Daring Dauntless Brave and Bold {*OPEN* to all D1 Careers}

For once, I don't really feel like doing this: working out in the Academy's spacious gym, lifting weights as I am doing. I lay on the bench and push up the 225 pound weight with the trainer spotting me. Every time it seems like I can't do even this bench press but I end up doing that one, and then just one more. And then I decide I'm done; when the weight is in the rack, I sit up, looking around, probably annoying the adult man who'd been helping me. Other kids are sparring, hand-to-hand, a few running on automated treadmills, and my eyes are drawn as usual to the rope. The rope hangs down from the beam, which itself is the same length as the gym, running lengthwise under the vaulted ceiling for support, twenty-five feet up at least and perhaps ten inches wide. The rope has knots in it, to act as holds, though I have only seen a few people climb it, including me.

And then, of course, climb straight back down.

I go over to the rope, and look up, and wonder who tied it there, and how. I've never seen any giant ladders around here. I look up, and then I leap up, catch the rope, and begin climbing, sliding my hands up and gripping, then my feet, searching for a foothold. Hands. Feet. Up and up. This is hard work, and dangerous; at ten feet up I'd still probably break a bone if I fell, and I don't stop at ten feet. My arms start burning from lifting my own weight repeatedly so soon after the bench press, but I keep climbing. After what feels like forever, but is probably a minute or less, I reach the top. Now is when I am supposed to climb down.

Instead, I grab the beam itself and manage to hoist my way onto it. I am not thinking of anything but being up here, as I do that. I slowly, carefully, stand up with my feet on the beam, and then I start to walk, refusing to creep along like some old man, but still cautiously. I don't think I'd better look down to see, but I wonder if anyone has noticed. A moment later, I hear the voice of one of the trainers sounding a bit alarmed, saying loudly enough to be heard, "Dio! Get down off there!" Hah. She's afraid I'll fall. I picture the upturned faces, and grin.

I don't listen, of course, and before I know it, I am at the other end of the beam. I am quite careful as I turn, and begin the return trip. I don't falter on the way back any more than I did on the way over. I reach the near side, and climb back down the rope. Several of the other kids clap, and when I jump off at the bottom of the rope, one girl is there to give me a high five.

I look around the room, and then, smiling, I casually say, "Who's up next?" as if what I'd done was merely another exercise expected of us career-tribute-in-training people. The male trainer speaks up hastily, saying in contradiction that no one is going next, giving me a bit of a glare. Usually, I try to please the trainers, but right now, I don't give a whole damn. That was exhilarating, and, now, the rope and the beam have no more power over me. Not having the guts to climb and walk the beam before was a weakness, one that I've overcome. I despise weakness in myself. I head to the bench where I left my water and have a long drink from the bottle. I'm sweaty and aching and I feel great. I see the trainers speaking quietly, heads together, and smirk. Sure enough, a moment later I'm ordered to run laps, and I don't argue, just start running, and I keep it up for an hour, until they tell me to stop.

Time for another drink of water. I'm still smiling as I head to get one.