Morale Compass (ON HOLD)

I Lost.

Georgia Weston was raised on a singular rule; never bring dishonor on your family.  Georgia came from a family of athletes. Dad was a pro fighter until his back let him down, mother was professional dancer for the American Ballet until she had kids. She was bound to be an athlete. From a young age she was taught winning is what got you feed, slow feet don't eat, and other quotes that rang through her head during every day life. It got intense by high school she did morning weights, cardio at mid day, high school practice, and then a skills practice after. She watched film while she ate, listened to former pros via pod cast. She wouldn't failure. That would break her morale code.

How she achieved her athleticism wasn't up for discussion. She was on "the juice"  many wondered how she had dropped weight so fast, how her mile time improved by minutes, and how she never seemed to recover. Little did they know the reason she wore sweatshirts every day wasn't because she was cold but to cover up the numerous needle marks that tracked her arms like chickenpox. She popped oxy like an addict. She was, but that wasn't the point. She ate upwards of 7000 calories a day but she also burned off 8000. Four training sessions all in the heat and all without water. If you looked her in the eye you would think she was a zombie. The dark thick bags under her eyes could move a mansion across the country and the sunken in facial features screamed help, her hips showed through everything, yet nobody stepped in; in fact quite the opposite happened. Teachers praised her for her athletics, girls praised her for her thin waist, guys commented on her toned body, coaches watched in awe at the machine of a girl.

She was 14 years old and drawing college scouts to the middle of Alabama to watch her play varsity. She had learned to become numb. If you didn't feel you had no weakness. If it hurt pop an oxy and keep moving. Pain is weakness leaving the body. She had that tattooed down her forearm. That was her reward from her father. If she beat her Mile time or squatted more then last time she was rewarded in the form of tattoos. No cheat meals, or days off.  By the time she was 17 she had covered her back, stomach, hands, arms, neck, legs, and pelvis. She was running out of room. Her body turned into a walking quote. "Protect this house" read across her shoulder blades, "God, Glory, Guts" read down her spine, "No one cares work harder" read across her thigh. Wolves and eagles, honey badgers, and bulls covered the empty parts.

She had finally got off the dope when they started drug testing athletes in her junior year. The off-season was for dope. They had started the drug testing after Dab pens started to rise in popularity. Now as a senior with offers from everywhere the pressure was on. She was to not lose. Everything she had worked for was on the line. Her coaches loved her. she was a natural leader. Her teammates hated her. She would scream at them if they messed up, would make mandatory practices on the weekend. The good thing was if the girls didn't want it they quit. So many left in fact they didn't have enough for a JV team. But that did make sure that everyone who was there wanted to be there. The freshman stared at the tatted midfielder in adoration and in bewilderment. She was the first one there and the last to leave, she didn't cuss, she worked hard even when the coach wasn't watching. If they were asked to do 10 push-ups Georgia did 11. If they were asked to run one mile she ran 2. No matter what you did she would always work harder. The older girls hated her. As a freshman, she was annoying. Always trying to one up a senior. She never spoke to them outside of training, she was homeschooled so no one knew anything about her besides the fact that she wore the same model of cleats for the past 3 years. If they broke she grabbed the same ones that had never been worn. They also knew that she was a meathead. If she was talking and it wasn't soccer related it meant she was on the phone with her trainer. She would speak about a new max, supplement, exercise, or her weight.

Her hyper fixation of her weight in her 3 years had raised multiple concerns from her coaches. While she was never fat she had always seemed to slim down by the day. Everyone noticed the bags under her eyes and the terrible bruising that covered her body. Most thought she was being abused until her schedule had come to light. Another thing that had stuck out was the fact that she had never trained in short sleeves. The only time she wore shorts and a t-shirt was during games. The meal prepped meals also didn't help she carried around a meal time sheet that told her what to eat when and had the specific caloric value on each individual ingredient.