It's been years... It appears that I've completely forgotten about you, my blog. Honestly, I don't know why. I remember enjoying myself, pouring out thoughts, and weaving my interesting story. Yet, at some mysterious point, I halted.
Life, since then, has unfolded with its share of intriguing experiences—some delightful, others not so much. On the balance, the positive outweighs the negative, but strangely, I don't feel any different, unfortunately.
My last post echoes from March 2019, a time when hope for my archery career lingered. But that time has long faded. Now, I find myself more of a spectator to the sport, or maybe not even that. Shooting, an integral part of my past, remains etched in my memories. However, life's shifting circumstances have transformed it from an enjoyable pursuit to a distant echo of what it used to be.
I have nothing, absolutely nothing to say about the pandemic years (2020-2021). Everything was a blur, and nothing felt real. I kinda enjoyed it, I read a lot, had some family time (which I didn't have for a long time because my brother and sister worked in the capital city), and did some walking. But that's it. Life as we knew it was put on hold for several years, and I think I should just move past it, even in my writing. . .
Fast forward to 2022. In my mind, archery was a chapter closed, not because my passion waned or my love for the sport diminished (I missed it every day), but unforeseen events, ones I won't delve into here, nudged me away. Reluctance held me back, yet sporadically, at the persistent insistence of my coach, Agron, I picked up the bow again. His stubborn outreach worked its magic, and I found myself shooting semi-seriously, just in time for two significant competitions.
The first, a European Championship in Munich, Germany, was seemingly grave in its demeanor. The second, the Mediterranean Games in Oran, Algeria, though less grand in archery significance, held a special place in my heart. It was this competition that truly rekindled the fire for genuine shooting. I yearned for a finish, a chance to explore an uncharted part of the world, and most importantly, a taste of success, irrespective of the competition format.
Germany witnessed my performance falter, but there were moments of brilliance. Instances where I felt like a spectator in my own body, on autopilot, letting success unfold. Sets of 3-4 tens out of six arrows showcased a caliber of shooting that defied my expectations. The catch, however, lay in my inability to consistently 'activate' this exceptional form. It wasn't my norm; it was sporadic brilliance, satisfying when it occurred but happening all too rarely. I had to learn how to keep the shooting form high and avoid moments of brilliance in exchange for consistency, in time for Oran..
Oran presented a different breed of competition. I've acknowledged that, in terms of archery, this event didn't carry the same weight as others. However, the unique format garnered significance from participating countries, and I, too, assigned great importance to it. Juggling a job, my training sessions were squeezed into any available moment—after work, on weekends—whenever time permitted. Despite this, a nagging awareness lingered deep within; I recognized that my preparation wasn't extraordinary. I knew, with this level of readiness, that I was destined for failure rather than the fulfillment of my potential.
The Olympic-style ambiance, bringing together athletes from diverse nations, paints a captivating picture. It showcases individuals like me—those with a desire to compete but lacking unwavering dedication for various reasons. Yet, it also unveils the unwavering professionals, athletes who invest every ounce of their being into the pursuit of success, aiming to bring glory to their homeland.
Reality struck hard. Nothing aligned with the script I had envisioned (or dreamt of, to be more accurate). I experienced a spectacular failure. Despite feeling good during my shots, the results were dismal. This marked a nadir in my competitive history, both nationally and internationally. My arrows refused to find the target, and I found myself clueless on how to rectify it.
Life becomes an arduous journey when your internal struggles prevent you from doing something you know you should excel at. It becomes even more challenging when your support system dwindles, leaving you isolated in your pain, grappling with the void left by those who once understood your struggles. The person who once understood and was there for you at every step, is there no more, that sucks.
The anticipated spectacular journey to Oran turned into a spectacular failure. While the city, reminiscent of Albert Camus's books, held a certain allure, it was the sole highlight of an otherwise disheartening trip.
Since that disappointing turn of events, my engagement with archery has dwindled. The desire and passion for the sport persist, yet the courage to pick up the bow and contemplate a serious comeback eludes me. I find myself at a crossroads with my beloved archery, and the trajectory is not one that I embrace.
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