Of Speed and Solidarity: A Tale of Two Once and Future Kings

On September 6th, 2014, warriors will collide in contests of skill and will at Edmonds Community College. I bear the good fortune to witness the journey of two combatants as they prepare themselves. These two are fighters without peer that both know what the top of the mountain looks like. However their story begins at the bottom. One is a king who has lost his crown while the other has returned from a long absence to defend his throne.
Both have their hands full since they are both dealing with hungry competitors that seek the same success that they have had. But while their foes have fire in their bellies, my companions have steely gazes. For their eyes have seen countless battles and seemingly endless strife. And in their determined vision, only victory is visible.
For the one known as Solid, nothing has come easy. From his first foray into MMA which was set in a dingy basement that seemed more fight club than sanctioned bout to his anti climatic debut in Cage Wars. Unheralded but undeterred, he paved a pathway to championship gold, vanquishing foes with workmanlike execution. Though in his last melee, a back and forth bloody affair of attrition, Solid's crown was wrested away. The king of the mountain plummeted back to the depths below. That was then and this is now. Solid is back on the path and he expects no easy road nor casual stroll back to the top. Because he knows that ascension into the atmosphere requires absolute effort and he will give nothing less.
As for the one known as Speedy, he returns to familiar territory in unfamiliar times. For two years he has been away from the spotlight he commanded. Fighters have come and gone but whispers in the wind asked when the king would return. When the one whose record held no blemishes and whose victories were absolute. It seemed as if he would never return, for he became a king with no round table. But the whispers turn to the sound of trumpets, because Speedy is indeed returning. And seeks to remind the people, what made him wear the crown in the first place.
So now I eagerly await these two former kings trek towards the arena. To showcase to the world, their mastery of craft. So on September 6th, 2014, I intend to watch the throne. I advise you to do likewise.   

Falling

In the above photograph, I am being struck in the face and also in danger of being choked unconscious. Relaxing, recreational Saturday evening, this is not. I did indeed go into battle on May 10, 2014 as referenced in my previous post. Long story short, I lost via decision after 3 rounds of combat. Not the outcome I desired at all. And a very painful experience. The physical damage was merely superficial. I was punched, kicked, and put in rather precarious positions all throughout the bout. All of which can be viewed in the video below: 

 The physical bumps and bruises fail to compare to the mental anguish that ensued at the conclusion of combat. In the aftermath of battle, a wave of doubt crept into my thoughts. The questions that have been hounding me throughout the entire climb to the apex of the fight itself, finally catch up as the denouement of the whole affair has me battered due to the fall. The sensation of falling short despite all the work and preparation. Despite sacrifice, effort, and exhaustion. I still fell. It is disheartening to say the least. The situation can seem distressful and dismal. Depressing and hopeless. It can seem that all that time was for naught. That the notion of setting one's self for a fall is a foolish venture. However, one simple fact helps me silence all of the doubt that attempts to keep me chained. Love, stemming from the people that support me and from the sensation that training martial arts gives me. A sense of fulfillment and enjoyment that no other activity can emulate. Is losing painful? By all means, the answer is yes. The only thing that would cause me to suffer more would be to not have the ability to lose. Because that would mean that the avenue of pursuing martial arts would be kept away from me as well. So as excruciatingly miserable the state of losing is. As much as the fall hurts after such a climb. The mere sensation of pain is reminder that I am alive. And that pain will subside. But what will not wilt will be my desire to get right back on the path. To continue to climb despite past falls. To reach, despite not getting what I desired before. Because a juvenile bird will fall many times before finally feeling the sensation of flight. I am no bird and one can call me a fool. But this fool will continue to climb no matter how painful falling is. Because my goal is to not reach unattainable heights. I just merely enjoy climbing and the scenery is just a plus.

In the end I may be merely a loser. And also a deluded simpleton. Sadly though, I fail to respond to public perception of my character. So if one asks where I am or where I am going. Merely point up because that is where I plan to be. No matter how high the fall is. 

 

In Relentess Pursuit

Inspired by a letter I wrote to a friend.

In 24 days, 15 hours, 9 minutes, and 10 seconds as of this writing, I will be engaging another human being in hand-to-hand combat. It is known as an MMA match or a fight. To prepare myself, I have been engaging in activities to sharpen my skills. Currently, I am unable to fully move my right leg. The knuckles on my hands are heavily bruised. And my neck feels like I just covered a shift for Atlas. But that is just physical nagging that will resolve itself with rest.

My mind however will not relinquish a torrent of thoughts. A hurricane of emotions sweep up my being. They rush through at such a swift pace, that I have little time to gauge how I am feeling before the next emotion hits me. As I lay sleepless at night, I wonder why I do this to myself? In theory, my life could be free of much pain, failure, and overall misery. If I were to cease training MMA, there would be no more individuals lining up to hit me in the head. No more pressure to perform in a finite amount of time amongst a crowd of spectators who will criticize and analyze every one of my minute movements. Plus, I would then have a plethora more of free time for various other forms of recreation.

All these thoughts rush to my head in a brief moment. Swiftly though, I realize that all of those reasons to quit MMA matter extremely little to me. And also, I am certifiably insane. Because I will gladly go up against the world in pursuit of becoming a better martial artist. Other people's thoughts on what I do, hold as much weight as a person with no arms. I will gladly fail in front of an infinite number people in the name of bettering my craft. Most of all, there is not enough time in the day available for me to partake on my pathway towards martial art mastery.

As I laugh at my instant rebuttal towards my doubt, I wonder what caused such a strong desire within myself to walk this road. At the beginning of my journey, I was weak, in mind, body. and spirit. What has changed since then? Not much, except that I no longer allow my weakness to hold me back. It matters little how low I start because there is only so much higher to reach. As a man with nothing to lose, I have everything to gain. I may be ultimately broken but that has never stopped me before.


My desire to traverse this path stems from my search for truth. What am I capable of? Who am I, really? How much can I give? There are questions I have for myself that I intend to make clear while on this journey. How long must I journey? That question matters little because I will enjoy this venture however long it takes. No matter how many bumps and bruises I obtain. Or how much mental anguish I endure. It is all working towards being a bit farther on the path than where I was at before.


When my life is firmly extinguished, my words will hold no meaning. The actions I have done will be forgotten. And whatever little imprint I made on this world will ultimately fade. As for now, that is all meaningless. Even more meaningless is my incessant complaining about my condition. Because come May 10th, 2014. I will step into that arena. Walk into the heart of it along with my foe. Then I will pour every ounce of my being into a mere epoch of time. Looking forward to it.

Wanted To Be Like Mike

"Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth." - Mike Tyson

When I was born, my father commented that I was quite an ugly baby. He stated that my face resembled a dark pitbull or Mike Tyson. The latter comparison would end up influencing my life in ways that I did not know at the time.

My first working knowledge of who Mike Tyson was stemmed from the Nintendo game title where he was the final boss. As a mere child, I became familiar with the boxing titan who was assembled in pixels. Upon discovery that he was an actual human being and not merely a videogame character, I then saw his handiwork in the real world.

I had found him impressive as a final boss character, but even more so as a boxer. Even with my very rudimentary knowledge of boxing, I realized that I was watching something spectacular. The movements, the action, the flow of everything about fighting captured my young imagination. By the time I was born, it had already been a year since Buster Douglas had vanquished Mike Tyson and caused a chink in his mystique.Iron Mike to this day has given me plenty of takeaways on how to approach life.

• Life hits you hard, especially when you do not expect it. This takeaway stemmed from Mike Tyson's bouts when he is winning or losing. For example, as aggressive as Tyson was, look again at the highlight reel of his victories on the road to the heavyweight belt. Most of the damaging blows came on the counter shot. When one is focused on hitting something is when one is most vulnerable. This also can be seen in Tyson's first loss. The out of nowhere shot is more metaphorical but still no one expected underdog Buster Douglas to upset Tyson in a Tokyo arena. 

• No matter how high you climb, one is still human. This became all too apparent in the latter stages of Tyson's career, when he became more known for his arrests, outrageous antics,  and massive debt rather than his boxing prowess. It is the cold reality that the fall to rock bottom can happen to anyone even heavyweight boxing kings.

• Humor can help one's image no matter what one has done. In modern times, Tyson is now seen in the public as a face tattooed, pudgy, former fighter that appeared in the Hangover movies.The man can also dance. Does it atone for past maliciousness? Certainly not, but it is entertaining so see the former "Baddest Man on the Planet" jiving to Bobby Brown.

 

• Tigers are majestic animals and should not be kept as pets. One could view the Hangover movie as a representation of American excess and broken values. Or one could see the message that one should not violate nature by taking it out of its habitat. Also don't steal from people. A lesson that can hit one hard:  

• Lastly, do not get a face tattoo.

Of Tangents and Non Sequiturs

As this new year is now upon us, my thoughts drift towards events of yesteryear. Specifically one of my fondest high school memories. Seemingly at least. Let me explain further. 

I was a freshly minted high school student. By luck, chance, and circumstance I found myself propelled at the beginning of the end of my grade school experience. And in a mere forthnight, the first high school dance would occur. Now my social interaction with my female peers was minimal at best and downright disastrous if truly examined as can be read in my other entries. Not that my present is all too different but I digress. My young, naive mind wanted to change this fact and now I had a fresh chance to accomplish this. In middle school, I never bothered with scholastic dances due to my lack of courage and propensity to get caught up in misadventures. For example, I eschewed one such dance to participate instead with a cliche showdown street fight with a rival middle school across town. My attraction towards conflict had severely dampened any pursuit of girls in the past. I was tired of it and decided to draw a line in the proverbial sand. Not only would I act like a typical high school student but I would aim for the teen movie trope of asking my crush out. Yes the fire in my belly gave me the courage to finally approach my Unattainable Dream Girl (UDG). 

Ahh, my UDG, even now the thought of her induces a torrent of unyielding butterflies in my stomach. Back on my first day of middle school, I had taken a seat on the last period of the day and eagerly awaited its conclusion. I anxiously awaited the final bell due to being challenged to a brawl by a Fellow School Bully (FSB). It had been lunch period and I set out to establish dominance at my new stomping ground by going after the biggest kid in the jungle. That kid turned out to be FSB and he was easy to find due to being surrounded by crowd of eager underlings who did not wish his wrath. I made a good first impression with FSB by introducing the contents of his school lunch with his face. Shockingly, he was none too pleased and we scheduled to exchange further pleasantries after school. Needless to say, as I sat in my chair and eyed the clock, all I desired was escape from the classroom. That all changed when another adolescent denizen took the seat right next to mine. My utmost attention was still focused on the clock, but a melodic voice that stated "Hello" in such a pleasant fashion tore away my gaze from the digital instrument of time. I then came face to face with eyes as warm as hot cocoa on a winter evening and a gigawatt smile that could power Doc Brown's time machine indefinitely. Cupid sure hit me with a howitzer that day. I could barely mutter a reply back. This trend pretty much continued throughout middle school.

Back to high school me, who set out to finally voice my thoughts. Classes had ended for the day and I sought out the object of my youthful affection. With my lines being carefully recited in my head, I made a beeline for UDG's locker. I was on a mission but my path suddenly became blocked by a familiar figure. I bumped full force into FSB which sent both of us to the ground. I got up first and dusted myself off. As soon as I looked up, I saw FSB's hand shoot towards my face. My eyes widened. He did not swing a fist though, rather it was a piece of paper. After our school yard scuffle back in middle school, FSB and I had become close friends. The paper was an invitation to a gathering of fellow juvenile ruffians such as myself. A Don King wannabe had set up a sweet sixteen bracket of scholastic street fighters and I happened to be selected. Clearly someone had been watching too much anime. Of course, I was an avid admirer of anime as well so I eagerly look forward to such a challenge. However the date of the event caught my eye. It was the same evening as the dance. Without hesitation, I tore up the invite and told FSB that I would be busy.

I shot off, leaving my bewildered friend behind. My feet took me all the way to my desired location, right in front of UDG's locker. The locker's user's back was to me as she was withdrawing books. I meekly murmured her name which caused her to turn and flash me her mesmerizing smile. I froze on the spot. It was rather pathetic. Just moments ago, I was ready at the prospect to engage with a multitude of violent young adults. I had plenty of public speaking experience. I had caught every Pokemon that existed at that point in time (curse you Nintendo for constantly making more). I had faced daunting tasks before but this topped the cake. With UDG, I nervously made small talk about school subjects and weather. Pretty much anything BUT what I set out to say. My mouth spurted out countless stream of words other than asking her out. Time seemed to stand still as we stood there in front of her locker. I kept attempting to stutter out a question but my tongue and confidence just did not allow me to. The conversation was both amazing and horrifying at the same time. Her presence simply made me feel ecstatic but also made me want to run up the nearest mountain range at the same time. In my mind fear finally won out and I bid adieu to her without even once mentioning the dance. With my tail between my legs, I started to trudge out of there. UDG called out my name though before I got too far. I spun my head around to face her again. As my gaze encountered hers once again, she casually said "So do you plan to go to the dance?" This simple question caused my heart to pound with the fury of a 1000 Energizer Bunnies.

"Uhhh...daa..da...ance?" I shakingly stuttered. This caused her to giggle. 

Then she replied "Yes, the dance silly. Are you going to be all too cool for school to go?" As the words left her mouth, another blinding smile materialized on her face which left me no choice but to look down. This was it. A golden moment to ask her. My brow furrowed but I could not find the words to answer. UDG then continued to talk amidst my silence, " ...because if you do plan to go. Would you want to go with me? Only if you want to, that is."  My mouth was cartoonishly agape in amazement at this proposal. 

With every fiber of willpower in my being, I uttered "...Sure...I guess I'll go." Smooth move, Casanova. Never the less, UDG melted me again with an even brighter smile as she started to talk about dance arrangements. We talked for five minutes more until she walked off to go home. I stood there, still by her locker in disbelief with what just occurred. After ten additional minutes of statuesque behavior, I realized I had a date to the dance. In a burst of energy, I ran around the school track at least a dozen times. 

Leading up to the dance, I still could hardly believe my luck. It was like a dream come true. My thoughts kept telling myself not to mess it up. But surprisingly, nothing bad happened prior to the dance. The day of the fateful evening arrived and even then nothing awful occurred. I ignored all of the pleas from my supposed friends to participate in the street fight tournament. Instead I arrived punctual at UDG's home, then out to fancy restaurant. Exchanged in awesome conversation with UDG about video games, comic books, and cartoons of which she was an avid fan of as well. It pretty much trumped what I imagined it could be. Even at the dance itself, I found a way not to mess up. In all honesty, I could not dance my way out of a paper bag but UDG took it upon herself to slowly show me some moves. Not really dancing the night away but still quite enjoyable. The music slowed down and the DJ told every boy to find a girl. In mere moments, I found myself in extreme close quarters with UDG, my hands were around her waist as her smile lit up the dance floor brighter than light. We slowly swayed to the song, in simple reverie. At the conclusion of the song, UDG pulled me even closer to her and locked eyes with me. Her mouth then opened but I could not make what she was saying. So pulled even closer to her, now our faces were merely a nose length away. I still failed to hear what she was saying so I closed my eyes to concentrate. I heard her begin to say my name but it was as if she was in a vacuum. Then complete silence ensued. I opened my eyes again to look at her mouth still moving and then quickly shut them again to focus on her voice. Suddenly sound came again but it was not her voice. It was familiar but much deeper. 

Confused, I opened my eyes once again to find myself face to face with FSB. He looked concerned and kept saying my name. When he realized he had my attention, he said "Hey homie, you can stop now, you won." I pondered this and realized I was standing over an unconscious teen. I gazed at my hands to find them very bruised and battered.  I surveyed my surroundings to find myself amidst a makeshift ring located in a backyard. FSB lifted me up as a crowd of rough looking delinquents shouted in delighted bloodlust. Apparently, I had won the street fight tournament. I did not really desire victory so it seemed my body knew this. I cannot really say what happened, maybe I just whited out for a moment. Or maybe my mind shifted to a place where I rather wished to be. This strange occurrence is still vivid in my memory so  I am not quite sure what happened or what to make of it. I am probably just crazy.