A Writer’s Lament
It’s hard, they say. The training, the restrictions, the keenly scrutinized diet and the woeful lack of social life. The years of absolute focus and determination, all underscored by an unsatisfiable, ruthless ambition that drives them through the pain.
But all the sweat and tears, those injuries and sacrifices, they could lead here: the Olympics. Only the best of the best, if you discount all the loopholes limiting entries from the same country, could compete for the ultimate athletic honor, claiming their time in the public eye.
The pinnacle of mastery, with an unquestionable marker of success – that’s what awaits them: a resounding cry, declaring virtuosity or denouncing nerve-pressured failure. Definitive, quantifiable, and unassailable.
Theirs isn’t a world of gray-scale insecurity, languishing in indeterminate obscurity, at the mercy of public subjectivity.
If only our world was as black and white.