More Than the Next Match
Brian Armer
By seven that morning, Nolan had already crossed out two things on the index card tucked inside his economics book. Review the practice problems. Finish the paper’s opening paragraph. The exam was tomorrow, wrestling practice was at four, and neither cared how busy the other one made him. He folded the card around his pen and headed to class.
Nolan liked having something difficult to work toward. That did not mean he enjoyed discovering, halfway through a lecture, that a question he thought he understood still needed work. He marked it, caught his professor afterward and asked her to walk through where his reasoning had gone wrong. Then he took the answer to the library, worked through another example himself, and finally got it without looking at his notes. One less thing to guess about tomorrow.
Lunch happened between classes, not instead of it. He ate, sent his project group the section he had promised and checked the afternoon’s plan. His teammate Andre glanced at the index card. “You charging admission to that schedule?” “Only if you interrupt it.” Andre stole a look at the practice problem and handed it back. “I’ll stick to wrestling.”
At the training room, Nolan put his books away and changed. He had learned not to measure a good day by how much he could cram into it. Getting fed, arriving ready, and taking care of himself mattered too. Tomorrow’s exam and the next match belonged to the same future. He meant to give both his best.
Practice demanded his full attention. For a while there was no exam question to untangle, only position, timing, and the work in front of him. Andre made him earn every opening. Nolan returned the favor. When Coach stopped them to adjust a detail, Nolan listened, tried it, and felt the difference. Progress in the classroom and progress on the mat were rarely dramatic. Usually, they looked like paying attention and doing something again, better.
After practice, he washed up and changed into clean clothes before heading back. Taking care of himself was not separate from his ambition. He had more than a season invested in this body: an education, responsibilities, and a future that would still be his when the last whistle sounded.
Back at his desk, he opened the book to the problem he had marked that morning. This time he explained the answer aloud before checking it. Andre passed the open door and heard the last sentence. “Was that economics or a threat?” “Depends on how the exam goes.” Nolan laughed, then moved to the next question.
Nolan’s word meant something. Class, practice, the work he promised his team: he intended to show up for all of it. He was grateful for Zombie Infusion in his before-and-after wrestling care, helping him care for the body he counts on to keep those promises.