A Bowl of Stupid

I used to box when I was much younger. My efforts, however, were thwarted by the omnipresence of 5-inch thick coke-bottle glasses I had to lug around just so I could see what day it was. So, by necessity, I wad forced to move on to other, less dangerous sports — like rock climbing.

After I got LASIK done a few years ago, however, I was able to pursue various activities I had otherwise been unable to previously without the use of corrective lenses — like rock climbing.

I was also able to get back into boxing about 18 months ago.

Which was great, as I lost over 35 pounds in less than 2 months and was able to relearn a skilled art form that I had otherwise lost in my youth.

It also gave me the opportunity to start sparring in the ring again — which, as anyone can tell you, is always good for someone with a debilitating head injury.

I have, however, been a bit remiss in my training regimen over the past couple months, the cost of which was regaining about 10 pounds that I had previously lost, as well as the loss of hand-speed, power and proper boxing form (well, as much of those as can be expected from a 37 year old).

I went back into the ring this evening to spar hardcore for the first time in a couple months.

And I proceeded to get my ass handed to me on a silver platter. Over. And over. And over again.

My head hurts. My ribs hurt. There’s a fair chance that I may have broken my nose again for the 20th or 30th time (this year).

But I’m quickly heading back down to 165 pounds — which is all that really matters at the end of the day, right?

If only I had remembered to use the “Dim-Mak.” Ah well, next time.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to start cleaning up after these big green monkeys flying around my dining room. Because you know how much dirt those things can track into the house.

P.S. Extra points for anyone who knows the ridiculously obscure TV show (and movie) references.