Chương 66: Book 3 - Chapter 6 C

Security drove Matt and me to Colorado Springs immediately after the game ended. It was a grueling three hour drive south through Denver and down to the Olympic Training Center. We stumbled into bed at a small hotel nearby to get enough sleep for an early morning event. I registered and paid the use fee. Then using my newest. 22 rifle and air pistol on the range I started breaking records. I soon had two coaches watching me as they tried to understand what was wrong with the automatic scoring on the firing lane.

I finished and safetied my weapons and turned to them.

"Gentlemen," I greeted.

"Do you think I have a chance on the national Olympic Team?"

"If it's not a trick or an computer error. Yes. Absolutely," said the first coach. The second wasn't as positive.

"How are you in competition? Hearing the crack of your opponents rifle will throw off your aim," he said, waiting for an answer.

"I don't know. I've only ever shot at the local range in Tulsa. Can you throw together a quick competition so I can see how I do? That's why I came here today. I want to know what a real competition looks like."

"We can do that. Take a break. I'll be back with shooters in thirty minutes," he arrogantly ordered. It took twenty minutes for the coach to gather a group of other people to shoot against. There was a quick explanation of the rules and then it began with a horn blast. I finished shooting minutes before everyone else, and stepped back from the line. My score showed a perfect run. I patiently waited until all the sharp cracks ended, and the final horn blew.

"That was incredible," my neighbor told me.

"I've never seen anyone shoot that fast and get such a high score."

"Thank you. I'm new to competition shooting. I'm hoping to find out how I stack up," I told her. I had a group of eager Olympic coaches wanting to talk to me.

"John, we'd like you to join the Olympic shooting team."

"We want you to move into Athlete Center," the aggressive one said.

"You'll be able to get extensive on site training, and we will provide all your meals in the dining hall. Your Dad can stay with you as well."

"I'm happy to join the team training but I'm not interested in living here," I told them.

"The high altitude training area, and world class coaches here are the best in the country."

"High altitude is great for endurance training, not for shooting," I said.

"You won't find better coaches."

"Did it look I needed coaching?" I asked, my irritation growing. I needed to get back to my chess match and it was a long drive.

"We really need you to stay and be a part of the team, John."

"As I said, I'm not interested in leaving Oklahoma," I insisted.

"We even have a local grade school you could attend, so you don't fall behind on your classes." I got a big grin, and reached into my shooting bag. I pulled out a copy of Newsweek with me on the cover.

"Listen, I appreciate the offer, but it doesn't work for me to be here," I said handing them a copy of the magazine.

"I have a PhD in Physics and other responsibilities." The aggressive coach followed me as I started walking back towards Matt.

"Listen kid. Why don't you want to help your country? Don't you see what you are missing out on?" If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Suddenly his hand landed on me, holding me tightly.

"You stay here and listen to me kid!"

"Get your goddamn hands off me!" I shouted, my limit reached. I spun, shattering the hold and then his arm. With a swift maneuver I broke his other arm as he tried to grab me again, the pain not yet registering. I aggressively climbed him like he was a backyard tree, hitting pressure points all the way up, and used his momentum to ride him to the ground, my seventy five pounds landing squarely on his crotch as he collapsed beneath me, with a quivering screech, all the pain hitting at once.

I stepped off and looked at the other adults standing there in degrees of frozen shock.

"I might have a college degree, but I'm still a minor. You should be ashamed of yourselves letting him grab me and yell at me. As long as this aggressive child molesting bully of a trainer is here, I'll not come back," I said and walked out. Matt had been on his way towards me the second the man started after me, but I had just been faster in solving the problem. On the way out of the building he asked, "That guy going to be a problem?"

"No. It's on video tape. After they see that, they might even consider me for the Judo team too. I just demonstrated a perfect score in a shooting competition. It's never happened here before, they will forgive a lot to have me. Gold medals blind them."

"I recognized that move. You told me practicing that was so that you could climb on me and I could run away in an emergency."

"It was good practice," I agreed. He sighed.

"So we headed back to Estes Park now?"

"Yeah, let's stop for lunch before we get to the highway. I know of a place that makes killer giant burritos." The three-hour drive back from Colorado Springs was awful, leaving me with a simmering, ugly exhaustion. I arrived at the board nearly late, having made it only just in time for the game, still wearing the anger from the incident at the Olympic Training Center like a visible bruise. I was impatient to win and be done, but my opponent was the formidable six-time US Champion, Grandmaster Walter Browne.

I was about to fight a legend. Browne was an absolute tactical fighter who lived for the sacrificial chaos I craved to avoid while tired. My mood was to brutalize the poor man and end the game quickly, but my omniscient memories provided a warning: pushing for a win against a legend who would sacrifice everything was an unnecessary risk. The draw here was mandatory for score management and self-preservation.

I steered the opening into a solid, heavily analyzed line where the risk was minimal and the paths to symmetry were numerous. The game was a tight, hard-fought positional struggle for an hour and a half, ending in a safe, quick draw that I was relieved to secure. I could not afford to waste any more energy on the chess board today. I needed sleep. Sunday I slept in. Between lunch and the game start I found a quiet spot away from notice.

I moved through the Tai Chi forms, seeking the peace of centering myself in the Now. I needed to learn to not exhaust myself. It brought bad dreams. An infinite number of wonderful futures were paired with an equal number of horrors. Exhaustion, physical and mental, tended to bring the horrors. I lost myself in the movements so much that I woke to find Matt standing over me.

"Are you sleeping in the grass cause the bed's too lumpy?" he asked.

"I was tired, and angry," I told him, looking up at his imposing form.

"And restless all night. It kept me up worrying about you thrashing around in your bed."

"I was wondering why your snoring wasn't waking me," I said with a smile. He grinned back.

"You need to grab a bite to eat and then you have your next match."

"How much time do I have?"

"Thirty minutes."

"That's enough," I told him, and followed him back to the hotel. Sunday afternoon brought Grandmaster Dmitry Gurevich. He was a strong, established player, but he lacked the absolute elite status of Browne or Alburt. This was an expected, mid-field dominance win, a mandatory full point required by my plan. Still feeling the lingering fatigue and irritation from the day before, I was deeply impatient to end the game. I played with a cold, almost mechanical efficiency.

I bypassed his opening choices quickly, forcing him into a positional disadvantage by move fifteen. I played with a focused, brutal speed, sacrificing no time on the clock, demonstrating a mastery of technical execution they hadn't yet witnessed. The game was decisively shorter than my previous wins, an economic use of force that demonstrated my absolute control. Gurevich resigned on move thirty-four.

I immediately stood, leaving the lingering tension of the chess room behind me, my clock showing less than 3 minutes of time used. Tai Chi hadn't been enough. There was one other thing that could help me reach the Now. Music. I passed the crowd that had gathered for another show without a word. I sat, lifted the cover, and began to play. Unlike other evenings I didn't take requests or even acknowledge conversation. I just sank into the music. Note by note, chord by chord.

I have no idea what I played, or really for how long. When I stopped the room, much more crowded than it had been at the beginning and immediately filled with raucous applause. Suddenly I was being lifted into the air.

"Alright everybody. Thank you for coming, but it's past his bedtime," Matt told them as he headed for our room. I was asleep in his arms before we even got there.