Practice

Practice: repetitious, platitudinous, painful. One day, a man awoke to the sun rising. He found himself wide awake, remembering his dream. The crowd's cheers filled the room, excitement filled his heart, and the heavy medal rested around his neck. All of it disappeared as the chirp of a bird intervened and the call of the sun interrupted his glorious moment. So the man lifted himself up, and said to himself, "I want to win". Was there a spark in his eye? No, much too small. It was a fire. A fire which burned passionately with desire and determination. Before this man, working for such an event was thought ludicrous, but he wanted to win, to defeat his competitors, to taste victory. So he began to work, refining his abilities towards perfection, thus reaching excellence. Day after day, night after night. Restless days, sleepless nights. Constantly fortifying, refining, perfecting. When the day came, he took victory, stepping just one step higher than his adversaries. He cried a puddle, a river, an ocean, but no matter how much he cried, mournful or joyous, the passionate fire in his eyes never extinguished. His body cried from the stress, and his mind exhausted from the strain, but the man's heart was stronger. From that, the term practice was given to him, and created. The term "practice" rose from a man that said to himself, "I want to win", and took action towards that goal.