It fucking sucks

It fucking sucks. Fucking Brock Lesnar. Former football star turned professional wrestler turned WWE wrestler turned UFC STAR. Fucking Lesnar.
You would think that a champion in one of the hardest sports in the world would be physically impenetrable. You would think that. Physically impenetrable. I thought that. This all changed in 2009 when Lesnar's intestines got attacked by diverticulitis forcing him to cancel a fight and undergo surgery. Fucking Brock Lesnar was a STAR. This all changed.
Diverticulitis is when your intestines form pouches where food weasels itself into. Like a fucking parasite. So your food gets stuck in your intestines and this eventually turns poisonous turns infectious turns life-threatening. Diverticulitis. Life fucking threatening.
So Lesnar fought his way back. Fought his way back to optimal health. To the fucking arena again under those bright lights those bright lights, that octagon. He looked strong he looked menacing. He looked healed.
So Brock finally gets a shot at the title again. He gets a four page spread in Muscle and Fitness magazine highlighting his training and diet since his sickness. He gets a four page spread in one of the biggest magazines that caters to a male audience. He fought his way back.
It fucking sucks because Lesnar's intestines have been attacked again. This time he decides to pull out of his major fight against Dos Santos this summer. Lesnar had this to say:

"I felt another infection. I got a CT scan on my stomach and there was visible inflation. What it does is it doesn't allow me to train to my full capabilities and I was forced to make a decision to go back down to the doctor this week to see how far this was along and what it does is it drains my entire body. Basically you've got an infection in your stomach and all my resources went to fighting this problem instead of rebuilding what I tore down in the gym."

It fucking sucks but Lesnar swears that this will not will not be the end of his career. There's an ultimate fighter inside of him and he will fight back from this sickness and he will fight his way back. Back to the fucking arena again under those bright lights those bright lights, that octagon.

The Dolce Diet

Diets suck. I'm annoyed when people tell me they're on a new diet every fucking week. I'm annoyed when girls think starving themselves will make them look better. I'm annoyed when my best friend tells me to eat fast food to gain muscle. I'm annoyed. Annoyed. Don't they know?
1. Numbers mean nothing. Especially when it comes to the scale. You could be gaining all fat. Or worse, losing muscle.
There's this fighter. This fighter named Roy Nelson. Roy is such a fucking talented fighter but you would never know by looking at him. Let's be honest. Roy looks like shit. But I would never tell it to his face because he also looks hungry.

So Roy fucking Nelson finally decides to get his ass into shape. He goes to Mike Dolce, famed nutritionist and huge advocate of whole and natural foods. The guy doesn't even support taking supplements. On the tsbmag.com  blog he had this to say about his diet for fighters:

“I am not an advocate of supplements, although, supplements do make their way into my program                towards the very end once we made sure we have a very high level of whole, earth grown nutrients,” Mike     says. The only supplements he supports are all natural ones, like fish oil or flax seed. “Any other supplements out there, sports supplements – I’m not the guy. We can get all the same nutrients and a better level of nutrients through whole foods.” If you want to get big, it’s all about “calories in versus calories out.” Mike advocates eating “mom meals” when trying to gain muscle, foods like chicken, broccoli, potatoes, steak, etc. The caveat is “you have to make sure your food source is of a very high quality.”

 Now I'm not quite sure if this Mike Dolce guy really deserves to call this his diet. The Dolce Diet is eating natural and whole foods? I've been doing that for years already. My mom has been doing that since before I was born. My grandma has been doing that for who fucking knows how long. But maybe Roy never has. So  good luck to Roy. He's going to need it. Can anyone say divorce? I heard his wife stopped going to his fights a long time ago. And it wasn't because she didn't want to see him get hurt. She just didn't want to see him topless anymore.

Western Winds

It's bullshit. I had a perfect plan for my blog. A perfect plan. OK, maybe things don't always turn out the way they're supposed to. Maybe things never turn out that way. I had a perfect plan.
So instead of taking you along with me in this post to my first MMA lesson, I'm going to veer into a different direction. We were heading west with the spirits of the good wind. Now we're heading south. But maybe that isn't all too bad. I mean, the teacher is the teacher. And I am just the student. I'm the student changing his direction. Like a good boy. I'm just a student looking for another teacher to give me advice. I was heading west.
I'm heading south.
I found this article by Jeffrey Carver on the Atlanticmma.com blog site. It's supposed to help improve an athletes grip strength. I could use that strength to choke the life out of my lungs. I could use it like a good boy. They say that to write a good summary, you must be able to suspend your own beliefs for a time and put yourself in the shoes of someone else. I read that once. I would like nothing more than to walk away as a new man. I found this article by Jeffrey Carver.
Jeffrey Carver explains in the article titled, "One trick that'll improve your grip strength today" a way to use a towel to complete your MMA conditioning workouts. The best exercise with the towel is the pull-up. You grip the towel instead of the pull up bar. You grip the towel and that's what makes it so hard to do. This is the best towel exercise.
Maybe things will go back to the way they once were. Maybe they will go back. Maybe the next time life hands me lemons I'll just squeeze the fucking shit out of them. I'll squeeze the shit out of them because I listened to Jeffrey Carver. I listened to Jeffrey and started bringing my towel to the gym. I mean, the teacher is the teacher. And I am just the student. I'm the student changing his direction. Like a good boy.

Insecurites

The goddamn alarm is going off and all I want is to burrow my head under these pillows. I'm not good enough for this. I just know that I'm going to walk into this class full of seasoned bad-asses and I'm just going to stand there by the front door and they are all going to know. They're going to know that I have no idea what I'm doing. That I'm green, inexperienced, maybe too old to be trying this out for the first time. And then they are going to laugh. Laugh inside their little heads about me. Maybe they'll laugh about my clothes. Maybe about my hair. All I know is that they're definitely going to laugh about me. 

I shrug this thought from my mind and throw my feet on the ground. Fuck it. I always do this. I do this every time. Every single fucking time. Every time I decide to try something new I let my insecurities creep their way into my mind and out through my actions. I'm tired of it. This is something that I'm doing even if I have to roofie my orange juice and manhandle myself onto those mats. 

Wrestling mats. I remember when I was 13 and I used to watch this show called Monday Night Smackdown and this wrestler, this wrestler the "Rock" would come out and onto the stage. He would come out all ripped and then these fireworks would explode and everyone would cheer and whistle and scream. I remember being glued to the screen and being downright amazed at how strong he looked. I wanted to be strong just like him. Fuck, I wanted to BE him. So every Monday night I would do push-ups and sit-ups during the Smackdown's commercial break. I figured that in no time I would have a physique just like him. 

But that never happened. Its been twelve years since then and although I've made some progress, I've come to realize the difference between working out and eating right to shoving steroids up your ass like suppositories. I've tried it both ways. One's just more expensive. So I eat my scrambled eggs, oatmeal, and roofie-free orange juice, go outside, get in my car, and head down the road drugged free. 

Hi, my name is..

Fuck it. I finally realized that I've had an attitude problem my entire life. Maybe it was because I was born dead on a cold garage floor (which is why I hate working on cars, I'm sure) or maybe it was me being teased by the older black kids in my neighborhood, a ritual the trailer park kids down the street jumped in on as well. These were the same black kids that tried to jump me when I was six. The older brother held me so his younger brothers could punch me (I'm sure it was just because I had red hair, or because I refused to chew my gum any quieter on the bus) but I ended up, to my own amazement, pushing one kid down the ditch and taking the other kid's backpack and throwing it down the sewer.
This of course, wasn't the first time kids decided they didn't like me. I remember my first fight, back when I was only four years old. There were these dirty pale kids on the military base in Puerto Rico who loved to roll down this hill in front of their house in big green plastic trash cans. You could see them out there almost every day, pushing each other down the street and laughing like big dumb ass morons. That't probably because they were just that. Morons.
I think this particular incident started when my sister put a big rock in a bubble gum wrapper and told the leader of the dirty pale kids, there were three of them, to close his eyes and open his mouth. Like the dumb dumb he was he did just that and got a chipped tooth and a broken ego. My sister came home crying for some reason and my best friend Tyler and I decided to go over there and finish her job for her. I remember kicking one kid in the nuts and us throwing the same rock eating kid into his own plastic trash can and kicking him down the hill. I don't think he was screaming for joy that time...
Or maybe it's from my time in the Army as a Military Police Officer. Another place in this world where big dumb people get to scream at you and tell you what to do all day long. Yes sergeant, I would absolutely love to go outside in the rain and mud and do push-ups for you. No sir, I hate sleeping, PLEASE wake me up and force me outside to jog in the sleet and snow just because I forgot to bring a pen to class. That makes sense doesn't it? Come to think of it, I think they had the bigger attitude problem, compared to me for once. I mean, they just loved to pick on ME in particular. They said it was because I had the most "potential" to be a great soldier. I never believed them. I definitely call bullshit on that one.
This brings me to where I am today. Looking for a positive outlet for my built-up anger. I'm like a buffer, red-headed version of Adam Sandler's character off of Anger Management. I'm about to implode. So what the fuck am I to do?