had nothing to do with a cute little blonde woman like Khloe Cox.
She was still too soft.-
-The day before the event, Donnie was already cheating on his preferred style of training, by training harder. Normally, he would be parked in front of an all-you-can-eat buffet or high-protein meal, eating like a powerlifter or a strongman, making sure that he had eaten and drank enough to make up for all the punishment he forced his body through in the process of the week or more before the next show. And, with Shockwave coming up, Donnie was in need of ensuring that every cell in his body was honed to perfection, every biological process emphasized, optimized and capitalized in its homeostasis.
Even with Khloe being given a crash course in breaking a man’s spirit by using leverage and speed, which is exactly what BJJ has been training him how to do since he started his study of the martial art, Donnie knew that he couldn’t relax. What’s more, the experience and training he was receiving, it would assist him in graduating to his next belt, but it was still one day at a time, a few hours here and there.
But Donnie wasn’t giving himself a chance to relax or to slow down. Why? Because he was a dumbass that got himself sent to hospital. As far as he was concerned, he got his rest day; he got his chance to slow down and give his body an opportunity to recover. Now, instead of the 48 hours he would try to give himself, it was less than 24, and he knew that he was going to ache a bit more than usual.
And he didn’t care.
Donnie Harris was back in the gym, after four hours of training, wearing the same gi that hung loosely over his shoulders, untied and left open like a simple jacket. Wearing the same loose-fitting gi pants and a workout shirt underneath the gi top, he was barefoot on the workout bike as he pushed himself hard, even pushing through the burning phlegm feeling that came with the steadily increasing weakness in his body.
At least he was totally conscious this time, thank whatever God people believe in nowadays.
But the memory of passing out was still pretty strong in his mind, even as he continued to push himself. In fact, the fear and dread that ran through him, and the adrenaline produced by it, had him ripping through some of his benchmarks for length of time and pedaling resistance on the bike; Donnie ignored it. It wasn’t good enough. He had to keep fighting through the pain and the struggle to breathe. His body was crying for him to stop, but his mind refused to surrender. He refused to let his body dictate his pace.
Abruptly, however, he stopped. He smashed his fist on the panel, because the bike suddenly died on him. Donnie had no idea why it stopped, but the resistance had suddenly fallen off, and, if he wasn’t paying attention, he could have hurt himself with the sudden drop in pressure. Donnie lifted himself off of the exercise bike, his legs streaming with sweat as his face was a weird mix of pale and flushed.
Regardless of how his body felt, Donnie immediately told himself to go to the heavy bag.-
)Donnie Harris(
Finish strong, Donnie, just like you were doing a couple days ago. Hit the bag until the chain gives way; don’t stop a second before that chain snaps, you weakling.
-Donnie peeled off the Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu top off, placing it on his duffel bag before he gloved up in a pair of MMA gloves; he had forgotten the boxing gloves in his hotel room. Attacking it with the same methodical ferocity, Donnie’s breathing matched his jabs, starting at 50% strength while maintaining maybe 70% to 80% speed.
His legs were almost locked with the exertion on the bike, but he couldn’t afford to give up. He imagined his overbearing father, responsible for Donnie’s training and abuse in the past, holding the bag, which ramped up the intensity of the workout. Quickly.
Instantaneously.
Between throwing bombs and throwing curses, Donnie’s strikes were wild and accurate, as the impact of each fist shook the bag with great force. The chain shook, rattling and making a lot of noise as the other patrons of the gym stopped between workouts. They watched and they listened to this man, shaken with baggage belonging to otherwise resolved daddy issues; it didn’t help that, playing in the background, was “Kickstart My Heart” by Motley Crue.
Donnie’s barrage slowed only slightly, just like that day that had him on the ground. He didn’t feel thirsty; he didn’t feel hungry. As the opening guitar riff to “Through the Fire and Flames” was flipped into overdrive, Donnie stood in one place, smiling, retaking his mind and no longer seeing the source of his pain.
On the other side of the heavy bag was a mirror. He saw himself: his ultimate adversary. Donnie’s fists clenched tighter as the song continued, and he felt like he was in an episode of Dragonball Z or something, as everything felt so fluid, so freeing; it was as if the adrenaline had allowed him to enter a pure trance, as his fists, feet, knees and elbows were delivered with lethal precision to the heavy bag. It felt otherworldly, even closing his eyes as his body kept moving of its own accord, opening his eyes suddenly, feeling as if someone physically caught his hand, ripping him from his reverent reverie of combat sport acumen.-
-Donnie looked beat the fuck up as the lights came on, hands taped up and his fingers a little cut, with the tape holding a little bit of the blood. He was sitting in a locker room after what looked like one of his amateur fights in the past, and there was no way of knowing who won or lost. As Donnie leaned back into the wall behind him, there was an ice pack braced against the back of his neck and over his shoulders.
Donnie closes his eyes and breathes deeply as the cold of the ice causes condensation, icy cold water running down his chest and back.-
)Donnie Harris(
Khloe, your expectations are admirable, but they are quite the exercise in futility. I never saw you as a honeybee, let alone a murder hornet, but, compared to me in the grand scheme of the submission game, you are a housefly, a mosquito, flying freely into the bug zapper hanging outside of a trailer in the middle of a hot, humid summer evening. You are a rabbit jumping into a wolf den. You are a moth flying too close to an open flame. You are a goat being released into the T-Rex pen. Okay, that last one is a little too on the nose, but you get my drift.
-Donnie opens his eyes, opening and closing his hands as he breathes heavily, making sure his hands aren’t as beat up as the rest of him.-
)Donnie Harris(
Hey, I’m never going to be someone to say that you or anyone else in your position is a fool for going for more training or seeking out a better understanding of what you’re dealing with. In fact, I applaud you for doing it. It was exceedingly difficult for someone to willingly seek out help, and I know this better than anyone, but we all need support now and again, and, if you want, I’d be happy to help you prepare for Easton Alexander at Shockwave, win or lose. Of course, that’s up to you, as you have Titan Forge to turn to, however, when it comes to a real fight, I have a deeper understanding than most people in this business, whether they admit it or not, because there’s one thing that no one can take away from me, and I’ve proven this in matches with SYNN, BRADDOCK, Easton Alexander, Ally Calaway, and the list goes on...
-Donnie gets to his feet, taking hold of the ice pack as he continues to maintain the pressure on his neck.-
)Donnie Harris(
No one can take away my capacity to take as much violence as I give. No one can shortchange me for the amount of work and determination I put into every match I walk into. No one can tell me that I have a weak constitution. No one can break my spirit.
-Donnie leans into the ice pack, closing his eyes as he relaxes against the cold compress. His eyes open again, facing the camera.-
)Donnie Harris(
Who you want to be isn’t my problem; what you hope to achieve against me is my problem. You can talk about being the Queen Bee and blah blah blah, but calling me out by saying you’re stepping down a level in order to face me, you forget your place, Buzzy Bitchface. I am still the number one contender for EPW’s world title; I am still the last person to possess the Anarchy title. You are not stepping down to face me. We are meeting, eye-to-eye, to determine who is the better between us. All you’ve been snatching for yourself is a big mouth that is going to be shut, and it will be duct taped closed. Talk is cheap, but this is a business that runs on one’s oratory skills, which is something I’ve gotten a bit better with as time goes on, I think.
-Donnie starts to pace a bit, switching the ice pack from one hand to the next, shaking out the arm that was holding the ice to his neck.-
)Donnie Harris(
You need to understand something else, Khloe, and that is that bones will always break; they will break the same way every time, and they require the most work to break. Even the youngest child’s bones are not so hard to snap, even as cartilage, but there is one thing that your Master Ryker is right about, and that is one must break the spirit. I can faint, I can be knocked out, and I can be exhausted to the point of immobility, but you will not break my spirit, Khloe. You will not make me tap. You won’t even be able to lock me in whatever armbar he showed you. Most importantly, you will not have the wherewithal, understanding or strength to break my spirit. I will be a calm blue ocean. I will be the stillest fucking reflecting pool, unlike any the wrestling world has ever seen. And you will be a broken woman, left crawling and crying.
-Donnie takes a deep breath, calming himself down.-
)Donnie Harris(
But I’m more than happy to help you back up again, respect you as Easton Alexander’s most immediate competition and the number one contender for the Anarchy title, because that is what you are and that is what you’ve earned. I’m not taking that away from you, and I’ll be more than happy to help you if you need it. We need to stick together against people who directly oppose us, and I’m not afraid to say that, as little help as you may need, somehow you still need that help, and it was never more obvious than your lack of ring awareness that allowed Easton to nullify your Anarchy title victory.
-Donnie leaves the frame, the scene fading to black.-
-After the scene was over, as Donnie was removing some of the makeup from his face, the former MMA fighter looked at the tape on his hands, feeling the ice against his body. It took him back to those slobberknocker fights where he would dismantle all those fighters that opposed him; how many of them gave up the fight after being destroyed by him? He didn’t know, but the guilt was harsh. Those guys probably banked on the fight game becoming their livelihood, but Donnie had to have crushed some of those dreams, especially after the KO.
Whether it was SYNN, Alice Knight, or even Khloe, Donnie wanted to give back, however he could. He was far from an expert, but he knew that he could be there, in some way, form or fashion. Of course he had his own shit to deal with, but being willing to give of himself, maybe it could right the balance of the world in his own way. Oh well, only one way to find out: time to rest up for Danger.-