The Mindful Athlete Novels & Stories

Droplets splash as he moved swiftly and naturally. The said that exercising can reduce stress. Alexander Pope thought so: “Strength of mind is exercise, not rest.” And Plato agree: “Exercise would cure guilt conscience. And so, Seungcheol thought that to lessen his anxiousness, working out is the key for his head, just as it is in his heart. He believes that physical stress can cure his heart ache and he might forget everything that keeps him awake at night. After jabbing for an hour, Seungcheol looked up and stared at the yellow light above the boxing ring. Sweat burst out on his forehead, and his tongue seemed paralyse.

Chloe's POV I rubbed my temples as the door to my tiny campus office clicked shut behind the last athlete of the day… a cocky baseball player who had spent forty-five minutes complaining about his “haters” instead of engaging with any actual mental performance strategies. Another wasted session. Another reminder that most of these kids didn’t take sports psychology seriously.

While I do this I let go of all of my frustrations, confusion, anger, desperation and need. The whole time my brain is clouded by thoughts of Ash. Where is he now? Is he okay? Has he found the sword and shield yet? Is he still looking for me? Does he think I am dead? Has he given up hope? Every question fires my hunger to find him, the desperation to be in his arms, the anger because he didn’t come find me and because he got us lost, the frustration and confusion about this whole mission. I stop my movement and close my eyes, focusing on the thoughts that plague my mind. I need to tune them out, and get focused on practice. I try to change my thinking pattern at first it doesn’t work and the

It's about turning the mindless chore into something greater: a mindful moving meditation with the least simulation possible. Here how it works, we will sit still with our thoughts in silence for hours and hours while listening to nothing but the steady sound of the churning paddle and cream, as it slowly turns into butter and buttermilk. While doing so, we have to pay attention to our breath. Acknowledging every breath with gratitude and grace. And that's it, with a bit of luck and blessing from God, according to the sisters, we will hopefully notice an increased level of relaxation and inner peace. That’s why it’s a perfect work for the broken and battered ones.

I really should research nymphomania and see if you could even have the disorder after more than two years of celibacy. I took a deep breath. Now that I had myself past the onset of a melodramatic panic attack, I realized I was stuck writing a series of articles on athletes while children around the world starved. This was supposed to be a make-it-or-break-it moment for my career. Could I bring a positive light to something entirely useless in humanity’s struggles? I didn’t know. If athletes switched pay with teachers and police officers, our world would be a better place.

Jensen My mouth is dry, and my head is pounding. I vaguely remember falling asleep in the car while JT chewed our asses out for drinking and fighting. The bikers started it. Storm and I finished it, is all. Were we supposed to let them beat us bloody? I like to fight, but I’m not a masochist. I don’t enjoy pain, but it helps to clear the brain. When I fight I can focus on it with blank uncluttered mine. I can’t meditate on shit, so the only way I can achieve mindfulness is while fighting. Or maybe I’m just hyper-focusing? I was diagnosed with ADHA while I was a kid.

“Begin with endurance. Tilt, arch, shift. Respond fully to presence, not touch. Every motion precise. Every twitch measured. That is obedience.” I moved as instructed, tilting my hips, arching my spine, lifting my chest. Heat flared sharply, muscles tightening painfully, slick gushing out in hot, slippery rushes that made wet sounds with every shift. My hole clenched rhythmically around nothing, aching and empty, while my cock throbbed hard against my stomach, leaking steadily. Every subtle motion was magnified under their unrelenting gaze. Every breath, every shift, every deliberate twitch carried meaning. Aurelius moved closer, pressing slightly, letting the warmth of his body brush agains

The next morning before the interview, Niall came into the Hall in which the interview was going to be taken. He was sitting there cause he needed some time alone because he wasn't able to sleep the whole night. He was happy and a bit of the nostalgic cause at the end of the day, he was going to meet her, finally. When no one came into the room for the next five minutes he stood up and went towards the big window which was on the left side of the room. He stood there thinking of multiple things at the same time. And suddenly his meditation got broken by a big thud,

Jovielyn inhaled and exhaled, counting slowly. "Inhale, exhale... Inhale, exhale, one hundred and eight..." Recently, she had taken up mindfulness meditation as a means to alleviate her stress. It helped distance her from overthinking and constant worry, and it had remarkably improved her focus. From what she understood, one hundred and eight was a sacred number, significant in various realms such as sacred geometry, astrological architecture, and metaphysics.

I transferred because I needed distance, a new city, a new station, some kind of fresh start. At least that's what I told myself. Mercer motioned for me to follow him. "Come on. I'll introduce you to the team before they all pass out trying not to think around you." As we walked through the bullpen, the atmosphere shifted. The second heads started turning in my direction, the mental panic somehow got worse. [Don't think about that stripper!] [Why is she prettier than I expected?] [I wonder if she can hear fantasies.] [Don't think dirty!]