I rolled up to the office complex yesterday and – stomach rumbling – ducked into the ground floor cafe. It had been a long bus-and-Boris-Bike journey; I was hanging tough and staying hungry. My goal was simple: a bagel with cream cheese.

The cafe was almost empty. I placed my order. Then, rising up to the challenge of a steadily-increasing hunger, I asked for some tomato.

I surprised myself with this bold decision. I’m normally heavy-lidded and plodding at least until noon, but on this day I was resolute and steely-eyed. I felt completely at ease, yet entirely ready to change my passion for glory.

As I waited, I rocked onto the balls of my feet and surveyed the deli counter. My hands instinctively closing into fists.

Even as my every sinew coiled, I felt peaceful. Then, with my consciousness rising up, I realized what made this day so peculiar:

Eye of the Tiger was being pumped in through the overhead speakers at a barely audible volume. Not loud enough to really be heard, but definitely loud enough to turn a down-on-his-luck bagel-eater into a champion.

The clerk handed my bagel over the counter. I snatched it out of his hand, and, without bothering to pay, I jogged out the front door. With the weak sunlight streaming shining off my glasses, I pumped my bagel-carrying fist above my head and jogged into the lobby. I continued to jog in place as I waited for the elevator.

Moments later, I exited the elevator, strode into the office, perched myself on the corner of my desk and stripped down to the waist.

Then I destroyed that bagel.

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