Post by Deleted on Oct 13, 2017 21:59:38 GMT -6
My story begins on December 13th, 2013. It was a Friday night, and my boyfriend and I were at the Armory for a special wrestling event they had called The Nightmare Before Christmas. The main event was Kris Kringle, dressed in a black satin Santa Claus suit and black beard, against the ever-popular Evan Dynamo. I was sitting in the front row, I loved watching Dynamo do his thing in the ring. The crowds loved him, and so did I.
I was Evan Dynamo’s girlfriend. Fiancee actually, we were to be married on New Year’s Day on the beach in Mexico.
The match was going well, the fans were eating it up, booing and cheering, the Armory was LOUD that night. Evan hit his spinning DDT and was going for his finisher, the shooting star press he called Starshine, a name I came up with as a joke and he liked the name enough to use it. Evan got up on the top rope, but as he leapt, he lost his footing and came crashing down on his head and neck.
I froze. This was the love of my life, and all I could do is watch the paramedics work on him in that ring. When they wheeled him to the back, I jumped the barricade to follow. I rode in the ambulance with them to the hospital. I was a nervous wreck. After a few hours, the head doctor came out to find me, and the look on his face said plenty.
Evan was gone. And on that day, my heart went with him.
For a year, I was a wreck. I couldn’t watch a wrestling show, I didn’t even go to the memorial show they had for Evan, even though I received many phone calls from the wrestlers. There wasn’t much of a service, money was tight. In fact, as I tell this story, I look up at his urn on top of the cupboard, up on the corner. That was Evan’s favorite place in that ring, up on the corner, so there is where he stays now.
I started to gain weight, eating my emotions. One day, I went by a gym and noticed one of the wrestlers training there, I only ever knew him as Scotty The Body. He was Evan’s tag team partner and best friend, so popped in to say hi to him. He almost didn’t recognize me. I saw myself in one of those full-body mirrors and I almost didn’t recognize myself either. We talked for a bit, and mentioned he was a trainer and would like to help me as a favor to Evan.
Chaim, Scotty’s real name I later found out, didn’t start me off slow, said it wasn’t his style. He told me if I wanted to get fit, I had to push myself harder than I thought I could handle, and then harder still. He hooked me up with a nutritionist who, literally, showed up at my front door and went through my fridge and cupboards and tossed out all the junk food and processed foods I had.
The nutritionist’s name was Carole, and she was thorough. Every week, she’d come to the house, help me with my diet, took me food shopping, and we struck up a friendship. She’d also get me on the scale, take my measurements, and give me pointers on how I should tackle my workouts. She also introduced me to Crossfit. Shortly afterwards, unfortunately, Carole’s husband walked out on her, left her with nothing, so I took her in. She was a valuable piece of my recovery and training, and I couldn’t afford to lose her. I was training four times a week, doing Crossfit five times a week, Saturdays were my down days.
And occasional cheat days.
I had never lived with a woman before, let alone in a tiny one-bedroom place. Carole never complained about the couch I was darned near embarrassed to let her sleep on, until I noticed during our sessions her back was off. I offered her my bed, I had a queen-sized bed which is super comfortable, and for the next while, we simply shared the bed.
One Friday night, Carole and I decided to start the Cheat Day early, and went out to a bar. I was starting to get some definition back, had dropped about 50 pounds, and I’m not a small girl to begin with, I’m almost six feet tall, so people noticed us. Carole got intensely drunk, I had had a few but wasn’t inebriated yet, and one guy tried hitting on me. I tried letting him down nicely, but he wasn’t having it. Carole, in her drunken haze, decided to shut him up by telling him I was her girlfriend! The rest of that night, Carole was hanging off of me, always an arm around the waist, the occasional kiss which I found myself starting to like actually. By the time we got home, we were both laughing like fools about our pretend lesbian relationship. We went to bed as we always did, but that night, things changed.
I had gotten used to Carole cuddling me in her sleep, it was nice actually. I hadn’t had anyone share the bed with me since Evan, and I never really realized how lonely I was, until I felt Carole cuddling with me. Every morning, she’d apologize for it, and I would tell her it was okay. I think we both needed that sense of comfort and I was happy to help her. That night, however, there was more than just cuddling involved. Carole always went to bed in sweats and a tank top, always. That night, she was just in her underwear, which didn’t bother me. I was buzzed, it was a warm night. I was in a pair of thin pajamas, and as we laid in bed, neither of us unable to sleep, still wound up from the partying earlier, Carole kissed me again.
And I didn’t stop her. I didn’t want her to. With each kiss, I wanted her more, and with inhibitions low, we stayed awake all night, and we explored each other like a pair of schoolkids during their first time. Actually, it WAS our first time, for both of us.
The following morning, after the alcohol wore off, Carole got distant. We didn’t talk about the night before. In fact, within a few days, Carole found a place of her own, told Chaim she would no longer be my nutritionist anymore, and disappeared. I didn’t know how to feel, so I went back to training. Hard. And I continue to train that way to this day. I entered contests and won. I was benching close to 500 pounds, and deadlifting 450. I stood out in many competitions, both due to my height, and my physique. I got solid, and I wasn’t done. I needed more to do with this newfound strength, and Chaim recommended I look into getting into wrestling myself.
So I began studying tapes. Evan had showed me a few moves when we were together, but I never got into an actual school until now. I learned the basics, as all wrestlers do, and the trainers all said I was a natural. At home, after my workouts, I would watch a lot of women’s wrestling, as well as men, thinking of ways I could be in the ring. I was developing my own style, borrowing from others, and I discovered there was one chick who seemed to have what I wanted in that ring. She was strong, she was quick, she was innovative, and she looked great doing it.
That chick was Samantha Tolson.
I tracked down many of her matches from different companies, and I studied her career. I even studied her as a person, wanting to know how she lived outside of the sport. Chaim suggested I try Twitter to get myself noticed, and noticed I was. I made so many friends, so many connections, and got to meet my hero, Sam Tolson, in the flesh. Ironically, I had just signed to Honor Wrestling, forgetting she was the champion there, so when Sam pointed that out to me, I knew I made the right decision to join.
My goal is to face the teacher some day.
I was Evan Dynamo’s girlfriend. Fiancee actually, we were to be married on New Year’s Day on the beach in Mexico.
The match was going well, the fans were eating it up, booing and cheering, the Armory was LOUD that night. Evan hit his spinning DDT and was going for his finisher, the shooting star press he called Starshine, a name I came up with as a joke and he liked the name enough to use it. Evan got up on the top rope, but as he leapt, he lost his footing and came crashing down on his head and neck.
I froze. This was the love of my life, and all I could do is watch the paramedics work on him in that ring. When they wheeled him to the back, I jumped the barricade to follow. I rode in the ambulance with them to the hospital. I was a nervous wreck. After a few hours, the head doctor came out to find me, and the look on his face said plenty.
Evan was gone. And on that day, my heart went with him.
For a year, I was a wreck. I couldn’t watch a wrestling show, I didn’t even go to the memorial show they had for Evan, even though I received many phone calls from the wrestlers. There wasn’t much of a service, money was tight. In fact, as I tell this story, I look up at his urn on top of the cupboard, up on the corner. That was Evan’s favorite place in that ring, up on the corner, so there is where he stays now.
I started to gain weight, eating my emotions. One day, I went by a gym and noticed one of the wrestlers training there, I only ever knew him as Scotty The Body. He was Evan’s tag team partner and best friend, so popped in to say hi to him. He almost didn’t recognize me. I saw myself in one of those full-body mirrors and I almost didn’t recognize myself either. We talked for a bit, and mentioned he was a trainer and would like to help me as a favor to Evan.
Chaim, Scotty’s real name I later found out, didn’t start me off slow, said it wasn’t his style. He told me if I wanted to get fit, I had to push myself harder than I thought I could handle, and then harder still. He hooked me up with a nutritionist who, literally, showed up at my front door and went through my fridge and cupboards and tossed out all the junk food and processed foods I had.
The nutritionist’s name was Carole, and she was thorough. Every week, she’d come to the house, help me with my diet, took me food shopping, and we struck up a friendship. She’d also get me on the scale, take my measurements, and give me pointers on how I should tackle my workouts. She also introduced me to Crossfit. Shortly afterwards, unfortunately, Carole’s husband walked out on her, left her with nothing, so I took her in. She was a valuable piece of my recovery and training, and I couldn’t afford to lose her. I was training four times a week, doing Crossfit five times a week, Saturdays were my down days.
And occasional cheat days.
I had never lived with a woman before, let alone in a tiny one-bedroom place. Carole never complained about the couch I was darned near embarrassed to let her sleep on, until I noticed during our sessions her back was off. I offered her my bed, I had a queen-sized bed which is super comfortable, and for the next while, we simply shared the bed.
One Friday night, Carole and I decided to start the Cheat Day early, and went out to a bar. I was starting to get some definition back, had dropped about 50 pounds, and I’m not a small girl to begin with, I’m almost six feet tall, so people noticed us. Carole got intensely drunk, I had had a few but wasn’t inebriated yet, and one guy tried hitting on me. I tried letting him down nicely, but he wasn’t having it. Carole, in her drunken haze, decided to shut him up by telling him I was her girlfriend! The rest of that night, Carole was hanging off of me, always an arm around the waist, the occasional kiss which I found myself starting to like actually. By the time we got home, we were both laughing like fools about our pretend lesbian relationship. We went to bed as we always did, but that night, things changed.
I had gotten used to Carole cuddling me in her sleep, it was nice actually. I hadn’t had anyone share the bed with me since Evan, and I never really realized how lonely I was, until I felt Carole cuddling with me. Every morning, she’d apologize for it, and I would tell her it was okay. I think we both needed that sense of comfort and I was happy to help her. That night, however, there was more than just cuddling involved. Carole always went to bed in sweats and a tank top, always. That night, she was just in her underwear, which didn’t bother me. I was buzzed, it was a warm night. I was in a pair of thin pajamas, and as we laid in bed, neither of us unable to sleep, still wound up from the partying earlier, Carole kissed me again.
And I didn’t stop her. I didn’t want her to. With each kiss, I wanted her more, and with inhibitions low, we stayed awake all night, and we explored each other like a pair of schoolkids during their first time. Actually, it WAS our first time, for both of us.
The following morning, after the alcohol wore off, Carole got distant. We didn’t talk about the night before. In fact, within a few days, Carole found a place of her own, told Chaim she would no longer be my nutritionist anymore, and disappeared. I didn’t know how to feel, so I went back to training. Hard. And I continue to train that way to this day. I entered contests and won. I was benching close to 500 pounds, and deadlifting 450. I stood out in many competitions, both due to my height, and my physique. I got solid, and I wasn’t done. I needed more to do with this newfound strength, and Chaim recommended I look into getting into wrestling myself.
So I began studying tapes. Evan had showed me a few moves when we were together, but I never got into an actual school until now. I learned the basics, as all wrestlers do, and the trainers all said I was a natural. At home, after my workouts, I would watch a lot of women’s wrestling, as well as men, thinking of ways I could be in the ring. I was developing my own style, borrowing from others, and I discovered there was one chick who seemed to have what I wanted in that ring. She was strong, she was quick, she was innovative, and she looked great doing it.
That chick was Samantha Tolson.
I tracked down many of her matches from different companies, and I studied her career. I even studied her as a person, wanting to know how she lived outside of the sport. Chaim suggested I try Twitter to get myself noticed, and noticed I was. I made so many friends, so many connections, and got to meet my hero, Sam Tolson, in the flesh. Ironically, I had just signed to Honor Wrestling, forgetting she was the champion there, so when Sam pointed that out to me, I knew I made the right decision to join.
My goal is to face the teacher some day.