Incoming thought dump, this is your chance to scroll past and completely ignore this.
I think I need to get punched in the face more. With boxing gloves preferably. Maybe eat a few roundhouse kicks too (preferably with shin guards). I’ve been feeling a bit unmotivated lately and have been trying to figure out why. Words don’t really mean a whole lot, usually (the source and authenticity being important variables). But getting my ass handed to me does, especially if I know it could have been prevented [otherwise it is just simple pointless abuse]. I need to have obstacles to overcome and not just a mindless grind for the sake of grind.
I know I refer to my time at FFA a lot but I really did learn a lot and make quite a bit of progress physically and mentally while I was there. The memories I keep coming back to was all the fun I had full on sparring in the kick boxing class there (at least while they did it on a monthly basis). To me that felt like just enough time to become familiar enough with whatever techniques we were working on that month and to make progress in the insane workouts to which I was subjected. I was fortunate enough to spar an array of different guys in sequence so I got to really experience what it was to go into a round already tired but still having to force myself to move quickly or get caught. I genuinely had to perform at my best, couldn’t lazy out (though I did have the range advantage a lot). It was like being locked in a cage for 3 minutes with a lion. Sometimes I was the lion. Sometimes I was the prey.
One of the most memorable days for me was one busy class day where we sparred for 12 rounds. Yes it was insane. Everyone got to spar with each other twice that day. My most vivid memories were sparring with coach John. This was a guy that despite being in his 40s (I think) was a far more dangerous fighter than most I got to go up against in that class. The assets were speed and endurance in my view. He could bob and weave out of my strikes like nothing. If I landed anything it was usually hooks, but that required moving in closer and I almost always took a shot in return. Still, there was an acceptable give and take overall I thought. That day the rotations worked out so that I only sparred him at the end after being completely gassed out through 11 rounds. Normally I was pretty good at checking roundhouse kicks, but at that moment I had hit that point were my body simply could not keep up with the demands of my mind. I ate a lot of solid kicks to the ribs (yay for shin guards). Despite that though, and I remember being told this afterwards, I was “still dropping bombs” in return.
I resonate with that moment in time because I think it has been a driving force in my life overall. Or at least I’d like to think so. I’ve literally and figuratively fallen a lot, sometimes for reasons of my own making. But I still need to get back up and drop some bombs of my own.