Percy v Geras

“Annabeth gripped my shoulders. “Percy, you can’t do this.”
“Hey, it isn’t something I want to do.”
“You can’t beat him.”
I wanted to argue that this was our best shot. It was a lot better than all three of us getting turned into grave dust. But I could tell from Annabeth’s expression that she had already run the angles. She was way ahead, as usual.
“Hercules wrestled Old Age to a standstill,” she continued. “That’s the only time Geras has been forced to call a draw. Beating him is impossible.”
“What was Hercules’s secret?”
“No secret. Just brute force.”
I rubbed my biceps and tried not to feel offended. I wasn’t weak, exactly, but superstrength wasn’t on my list of powers. I got breathe underwater and talk to horses instead, which weren’t so useful in a Greenwich Village playground smackdown.”

“Then Gary shook his head. “We’ll stick to the original arrangement.”
“Fine,” I muttered. “When do we start?”
I didn’t even have time to breathe. Suddenly Gary was on my back, his hands like steel clamps on my shoulders, his legs wrapped around my rib cage, his heels digging into me like I was an uncooperative horse. My knees buckled. The guy weighed a ton. I threw out my hands and broke my fall, my face only inches from the asphalt.
His sour breath made my head swim. He said in my ear, “Oh, we can start whenever you like.”

“Now I was locked in a wrestle-to-the-death contest with Gary the diapered god of halitosis.
And I was losing.
I tried to push against him, to force myself upright. It was like pushing against the roof of a tunnel. I twisted sideways, using his own weight to sling him off my back. I crawled away, gasping for breath, and barely had time to get to my feet before he slammed into me again, wrapping his arm around my neck. He pulled me into a side headlock, forcing my face dangerously close to his armpit. I really wished I hadn’t taken those menthol tissues out of my nostrils.
“Oh, no,” Gary cackled. “You can’t run from Old Age.”

“interference!”
“It’s not interference,” Annabeth chimed in. “It’s commentary! Every wrestling match has commentary.”
Their distraction bought me a few seconds, which I’d like to say I used to formulate a master plan. Instead, my thought process was: Oh gods I’m going to die help ow armpit armpit.
This falls short of the criteria for master plan.
I tried to shuffle sideways. Gary held me fast. I pushed forward with all my weight. I leaned back, hoping to pull him off-balance. Even though the guy was half my size, he didn’t budge.
“Going somewhere?” he asked.
With his free hand, he punched me in the ribs. The sound that came out of my throat would have alerted any walruses within a two-mile radius that I was looking for companionship.
“Flag on the play!” Grover yelled. “Ten-yard penalty!”
“No body blows!” Annabeth agreed. “That’s not wrestling!”
“Shut up!” Gary complained.
While his attention was divided, I managed to twist out of his headlock. I wrapped my arms around his chest and squeezed with all my might. I tugged and pushed, but I just couldn’t budge the guy.
He laughed. “Having fun?”

“That was impressive,” Gary said. “Now, shall we end this?”
He plucked me off his chest like I was a tick, then threw me across the playground.
“Percy!” Annabeth yelled.
Her tone of concern was the only thing that saved me. As I sailed through the air, Annabeth’s voice electrified every molecule in my body. My senses went into overdrive. Instead of slamming into the play structure, I twisted in midair, grabbed one of the bars, swung around, and landed on my feet. ”

“Well . . . I say charged. It was more of a determined hobble.
I had time to think, A plan would be really good now.
Then he was on me. He tackled me and pushed me backward—right into a tetherball pole. My spine creaked, but the pole kept me upright, even gave me some leverage.
I locked my hands around Gary’s biceps. My arms groaned. My vision dissolved into black and white strobe flashes. I managed to push Gary forward one step, then two. I was fueled not by strength but by desperation—and my rally didn’t last.
Gary clamped his bony fingers around my shoulders. I am here to tell you: shoulders have a lot of nerve endings. Gary found them all. I screamed as he pushed me back against the tetherball pole. The metal began to bend.
“You have lasted longer than most,” the old man conceded. “It was a good try.”
A good try, I thought, my mind drowning in pain.
Awesome. I couldn’t win, but at least I’d get a participation award from Old Age.”

Cotg pg. 214-222