Before the age of 30 I had backpacked in the mountains of Alaska, cliff-dived in Hawaii, road-tripped in France, driven from the American Mid-West to the West Coast twice, made my own video games (haven’t sold any though), worked for Marvel Comics, traveled to nearly every state in the US and probably some other memorable stuff I’m forgetting. Out of all this Alaska would be the first thing I’d sign up for again and have. That is likely why its first on the list, being already quite close to my mind’s surface. I appreciate these experiences and the people I shared them with, but none can even begin to approach the joy I feel from martial arts (granted you consider wrestling a martial art). Starting from when I joined a wrestling team as a little kid so one day, I can be bigger than my brother to my most recent joining of a local BJJ gym it has been the single most satisfying experience in my life. Even though my wrestling “career” ended in high school after a very disappointing loss my senior year, all that time, sweat, blood, and tears were mostly all worth it. I could do without tears.
In high school we recorded our matches so we could watch tape and at the end I got a DVD copy of my last year’s matches. Rewatching them fills me with the same kind of nostalgia I get from remembering playing games with my family on a tiny CRT. The same kind of nostalgia I get when I think about waking up on Christmas morning as a child. Something so purely joyful it hurts bittersweet. I remember how alive and awake I felt when I wrestled my best. Strategy and reaction are instantaneous. The body moves at the speed of thought. Instinct, tactics, and force all combine into a rush of actions and reactions. A tiny break after a whistle then the struggle resumes. It’s all so memorable my time wrestling could be a physical place in my mind. I can walk into the practice room feeling the hot musty air pressing down on me. And though it smells largely of male body odor, its familiarity is comforting. I couldn’t tell you what the writing on the wall says anymore but I know the letters are there. The rolled-up mats for competition sitting in the silos on the side of the room and the beige double doors to the coach’s office lay open in the back of the room.
Unlikeable smells, exercising ’til you puke, and your legs don’t work, waking up at 4AM on Saturday to drive an hour, then finding your overweight by .2 of a pound so you run in three layers of clothes so you can stand half-naked in front of a bunch of people hoping you’re not too heavy sounds terrible. For me it was all worth it for time on the mat, and I’d do it all over again. Honestly that kind of difficulty is likely necessary to help forge the proper mindset for competition.
In college some buddies and I setup informal boxing matches (we had gloves and headgear). That split second of anxiety while we both wait for the first punch then a flurry of feet as you both fight for positions. Jabs are exchanged testing distances, speeds, and reactions. Then finally someone wants a hit and goes for it. Whiff. But there’s a noticeable uptick in intensity. Jabs are faster and sharper, combos more frequent, hooks and uppercuts more powerful. At this point if you were me your eyes would be wide open, your pupils dilated, the adrenaline not allowing you stay still. And you’d be smiling. Not intentionally, no, this is a reaction to having the most fun you’ve had since you were probably ten, maybe ever. Battles where victory is as likely as loss and every step is a struggle. Mentally, physically pushed to the edge. Analyzing for weaknesses, waiting for openings, pressuring for space. It was never about winning but the testing of mettles. How far could you push yourself and your opponent. Losing is certainly undesireable but exploring the edges of your capabilities and finding what you need there is more potent than any drug, more exhilarating than any achievement, more satisfying than any meal.
I’d imagine there’s many people like me who are not so interested in traveling, eating, seeing the sites, or whatever people like to do. The popularity of UFC, Bellator and other MMA or MMA-adjacent circuits is proof enough, I think. However, to say “I like fighting” or “I like to fight” or some variation of that would likely get you strange looks. We don’t live in Ancient Rome where a bloodthirsty crowd could demand sacrifice from gladiators, modern regulated combat sports can still be bloody but are very much civil displays of violence.
ooglykraken 