Agency: He arrived at the Nyagoe competition as the outsider, the American who had trained alone, watched clips online, and wondered how he would be received. But as soon as he stepped onto the grounds, any worry about belonging faded. Strangers walked up to offer rope, water, and help.
By the time the clock neared 2 pm and the whistle was about to blow, he no longer felt foreign. What followed, though, tested him in ways he did not expect.
Brandon Jackson’s day had started hours earlier in a completely different world. He woke up at 6 am and spent the entire morning reviewing for what he considered his toughest class. The three-hour exam ended around 11 am, leaving him drained but relieved. After a quick meal back at his hostel, rice, a bit of dal, and some water, he met friends who agreed to accompany him to the competition. They reached the grounds at 1 pm in the afternoon.
He was excited as he walked in, scanning for the coordinator and searching for the implements he had seen online. Without warming up, he walked over while a crowd of about thirty watched. He lifted the log to his shoulder with ease. People looked around, wondering who he was, and the Nyagoe TV host noticed him immediately. After a brief conversation, he wrote down his information, received a quick briefing on the rules, and began to warm up.
Soon, it was his turn. He bowed to the Dzongda, spoke with the TV host, and prepared for the whistle. The moment it blew, the world went silent. He heard nothing, not the host, not the spectators, not even his friends, who later told him they had been shouting as loudly as they could. His mind was entirely fixed on the course ahead.
The log drag was the part he feared most. The friction of the grass could make or break the attempt, and he had no idea how difficult it would feel. Bracing himself for a heavy pull, he began.
To his surprise, the drag felt light. He ran with it, finishing the first 50 meters without any strain. When the time came to lift the log onto his shoulder again, he felt confident. He had practiced countless times and knew that logs required more technique than pure strength. He picked it up easily, but this time, the fatigue set in during the carry. His breathing felt fine, but his legs, especially his upper quads, were growing weak.
At the end of the carry, he was advised to take rest, but because he felt steady in his breathing, he decided not to stop. He moved straight to the over 100 kg heavy sandbag. He brought it to his chest, but his legs wobbled, and it slipped. He still believed he could move fast, so he rested only about ten seconds before trying again. It fell a second time, and now the exhaustion in his legs was undeniable.
This moment mattered. Failing twice meant he had only one more chance. After taking a longer rest, about forty seconds, he approached the sandbag again. This time it felt weightless. He lifted it quickly, just as he did in training. His legs were still trembling, but he placed the weight in the perfect position before tossing it onto his shoulder. It nearly slipped off, but he caught it just in time.