He stood in the middle of a small room in a rented apartment on the outskirts. The light was dimmed, only one lamp on the floor and a faint gray light seeping through the old window. Outside, a light rain was drizzling, quietly and monotonously tapping on the glass. The room smelled of iron, old wood, and sweat.
He was completely alone.
He was wearing only black shorts. His body was already glistening with sweat. Genzo took a deep breath, placed his right palm on the floor, tensed his entire body, and slowly began lifting his legs upward. He wanted to stand on one hand. Completely. With the full weight of his body.
The first attempt failed almost immediately, his balance gave way, and he fell heavily onto his side, hitting his shoulder on the floor.
Genzo didn't curse. He simply got up, shook himself off, and tried again.
Second attempt. Third. Fourth.
Each time his body trembled, his muscles screamed, and his wrist burned from the strain. But he continued. When he finally managed to hold it for several long seconds, the world turned upside down. He stared at his trembling fingers, at the drops of sweat that broke off and shattered against the wooden planks.
Humans are strange creatures, he thought, breathing heavily. We are constantly searching for a point of support. First in games, then in friends, in love, in money, in the future. In the end, only one hand remains. The one and only point on which you must hold your entire weight. And the heavier life becomes, the more important it is to learn to stand exactly like that, with no right to a second chance.
He fell again. This time he painfully hit his elbow. Genzo sat down on the floor, leaned his back against the wall, and simply breathed for several minutes.
Genzo stood up, walked over to the makeshift parallel bars he had assembled from old pipes and wooden crates. He placed his hands, lifted his legs off the floor, and began doing push-ups. Slowly. Controlling every movement. His body lowered almost to the floor, then rose. The muscles in his chest, triceps, and shoulders burned.
Ten. Twenty. Thirty.
On the fortieth he was already shaking, but he continued.
He finished the set, jumped down to the floor, and immediately moved into a plank. His body trembled. Sweat dripped onto the floor. Genzo tried again to stand on one hand, this time the left. He held it longer than before. Just a few seconds, but it was already a victory.
He fell, rolled onto his back, and lay there staring at the ceiling.
We fear loneliness. But true strength is born in loneliness. When no one is watching, when no one will praise you, when you can give up and no one will know. That is when you are truly tested not in front of others. In front of yourself.
Genzo got up and walked back to the parallel bars. Another set. Then another. And another. His muscles were already refusing to work, but he forced them. Every rise came with difficulty, every descent with pain.
Maybe our whole life is training on parallel bars, he thought. We hang between heaven and earth. Between who we were and who we will become. And no one will tell you when to stop. Only you yourself decide whether to continue or give up.
When his strength finally ran out, Genzo sat on the floor, leaned his back against the wall, and closed his eyes. His breathing was heavy, his heart was pounding. Sweat flowed down his chest and stomach.
Outside the window, the rain continued to fall.
Genzo sat motionless and thought about how real hell awaited him ahead, fights without rules, pain, blood, possibly serious injuries. But right now, in this small room, under the sound of the rain, he felt a strange calm.
He was learning to stand on one hand.