it was the last of the fifty kicks to the punching bag when i felt it, the sharp, jabbing pain shooting up from my right ankle. "there it goes..." i thought to myself, referring to the chronic pain that had been plaguing me. it is my weakness, this ankle of mine, a literal achilles' heel. i had to stop from my training and rest a bit. i stretched my toes, and tried to loosen my foot. i walked around the floor for a few minutes, trying to get a feel of how much more my ankle could take. quite a lot still, i hoped. quite a lot more still, it must, i convinced myself. i will learn to not give up without giving first my all. i shall not be discouraged with failure and pain. with that in mind, i walked back to my opponent for the day, a leather punching bag swinging aimlessly in front of me, drenched from the sweat left by my already dripping legs. i took my stance. i readied myself.
WHOMP! one... WHOMP! two.... WHOMP! three...
each strike took my breath. each blow i winced in pain. each kick bore all the focus my mind could muster. each hit was a reward for my determination. i was happy to at least forget.
dad's procedure didn't offer the results as we had hoped. his tolerance for pain had caused him to loose valuable time, time that could have prevented the worsening of his eye condition. the doctors are hopeful nonetheless. we will reschedule for the following week. now all we can do is wait and hope for the best. till then, impatient, ill- tempered dad was advised to behave. be kind. relaxed. be forbearing. no stress, no anger, no frustrations. nothing to excite him or irritate him lest it aggravates his already volatile condition.
when my relatives heard this, despite their sincere well wishes, they could not help but snicker.