Hornet stirred at the cold gust of wind through the open window, sitting straight up in bed. Disoriented at first, he finally remembered where he was. It’s bad enough when you wake up and don’t know where you are. It’s even worse when you’re at home.
Four in the morning in Greensboro, NC is an odd time. The sky is still black, but there’s almost a hint of light. A promise of something better to come.
Most of the world’s asleep, with the exception of garbagemen and hookers. An odd combination if there ever was. And one thirty-six year old wrestler whose back aches.
It’s a cycle he’s gotten used to. In the beginning the painkillers worked magic; ten minutes after swallowing them down, out like a light and no worries. After a few weeks, it took four pills… then eight… then it was time to get a new prescription, then find another doctor for another prescription. There’s no question in his mind that it’s too many, but it stops the pain, and helps him sleep.
Except on nights like this one. Waking up in the middle of the night, unable to go back to bed, but too drained to do anything else except meander around like some fictional undead creature who goes back to sleep as the sun comes up. The sleep of the dead, the wanderings of a lost…
Lost soul? No, that’s too close to home. Too close to him. Mark Windham… the wrestling superstar turned tragic victim by his own design. The man who knew too little, but didn’t even know that much.
Tomorrow’s an on-sale in Hampton, then onto Norfolk for ON TIME and Nathan Cross. It would probably be a good idea to scout the kid, to know something about the man across the ring other than the fact that he’s from the West Coast and likes to fly.
So the midst of the darkness, the blue glare of a television appears, causing an instant headache. But wrestlers persevere through pain, right? Professional wrestlers don’t feel pain like normal people.
Common misconception. They feel it. We feel it. For some, it’s like adrenaline, too easy to become addicted to. For others, it’s just pain, it’s something you block out and get through, anyway you can. Either way, it’s not the feeling that’s different, it’s the approach. Because no matter what... Pain. It hurts.
Four in the morning in Greensboro, NC is an odd time. The sky is still black, but there’s almost a hint of light. A promise of something better to come.
Most of the world’s asleep, with the exception of garbagemen and hookers. An odd combination if there ever was. And one thirty-six year old wrestler whose back aches.
It’s a cycle he’s gotten used to. In the beginning the painkillers worked magic; ten minutes after swallowing them down, out like a light and no worries. After a few weeks, it took four pills… then eight… then it was time to get a new prescription, then find another doctor for another prescription. There’s no question in his mind that it’s too many, but it stops the pain, and helps him sleep.
Except on nights like this one. Waking up in the middle of the night, unable to go back to bed, but too drained to do anything else except meander around like some fictional undead creature who goes back to sleep as the sun comes up. The sleep of the dead, the wanderings of a lost…
Lost soul? No, that’s too close to home. Too close to him. Mark Windham… the wrestling superstar turned tragic victim by his own design. The man who knew too little, but didn’t even know that much.
Tomorrow’s an on-sale in Hampton, then onto Norfolk for ON TIME and Nathan Cross. It would probably be a good idea to scout the kid, to know something about the man across the ring other than the fact that he’s from the West Coast and likes to fly.
So the midst of the darkness, the blue glare of a television appears, causing an instant headache. But wrestlers persevere through pain, right? Professional wrestlers don’t feel pain like normal people.
Common misconception. They feel it. We feel it. For some, it’s like adrenaline, too easy to become addicted to. For others, it’s just pain, it’s something you block out and get through, anyway you can. Either way, it’s not the feeling that’s different, it’s the approach. Because no matter what... Pain. It hurts.
