/lit/ - Literature

Whoever hasn't reached a competitive level of ability in a major, serious sport (i.e. stuff like swimming and kickboxing, not golf or ping-pong) hasn't really lived—and never will. He is incapable of even conceiving what it means to be alive. Just consider that the videogame aspies feel like gods when they perform a highly demanding feat in which they are barely moving a finger or two, and then extrapolate from that what it would feel like to have to move every single muscle of your body in perfect unison, under the risk of serious injury or even death no less, if something goes wrong—not merely losing the "high score". "Better than sex" doesn't even begin to cover it—and that's why sex barely even figures in my top ten of favorite things to do. And that's why for the subhumans sex is the best thing of all, and after that drugs and rock and roll; or eating, drinking, or smoking and so on—some type of quick and easy chemical or hallucinogenic stimulation that their brains need on a daily basis merely so as to feel alive, because as I have just explained they really aren't. They sit in their little cubicles day and night, and flood their brains with these chemical substances, or submerge them in fake visual and aural worlds, until at last they become "addicted" to them—as of course they would, since what else do they have to do all day long? And that's when the struggle begins, the never-ending struggle against "addiction": addiction to sex, to drugs, to rock and roll; or to eating or drinking or smoking, and so on—whereas a man who is engaged on a daily basis on a hardcore fucking sport simply does not have the luxury to get addicted to anything beyond his goal. When you have to get up in the morning and swim two or three miles you can't afford to neglect your diet and rest and mental balance and so on. If you don't sleep a full night's sleep the night before you will drown. If you don't eat a full balanced meal you'll get sick. It's called "failing adaption", and a few days of that in a row will reduce a colossus of a man to a wreck who needs to spend all day huddled under a blanket drinking camomile tea and avoiding thinking loud thoughts.