John At The Gym

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There is blood dripping onto my leg. The blood is from my lip, I know this because 2 seconds ago a fist just met my face.

I should back up and explain.

When I started Charlie Kilo, I did 2 days of research into the “best” exercises. You know what I found out? Everyone has the best exercises. Everybody has the magic pill, the quick fix and the absolute best fitness plan available. You know what else I found? Way too many dudes claim to be Marines or ex-Special Forces guys in order to ask you for $49.95 when you lift weights.

So I did more reading. Checked out some diet and exercise plans. And here’s what I concluded:

The best diet and exercise plan is the most natural, most doable one.

It’s not about doing “mad reps to get a sick burn”,  it’s about working the body in all aspects to get results.

So, let’s go work the whole body. By getting into a fight.

Now, I took quite a few martial arts. I’ve studied quite a few schools of various weapons, and despite not being graced with a body hewn of stone (yet), I consider myself totally capable of fighting hardcore. So I call up a body of mine, who makes his living training cagefighters and wrestlers.

We meet at the gym, and he gives me three things, telling me they’re all I need.

1. Goggles.

2. Gloves

3. Mouthguard

I am not a dumb man. When another man (who is six inches taller, and outweighs you by 40 pounds) hands you these items one thing is clear:

You’re going to get a little battered and bruised.

We start off in the boxing ring, breaking out the old ba gua stretches. Feels quite good actually to work those knots out of the middle of my spine. All stretched, we gear up and go.

Fight time.

We start swatting each other, calling each other “Nancy” and “Doris”, and then it happens. I kick him square in the stomach. I feel the ball of my foot drive into his abs.

I’ve never been attacked by a bear or wolverine, but I imagine that it’s not unlike what happened next. Arms flying, knees moving, a full out beatdown assault.

This wasn’t a “hey we’re two dudes working out” oh no….this is “protect your life by any means necessary” fight (I call them Malcolm X fights).

I believe the body is hard-wired to respond in it’s more energetic and primal self in times of stress. Some people can lift cars off their children. Some people can survive falls.

Me? I turn into fucking Jason Bourne.

Elbows, Muay Thai blocks, some judo, some kempo, some aikido. This fight is on, and neither of us are slowing down.

I’m past winded. I’m not even sure what’s keeping me moving. My arms are sore, he’s joint-locked me a few times. He’s favoring his right knee, because I keep kicking it out.

For a moment, I give myself a chance to back up.

And then the punch comes.

I feel my lip split against my teeth. I feel the blood, warm and wet mix into my beard and down my chin. The shirt will soak a lot of it up.

Fight’s back on. No more coddling. High gear.

Rising knees to his face. I don’t know many locks, but I can damn sure wrench and snap shit. Full fight mode deluxe.

By the time it’s over, four trainers are standing ringside, clapping and nodding. I feel like 2 steamrollers Eiffel-Towered me.

I want to do it again.

Bloody, sore and sweaty, I climb back into the car, and watch blood drip onto my leg.

Awesome.

I’d say that was quite a workout.

I think tonight I’ll just walk around the block once or twice. Tomorrow, when I’m taking the day off, eating what I want and fucking a woman, I’m going to be sore, and I’ll be quite bruised.

But I know I’m alive. Glorious.

This isn’t just about ripped abs anymore.

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Tags: combat, fitness, health