So I was watching Million Dollar Baby on TV today. I like the movie (Can't resist many Eastwood movies), and this one isn't much different. However, this time I wasn't watching it for the movie, but for what it reminded me of!
I was talking to a friend today, when my school life came up. I am quite passionate about my boarding school days, and it shows when the topic gets breached. We invariably started talking about my school days, how we had to change uniforms as much as six (!) times a day (we used to have a different kit for everything we did - one to go for a jog in the morning, two to get into to go to classes, three for afternoon's leisure time, four for sports time in the evening, five after taking shower while going back to studies, and six for after hours). More on boarding school in next - this one is for something else.
Getting back to watching MDB, I got glued to the movie because it reminded of the days when I used to box (yes, I did!). I could very well use imagery to go back to times when our weight was measured not in kgs or pounds, but Pinweight, Flyweight or Bantamweight. Like any boxer, before every bout I had to encounter fight or flight syndrome. Since "No" was never an option (that's military school for you!), the twelve year old kid would jump into the ring (of course, the competitor is also of the same stature/weight) and would get the first lesson of multitasking (that we managers boast so much of, today). One would use all relaxing techniques told by the coach (progressive muscular relaxation technique is one I remember my coach telling me time and again, which I could never practice).
Along with these techniques, while in the ring, one would try to think of all the good things that have happened to him ever, to keep his poise while he beats the **** out of the competitor, gets slammed with punches every now & then, stumbles while trying to figure where the ends are, and faintly keep an ear for the bell depicting end of the round.
The bruises, the blood, the sweat, panting, losing breath, almost fainting, cheering all around - nothing mattered. What mattered was winning! Please be blue, please be blue, at the end of it.
Frankly, I wasn't so glad when I had to enter the ring then. I am now, that I did enter in then.
The chills, the thrill - as I look back, I see that they were breathtaking. One of those moments that take your breath away! Miss those days. Miss the tough life that one led everyday. Miss living one day at a time - when every day was a battle, and one never knew when's the end of the war!
With a split decision, well played Red, Blue is the winner!
