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Sep. 23rd, 2005 10:45 amHe's got that homemade punching bag hanging from its spot in the tree and he'll get to it in a moment, but right now it's leg-and-foot dexterity: jumping rope, and he counts:
two-hundred eighty-six, two-hundred eighty-seven, two-hundred eighty-eight...
It burns, and his legs ache, but he doesn't stop. He keeps going: the goal is 300.
He used to be able to do it without hardly thinking.
Every day on the Bebop
(jump)
I set aside time to work out
(jump)
and the only times I
(jump)
missed it were when
(jump)
I wasn't there or
(jump)
I was too beat up
(jump)
to even move
(jump)
and even then
(jump)
I did this in my mind
(jump)
because the only
(jump)
thing I had was
(jump)
being good at this
(jump)
He lets the rope fall, plants his hands on his knees and bends over for just a minute, then walks.
Walks in circles: walk it off, walk it off, walk it off, get blood flowing back into those legs.
Check pulse.
Breathe.
Spike turns to the punching bag and he knows he can't give it his all; it will break, tear apart, fall down, dissolve. But he checks the ropes holding it up and holding it in place and then, methodically, starts on it: right fist forward strike, left fist forward strike.
Right.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Slowly at first, then faster, faster, faster, and it's like purging. Overdoing it is like purging, like absolving one's self of sins, like freeing everything that's blocking.
That we pursue something passionately does not always mean that we really want it or have a special aptitude for it. Often, the thing we pursue most passionately is but a substitute for the one thing we really want and cannot have. It is usually safe to predict that the fulfillment of an excessively cherished desire is not likely to still our nagging anxiety. In every passionate pursuit, the pursuit counts more than the object pursued.
He knows Bruce Lee was right about that.
Even if he'd never met Julia.
two-hundred eighty-six, two-hundred eighty-seven, two-hundred eighty-eight...
It burns, and his legs ache, but he doesn't stop. He keeps going: the goal is 300.
He used to be able to do it without hardly thinking.
Every day on the Bebop
(jump)
I set aside time to work out
(jump)
and the only times I
(jump)
missed it were when
(jump)
I wasn't there or
(jump)
I was too beat up
(jump)
to even move
(jump)
and even then
(jump)
I did this in my mind
(jump)
because the only
(jump)
thing I had was
(jump)
being good at this
(jump)
He lets the rope fall, plants his hands on his knees and bends over for just a minute, then walks.
Walks in circles: walk it off, walk it off, walk it off, get blood flowing back into those legs.
Check pulse.
Breathe.
Spike turns to the punching bag and he knows he can't give it his all; it will break, tear apart, fall down, dissolve. But he checks the ropes holding it up and holding it in place and then, methodically, starts on it: right fist forward strike, left fist forward strike.
Right.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Slowly at first, then faster, faster, faster, and it's like purging. Overdoing it is like purging, like absolving one's self of sins, like freeing everything that's blocking.
That we pursue something passionately does not always mean that we really want it or have a special aptitude for it. Often, the thing we pursue most passionately is but a substitute for the one thing we really want and cannot have. It is usually safe to predict that the fulfillment of an excessively cherished desire is not likely to still our nagging anxiety. In every passionate pursuit, the pursuit counts more than the object pursued.
He knows Bruce Lee was right about that.
Even if he'd never met Julia.
