So, I love to fight. Obviously, else I wouldn’t be here, getting a weekly pummelling and then writing about it. In particular, I love to fight either barely armed, or completely unarmed. I love the circling, the dodging, the strategy and the sweat. But above all, I love the impact. I love the feeling of elation that comes from recieving a good shot to the stomach, jaw, or leg, the surge of adrenaline that spurs you to do all those diabolical things, and more, to your opponent.
It doesn’t come cheap, though, this primal love of martial violence. My rather, let’s say, aggressive approach to martial arts ends up dealing me a good deal of hurt, some of which I don’t notice ’til after the fact. take this latest class, for instance. After going through knife drills, the class engaged in some sparring. I was up against the instructor of the session, Justin Ring.
Now, I love fighting with Justin. There’s a certain manic gleam in his eye during a fight that just makes one want to knife him in the belly – positively, of course. So needless to say, we bypassed the ‘slow work’ stage a little quickly. Just as I like it. Onto some relatively fast, relatively hard knife sparring.
A knife fight. Note the knives.
Ouch (said with much glee).
It was only after the session that I noticed a lump the approximate shape and colour of a robin’s egg on my wrist. Huh.
Anyways, this happens to me often, when I lose sight of the training aspect and give in to the primal rush of the fight. All this has given me the sense to use our good friends, Advil and Ice, with great abandon.
It may seem nonchalant and stoic to swagger away from a hard fight with untreated injuries, but that’s just poor sense. If you want to keep up your manly fightin’ ways, by all means, my friends, treat your body with the respect it deserves, even if it means sitting out on a really cool Marozzo class (the repercussions for my most recent bout of recklessness). Your battered body parts will thank you.
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