Forget and Remember

Forget and Remember

By: Matt Carroll

 

Don’t think about the good old days.

Walk towards the ring and wave to all the people with the shot-put in your hand. They call out your name, and remember you only get three throws today because this is the championship round. Your team is there, so don’t forget that even though they don’t know how good you used to be you should be kind to them anyway.

You’re in college now. No one knows you were an All-American football player, or that you were a hometown hero. Forget about the pain in your knees. You should have gotten those surgeries when you were younger. You should have listened to the doctors, but you tell yourself they were wrong. No one believes in you. Remember to believe in yourself.

Find a focus point. Tuck the shot-put underneath your chin. The crowd is quiet. Focus on one thing at a time, not many things. Make sure to rotate your left leg, keep the upper body still, land on your tow once you hit the middle of the ring, hit the power position, flick your wrist, aim for the sky, and don’t watch it as it hits the ground. Walk out the back of the ring.

They’ll measure your throw.

            43’3”

            Don’t pay attention to the fact you’re currently in first. You used to throw it ten feet further.

            Forget about how your twelve year football career came to a close long before you wanted it to. Forget about how painful it was to give up something you love, all the doctor’s visits, all the pain, the physical pain, the emotional pain that hurt even worse. Forget about the redhead that left you, or the blonde bombshell before that. Forget about all the friends that left you and how your siblings say your comeback to sports is only a dream. Forget about the dreams you once had of being a champion, or of all the people who subtly tell you those dreams can never come true. Forget about all the friends that abandoned you and how they used to be around all the time when you were great. Forget how people labeled you a hero in your hometown and now you’re stuck in a college hundreds of miles away and no one knows your name, but if your body hadn’t failed they would have befriended you. Forget about the shame you feel when you visit home and see all your friends who question you, but remember that you’ve changed for the better and they’re still stuck in that cow shit town.

            Pick up your shot-put and wait for your second throw. The judge will call people through the line. You’re a college athlete—a professional at what you do. You see a young kid toss a better throw than you, then another, and finally another. You’re currently in fourth.

            You’re teammates pat you on the back and tell you good job. Fourth will get the team four points. Forget about how first place could get the team ten points.

            It’s your second throw.

            They call your name and you step into the ring. You get your focus point. Remember that once you hit the power position to unleash all your power. You spin. You rotate quickly and you explode once you hit the power position. Forget that it isn’t as powerful as it once was.

            44’4”

            Don’t be disappointed or frustrated. It’s not as good as it once was, but it was an improvement. Remember that you just moved up to third.

            Your teammates tell you good job. Third place will get the team six points.

            Remember what you learned in your sport psychology class. Forget about how the other competitors are doing. Remember to focus on yourself and your personal records. Focus on the intrinsic, not the external forces.

            Forget that these younger kids are more talented than you, and they don’t work as hard as you, or don’t deserve it as much as you. Remember how hard you’ve worked, but forget about how little it pays off in your pain-ridden body.

            Don’t watch the other competitors. Forget the kid who just beat you out to take third. You’re in fourth again. Remember how hard you worked. Remember this is your last throw of the day, but forget this moment is the very last of your athletic career. Forget this moment will seal your retirement and that nothing happens after this anymore, forget you will no longer be competitor, and remember to explode with everything you have once you hit the front of the ring.

            They call your name.

            You step into the ring for your third and final throw. Some of your teammates are watching, but most of them are interested in other parts of the track meet. Remember to tuck the shot underneath your chin tightly, to spin slowly out of the back of the ring, but as soon as your right foot hits the ground remember to speed up and explode.

Don’t think about the good old days.

            Your foot hits the middle of the ring. You remember to explode. Give everything you have to this final throw. You explode.

            It’s the best throw your tired and mauled body could manage. It soars through the air. You watch it for a moment, you lose your balance, and you try to save the throw. You lift your left leg up and try to save the throw.

            Forget the friends you lost. Remember the friends you lost.

            You can’t save it. You foul your last throw, your final throw.

            Remember you’re too old to cry. You see the divot the shot-put made. It would have been a 46 foot throw, first pace would have been yours, but you try to forget about that. Remember what all your coaches told you growing up about keeping your composure.

            There are a few people who see you. No one really notices you. No one realized what could have just happened, or who you really are, and how good you could have been. The track meet is over now. Walk towards your gym bag, pick it up, and get on the bus.

            No one realizes this is a warrior’s, a man’s, last moment of glory.

            Smile and laugh with your teammates on the bus ride back to the college. Get a bite to eat at the cafeteria afterwards and still laugh and smile no matter how much it hurts on the inside. Try to forget your career is over. Play some pool in the dorms afterwards with a few cute freshman girls who see you as their older brother. Forget about how four years ago they would have viewed you as something more than just an older brother. It’s late.

            Go to your dorm. Your roommate is gone for the weekend.

            Remember that it’s okay to cry now that you’re alone.