Sorry you got injured, but....
I'm thinking that this stuff would make a great TV show or movie. A young guy just trying to live life and practice Martial Arts in Texas...an comedy ensues.
The hot receptionist is a lie :-(
(This would have been a varrot comment, but apparently I'm still crushing like the pads between someone's vertebrae...)
Originally Posted by Emevas
Forever Fat II Part Two Act Three: Wanderlust King
My back hurts day and night. For a solid week my sleep pattern is erratic and interrupted constantly by back spasms. I need assistance to stand up and lay down, and can only be upright for no more than five minutes at any given period of time. I'm forced to miss work, thus tarnishing my once perfect record. My thoughts drift from misery to woe to anger and revenge.
The medication prescribed to me does very little other than give explosive diarhhea giving me the choice of holding my butthole tightly shut and praying it doesn't ooze free while I try to rest my back, or letting loose my loose poops while gritting my teeth from the unbearable pain that comes from sitting up for too long. This goes on for what seems like an eternity, but comes closer to a week. The stark transition from training 15 hours a week to 0 hours a week makes me restless, yet my mangled body prevents me from moving. I return to anger and revenge.
Eventually I regain a little more mobility; I can stand up on my own, walk around, and poop without a stop watch. I can work again, which I am surprisingly happy to return to. A full month has gone by, and I'm able to do most things I was doing before without any pain, except exercise. Within minutes of trying to grapple, my back begins to quiver and I quickly abandon any thoughts of continuing. I can't get reduced to my bed ridden nature again. I like being able to poop without weeping. Instead I fill this void by watching hours of grappling instructional material, training by proxy. While it may be little more than crappling, it does soothe me a little.
I explore the finer points of life, parts I'd been neglecting. I pick up the banjo and the accordion, I catch up on all the gaming I'd missed, and I meet the most delightful young lady. Despite these things, I'm still longing to grapple. I'm gaining weight, but worst of all, I'm feeling Grapplers Guilt. I'm getting worse, losing stamina, god, I've got so many techniques I want to try out, **** this back, I wish I could spar, gragh!
After a month and two weeks, I decide to try a Friday class. You know, just test the waters. I'll take it easy. Won't even spar; just work the techniques. Okay, well, maybe I can spar a little. Light rolling. That'll work. Well, light rolling with the big guys. I can afford to be a little more intense against the lower ranks. Well hell, I can't just go all lazy on people better than me either. For safety's sake, I should go at full intensity!
I'm sore for a full week, and am back to my frankensteinish way of walking. But it was worth it.
During my week of soreness, my dad comes home with a story to tell. As it turns out, he works with someone who practices grappling. A purple belt, he trained at the school of Penis Hands at the same time I did. He had also trained at every single BJJ place I had been to, and a few more. A grappling nomad after my own heart. The plot thickened even further when my dad revealed his brother was a black belt, and he was opening his own school.
I felt a sense of kindredship with the brothers. We were all wrestling vagabonds, man hugging hobos. Where we laid our belts were home, and the mats become our throne. We adapt to the unknown, under wandering schools we've grown, by ourselves but not alone. We ask no one; and our belts are severed clean, the less patches we have the more we gain, off the beaten path we reign. Rovers, wanderes, nomads fagabonds call us what you will.
My dad further informs me that I, and my brother, had been invited to train there on open mat day, just for the hell of it. He gives me the address, and I say why not?
That saturday I'm completely rested, and I google map the address. That can't be right, I tell myself. I check the address, and remap it. It is. I don't believe this.
The Black Belt Brother's had opened a school in the exact same building where the Aikido and Good instructor ran out of business. They haven't even had a chance to change the signs! The short drive is a reprieve. I arrive, and it looks just like it used to. I recognize the black belt's face from more than 6 years ago; though he's drastically changed his hair style since then. Once shaven, he has grown out both his hair and his sideburns, such that he looks like a short stockier Wolverine.
We train for two hours, sparring interrupted by him showing us a helpful move and drilling it a few times, or me asking questions mid roll. He invites me to drop in any Saturday I want, no charge. If I hadn't already fallen in love with his sideburns, I would've asked him for a date then and there.
I'm only sore for a few days, but I'm being ripped apart with internal conflict. Do I continue training where I've been, or should I switch to this new exciting place? To make matters worse, the old good instructor calls me. He tells me his new school is doing rather well, and invites me to drop in some time. He sweetens the deal by telling me that he shares the building with Ninjas. Ninjas. Ninjas. Ninjas.
I'd never have imagined I'd find myself in such a precarious situation. Perhaps it was my constant transitioning from school to school that had driven such a "Move on to the next one" instinct. Maybe I was just being called by the open mat, called to new exciting challenges I had yet to face. Or maybe I had ADHD and couldn't keep focus on one school. Whichever was the case, I was caught in the conundrum as to which school I wanted to attend.
Forever Fat II Part Three, Act One: Runaround Man
So far today has been a good day, rolled out of bed at 11am, have a new installment of Forever Fat waiting for me. Time to buy some lottery tickets.:qgreenjum
Originally Posted by MrBadGuy
So how close are we to the present with this latest installment?
not too far off, I remember him bitching about his car accident a few months ago.
Whine whine whine, its hard to keep an erection when you complain so much, mrbadguy!
Forever Fat II Part Three, Act One: Runaround Man
They say a man is paralyzed when he has too many ideas, and I was that man. If I only had to choose between two places it would be an easy choice; flip a coin, rock paper scissors a random bystander, if the crusty side of the sock lands up, etc. But in this situation, I had a three way tie, a mexican stand off of sorts; adding to this that the triangle is nature's strongest shape, there was not going to be a solution forthcoming any time soon. I couldn't find it in my heart to eliminate any one of the three. I had emotional ties to all the places, and this was the problem. I needed cold, hard, throbbing logic to make this decision, not any wussy emotions.
The heart of the problem was I have a perpetual case of "Oh, look over there!". Whether it be genetic, or conditioned into me from my vagabond martial ways, I had this personality trait whether I liked it or not. And my choices were to either embrace it, or stifle it completely.
My final decision was that of adventure. I set my sails out, and signed up back with the old good instructor; while the new guy I knew from penis hand's was letting me join for half price with my brother. Over all, the price increase was negligible, and much better hours; I was having to drive straight from work to make it to my now ex-training dojo, while I could wait till seven or even seven thirty to consider getting ready at my new training halls.
I dropped in old good instructor's place first. It was here that I sighted, in all their vainglory, my first ninjas (some may argue that my ability to see them discredits them as being true ninjas; I tell these people to shut up).
The leader is a black belt in ninjutsu. He looks like Jim Breuer if he gained a hundred or so pounds. He has no uniform top, wearing only a black shirt, but he has black pants, and...WHITE SOCKS!? I'm very confused at this point, as I had expected to finally see a pair of tabi in my life time. I'm grief stricken at this missed opportunity, but I continue to examine the rest of the class.
His yellowbelt is a portly young lass, and by portly I do mean the size of a port. She's a yellow belt, and has the exact same outfit as the instructor. Later I find out they're man and wife, and a fellow BJJ'er makes a joke at the thought of wedding consummations. Images of grotesque white garbage bags filled with jello oscillating to and fro fill my mind, and I no longer wish to pursue that avenue of thought.
The only other student is a skinny asian man. He has the standard uniform, white socks and all, a while belt, and a black head band. I'm not sure if the latter signifies anything; I don't ask. Don't ask, don't tell.
Our classes run simultaneously, but I sneak peeks whenever I can.
He explains more on the basics of the stances, the fire stance, which signifies agression, the water stance, which signifies fluidity and movement, the earth stance, which signifies defense, and the wind stance, which signifies movement. I'm not entirely sure what purpose wind stance serves, other than the round out the elements.
They start with water stance, and do battle rolls under punches, and then a side kick, while on all fours, to the side of the knee. It is the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen. We start to practice basic double legs, and they coincidentally happen to practice take down defenses.
"Those guys love being on the ground, but on the street you certainly don't want that. You do whatever it takes to stay OFF the ground."
This statement catches my attention almost instantaneously, because I instinctually know that the ridiculous techniques are soon to follow.
Their first takedown defense is an upside down tiger claw to the face. The instructor emphasizes latching your fingers in the nostrils and ripping each hand sideways. I guess it isn't true after all; you can pick your foes, you can pick your nose, but you actually CAN pick your foes nose.
His next defense is to push the shoulders backwards, which makes the other person stand up, and then do a bolo-punch esque motion for tiger claws to the groin. I'm sure there's a plethora of jokes to make involving synonyms for the word "cat" and the groin attacks, but I'm going to take the high road and call them Man-feeler-uppers, because they always paused for a good ten seconds or so between after they finished the groin strike and after they removed their hand from the groin area. Hand jobs as a take down defense was a new one; I'd heard of giving a helping hand, but this was ridiculous.
The ninjutsu class finally concluded with fire stance, where the instructor donned a red helmet, and told his students to just go crazy, and attack with everything they had. The asian man went first, and I saw what would happen if Michael J. Fox ever got electrocuted. The wife went second, and after a few powerless ham fistings, she tuckers out. He tells them the tabi will be arriving next week (!), and they bow out.
I will look forward to this. Definately, I will look forward to this.
Next time, Forever Fat, Part Three, Act Two: Bad Woman
finally, i get my ninjer episode!
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