Saturday, September 21, 20XX

Today was exhausting. And crazy. And strange. And all the other words I realize I tend to fill the gaps between real, coherent thoughts. "Real" is yet another one of those words, dang it.

Alright, alright, let me get my thoughts together. After club yesterday, after the whole incident, after tea was served, and after Mr. Kafka was consoled, Mark and I started talking strategy. I have a week to prepare. Next Friday is the show down. As much as I'd like to complain (and I did do lots of it), we're already in this predicament, and like I now say, there's no use crying over spoiled lemonade. The only option I have to save face is to meet him head on and do my best, which is easier said than done. I'm not one of those cultivators than can transcend power levels mid-battle, slapping the faces of arrogant young masters left and right like in those power fantasies I read. I'm just a poor boy caught up in a landslide with no escape from reality. I need no sympathy. Any way the wind blows, it doesn't really matter to me, now I just need a plan and a plan fast.

"WE NEED SOME WHEELS," as one strange blue squid has said.

One thing led to two to three to five to seven (the evil number disregarded) and then it was decided for me to visit Mark's place today. Not his home, but his family dojo. I was going to spend the day training hard and getting those gains. Good things come to those who HUSTLE so we gotta GET AT IT BOYS. That was the idea.

But dang, Mark is CRAZY (for lack of a better word). That man does not rest. We went at it the entire day, and as I'm writing this in the comfort of my modest home he's probably STILL drilling down. Not lying. I never lie.

Mark gave me the scoop on what to expect from Leandro. He's a terrifying ball of tenacity packed into a 5'4" frame. Mark hasn't rolled with Leandro in a year, but from what he knows, I should expect he's not going to fight me seriously. And why would he? A random outsider is looking to face a seasoned veteran. I was never on his radar, so I shouldn't be able to put up a good fight in the first place.

When Mark laid that down, in his cool and structured manner, he did another one of those evil smirks. "We'll show him," he declared, eyes colored with bloodlust. Mark is hella competitive, I witnessed, more and more. It's probably the battle juice. He has way too much real life fighting experience for a simple high schooler. He told me stories from war.

I salute him o7. What a legend. A hero! (Or maybe an anti-hero...).

Though he said that, he continues to practice hard with me, and even harder on his own, sometimes with other members of the dojo. He is still preparing if and when it's his turn on the mat. Though he declared some overconfident things, he is being pretty cautious himself, taking measures for the both of us with careful training for me and solo drilling for himself. Though he hurled abuses at me relentlessly during practice, he was actually pretty patient with me, actively checking up on me, and adapting the training to my fluctuating state. He is hella considerate. He even ordered takeout ramen for us to eat, AND he got me mint-dark-chocolate for doing well (92%, my favorite percentage). Seriously, he is a walking contradiction.

Leandro is a beast at finishing from any angle, so my best bet is to play the transitions. Keep moving, escape from any and every position. That is, to evade like a madman.

It sounds like the obvious and unfortunate choice, but there's more to it than that. It's a lot, and it's pretty late, but Mark and I wracked our brains over this and it has a good shot. All that's left is drilling and conditioning.

There's not much I'll be able to do in a week. Unfortunate push-ups, sit-ups, and an approximately six miles run won't do (I would need three years at least for that. Also here in America we don't use metric, unfortunately).

"What else to do but my best?" True, but if a line like that simply worked in real life I would have conqeured the world. There's also the issue of motivation. I don't want to do stuff. Working is scary.

Yet I drag myself to it anyway. Such is life. Such is the dangerous life, the risky way, the Mark Rodgers special. Getting involved with him is not a good idea yet I did it anyway.

Ah, ah, what a pain.

So I worked myself down to the marrow, and even though I feel more exhausted than I've ever been in the past year, I feel hella accomplished. It must be all the hustle juice. Mark had to compress a four week plan into one week, so there'll be more hell from here on out.

Give me all you've got, life! But not too much!

Finally, I get some rest tomorrow. Hulu and chill. Currently watching this shoujo comedy with my cat, it's great.

Speaking of the little feline rascal, it's time for his daily dose of pets! COMEHERE

AaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAaaaAaaaaAaaand it's been done. He's been pet on behalf of all you hustlers out there.

HUSTLE NATION REPRESENT!

I'm tired. Peaces.