I Have Never Been So Sore In My Entire Life

I am 32-years-old. Now that's not old by any stretch, but athletically, it's tough to make an argument that I'm not past my prime. Is that a tough thing to reconcile? Eh, it just kind of is what it is. Although I don't have same athleticism, I can sometimes make up for it with experience and savvy. Basically what I'm saying is that although I'd lose in a race, maybe I could trip the person early on to overcome their speed advantage. So, yeah, I ain't as good as I once was.

This hit me incredibly hard when I made my triumphant moderately successful return to training in grappling. I had taken about nine months off, partially due to my shoulder being so sore I could barely throw a ball for my dog, me not being able to straighten my leg without knee pain, and a job that meant that I wouldn't have as much time to devote to getting my ass kicked. It was the triple threat of excuses. But over time, my body healed up, my work schedule lightened, and I was ready to scratch that itch. Most importantly, Iowa wrestled like shit against Oklahoma State, and I was so mad that I needed a Wrestling class so I could prepare to go back to college to avenge their loss.

So I took advantage of ClassPass and signed up for a wrestling class at my old gym. Everyone I have ever talked to agrees that wrestling is more physically taxing than any other martial art. So there was a mix of anticipation and fear about how my body would react to this class. I have to say that things went fairly smooth while warming up at the beginning of class, and I was starting to feel alright about my cardio. We went through some drills for the rest of the hour, and my body actually held up pretty well, especially since I was drilling with guys who had 20-30 pounds on me.

After wrestling class, the jiu jitsu coach asked me whether I was going to stick around for his class or wait to let my body ease back into things. Well, I ain't no punk ass bitch, so I certainly wasn't going to ease into anything. I would not say that this was an intelligent decision, but as a stupid person, I rarely make intelligent decisions, so this basically followed my M.O. Wrestling was exhasuting, and jiu jitsu was an absolute core killer that night. Then I ended it with back-to-back five-minute grappling rounds against people who were in far better jiu jitsu shape than me.

At the end of it all, I felt great. I put out a good performance from beginning all the way through the 2.5 hours I was there. I knew I was tired, and I knew I'd be sore, but I had so much adrenaline pumping through me that I really couldn't feel much of anything at the moment.

I drove home, took a shower, slammed a protein shake and got ready for bed when all of that adrenaline finally faded away, and I felt pain. It wasn't close to the worst pain ever, but it was enough to keep me waking up throughout the night and any sort of movement definitely hurt quite a bit. I would say my abs hurt the most, followed by neck, my back (and let's not finish that phrase), my legs, my arms, my fingers, my shoulders, my feet, my throat, my knees, and my butt. Basically, the only thing htat didn't hurt was my face, and even then I got lucky, because I could definitely feel the blood filling up my ear at the end of practice, but luckily it naturally drained away.

Basically, everything hurt which made moving my body suck. In fact, staying still wasn't all that great either, as I could not get comfortable. by the second day, it got a little better, and by the third day, it was really just my abs and neck that were bothering me. I'm a big believer in listening to your body to guide exercise, but I will admit it's much harder to listen to your body when it's telling you things you don't want to hear. Still, it would take a total idiot to not listen to his message which came across loud and clear.

I'll be back next week to do it all over again.

Cauliflower Ear Is the Only Tattoo I Need

I'm not a big tattoo guy, which is another way of saying that I have zero tattoos. Now I have no real issue with tattoos, as people are free to decorate/design their body as they see fit, but for me personally, I have just never had anything I wanted to have on my body for the rest of my life. Like, there's no way I'm going to get something involving my wife. I love her more than anything and we're great, but shit can change, you know? I mean, I will forever be a fan of the Iowa Hawkeyes, but what if they have a big rape scandal like Penn State? Do I really want to have to explain that every time I pop my shirt off? The answer is no, I don't. And then there's the greatest tattoo ever.

It simply doesn't get better than a full back tattoo of the grim reaper snuggling a little baby with a German phrase, "God is with us" above it. Yes, totally badass, but maybe a little much for a guy who is only 5'9" and 150 pounds.

So I live my life without any ink on my body. Luckily, there is another option for me to mutilate myself in order to show my individuality, and that mutilation is the Cauliflower Ear. Growing up, cauliflower ear was seen as a gross thing that you should do everything you could to avoid. So, I did that, as I always wore my headgear in wrestling and kept my ears in pristine condition.

In my mid-20s, I went down to Jackson-Winkeljohn to learn the wonderful world of mixed martial arts. This was a grind, and one day after a hard practice, I noticed that my left ear was swollen. I checked it out in a mirror and realized that it was about twice the size of my other ear. Since I was still a single guy, I decided I would start wearing headgear again while grappling, because I needed to stay pretty if I was going to find myself a wife.

Fast forward five years later, with a wife and a dog, I found myself scratching that MMA itch again, and since I didn't need to be pretty, I left the headgear in my gym bag and just got after it. Lo and behold, the cauliflower ear came back and is here to stay. Now, it's not quite the doubling effect that I had at my worst, but if you look at my right and left ears, you can tell that the left ear is noticeably swollen.

This is my tattoo, and it's really grown on me. It's subtle enough that you'd have to really be looking for it to notice, but when people do notice, I get instant credibility that I am not a man to be trifled with, and thank god, because I seriously do not want to be trifled with. But my left ear that is cauliflowered is my tattoo, and I'm cool with that being permanent. It's not something you ask for; it's something that you earn. It's not just a tattoo; it's a badge of honor. I weirdly love my cauliflower ear.

And again, please don't trifle with me; I'm not tough, and I'm way too old to be getting in fights, so I'm really counting on the appearance of this ear to protect me.

I Got My Ass Handed To Me By A Girl

As I mentioned a while ago, I have started grappling again. Call it jiu-jitsu, call it submission wrestling, call it whatever you want, but it's fighting without strikes (because I need to protect my pretty face). Not to brag or anything, but after a few weeks, I'm pretty well-respected for my skills in class. I'm not great, but I can beat a good portion of people and can push anybody.

So as practice starts, our coach will always pair people together. Since I'm getting pretty good, they will either pair me with somebody else who is pretty good, or they will pair me with somebody new to help teach them the moves that we are working on. My coach called out my name, and then he called out a girl's name. Since there was only one girl in the class, and she was very new, I'm like, "Cool, this should be an easy class where I can relax a little bit." What happened next was something out of a movie, as behind this girl stepped another girl who was about 5'5" and built like a brick shithouse. I'm not a big guy by any means, but I've got some decent-sized pipes for a skinny guy, and this girl's arms dwarfed mine. She was not fat at all, but she was just solidly built. Good for her, bad for me.

As we warmed up and went through some new techniques, she felt solid, but I'm pretty confident in my wiry strength, and I assume that anybody bigger than me just has popcorn muscles, you know, all fluff, no stuff. But I knew the moment was coming where we would have live sparring, and I'd have to prove myself.

Finally, it came time. And right before we were about to go at it, somebody tells me, "You know she's a wrestler, right?" and my only thought was, "Oh shit." Because I know that somebody with a ton of strength isn't all that difficult to beat if they don't know how to use it. I can usually out leverage bigger and stronger people due to my junior high wrestling abilities (this sounds like a joke, but somehow it is actually the case). Luckily for me, she had a foot issue so we locked up from our knees as opposed to starting on the feet. All it took was that first lockup for me to realize that she definitely did NOT have popcorn muscles. Her muscles were not fluff; they were all stuff. I have never been manhandled like that from that position. She threw me around like I was nothing, and then flew around like a damn ninja to take my back. I managed to get out of that bad spot, only for her to throw me against the cage and start passing my guard while grinding my head into the steel. It was not a pleasant experience.

But don't worry faithful readers, I was not going to give up. Because even though she had more strength and wrestling ability, she wasn't great with submissions, and she hadn't grappled in a while, so she didn't have a ton in the gas tank (which she admitted would be her issue before we started). As she grinded away at me from the top, I waited for my opening, and eventually, she went for a pass and I got her off balance and managed to end up on top of her. Since she was gassed at this point, I passed to side control and locked up my favorite submission, a key lock. I had beaten a girl, fuck yeah.

Although I did get the submission, don't get this story twisted; I got my ass handed to me. Had we been in a street fight (and yes, this would require me to live in some weird alternate universe where I fought random girls on the street), I not only would have lost, I probably would have had a hospital visit afterwards. And for me, that's not embarrassing; it's just a fact of life. I got my ass handed to me by a girl.

Through this experience, I feel as if I have learned some valuable lessons:

1. I take pride in my wiry strength, but there are still girls who can outmuscle me (fun fact: I later learned that she can squat 440 pounds, which is basically three of me).

2. Although Junior High wrestling in Iowa gives me a strong wrestling base, there are girls out there who have slightly better technique than that and can use it to manipulate my body in ways I never thought possible.

3. Although I had never really considered it, this just cements the fact that I should not challenge random girls to street fights, as I might just get my ass whipped.

You probably should have already known these three things, but if you didn't, I'm glad I could help you avoid the humbling experience.

The Grappling Tournament

I got to the tournament, and it is really a lot of sitting around. My division was the last division to go, so I got to sit back, relax and watch other people get all grapply with each other. Finally, after hours of watching grappling, my division was finally called upon. The only problem was that they forgot to put me in the bracket, so I became a last second replacement for some guy named Bye.

When my match was coming up, I'll admit the anticipation got to me, and I peed a little bit before the matches started. For me, it's not so much nerves as it is more than I just get really anxious for things to start. I hope no rich ladies who want to support me financially read this and are turned off by it, but hell, a little pee never hurt anybody. I could keep it in if I focused, but I like to stay relaxed so if a little squirts out, it ain’t gonna phase me.

Before I get into the matches, I just want to apologize. When I was grappling, I was not thinking about the blog, and that was inconsiderate of me. My matches were boring. Super boring. Basically, imagine the most boring MMA fight you have ever seen, and then take away all the strikes. These were my grappling matches, and I’m sorry for that. Hence, I’ll only go over the highlights of my matches.

Match One – I shot in on a single, held there for about two minutes, finally finished my takedown, and nothing else happened. Hence, I won the match.

This is when I learned how tiring grappling really is. After that first match, my entire upper body was burning. My arms were shaking so badly that I could barely drink water without spilling on myself. I just took deep breaths and tried to recover as much as I could in the time between matches.

Match Two – I took on a guy who got a bye in the first round. I took the lead early with a takedown, he tied it up, and then scored with fifteen seconds left. If he wouldn’t have had a bye, I probably would have won, but that’s just a weak ass excuse. I didn’t do what I needed to do.

Match Three – Douchebag kid takes a lead on me late. He had me in his guard, so I picked him up and slammed him. It looked something like this.
Except not really since I only slammed him from my knees, but the kid reacted like that is what happened. I almost got disqualified for it, but there were only like twenty seconds left, and he took two minutes to recover and then just held onto me for the win. The good news from this match is he was unable to continue in the tournament. So basically, I’m a rule-breaking monster who hurts people. Yes, this was definitely the highlight of my tournament. And honestly, I had a ton of people come up to me and say that my slam was great and that the kid I was facing was just a whiny little bitch, so that was nice.

Afterwards, I ended up talking with my coach for about half an hour. He told me that I was the person that they were least worried about coming into the tournament, because I looked so dominant in practice. This is good that I looked dominant, but it’s also a way of saying that I was kind of a disappointment in the tournament. Still, my coach suggested that I start going to the 10:30 class which is the invite-only class that all the pros go to. Am I going to go to that class? God no. That class would interfere with my pretty, and ain’t nothing gonna interfere with my pretty.

The tournament was a really good experience. I learned a ton, and I realized my biggest mistake was that I just didn’t have enough swagger going into it. If I would have gone in with the attitude that nobody was going to submit me no matter what I did, I could have ran through people and made it to the finals, but instead I played it safe. I was facing guys who had somewhere between two and six times as much experience as me, yet I was never in any danger. My problem was that I made minor mistakes that cost me matches. A wild pace with lots of scrambles can lead to bad things, but it’s also when I’m at my best because I almost always end up in a better position when a scramble is involved. Now I know, and knowing is half the battle.

Also, did I mention that I injured a guy? Yeah, that was awesome.

-Joe

P.S. If anybody is interested, I'm not sure what my body weight was on the day of the tournament, but I was back up to 148 by Monday, and I'm at 150 right now.

P.P.S. I’ve got a lot of pop culture coming next week, so if you thought my life was boring to read about, don’t worry, I’ve got some good social commentary already planned out.

The Weight Cut: Week 2

It’s pretty funny that my weight is going to be 140 after this cut considering that I graduated high school at 143; I had basically zero muscle mass, and you probably could have described my body back then as petite. The way I am getting there is tuna and rice in the morning, tuna and rice in the afternoon, drinking nothing but distilled water, and a protein shake at night. I've found that if I only have seven ounces at a time, I can turn my regular protein shake into two smaller meals at night. Yes, seven ounces of protein shake has turned into a legit meal for me.

It’s Tuesday, and my weight is getting better. Since we have a messed up scale, I am approximately 146 Coach told me that I’m not filling out my shirts as well, so I guess that’s a positive, but I probably look like even more of a little bitch right now.

By Wednesday night, things are definitely getting a little depressing. I had a shitty practice which didn’t help, but I’m just in a funk right now. I’m weaker than normal, and I can’t concentrate on anything. It’s kind of like a bad drunk where I really can’t function to my full capabilities; I realize I’m fucked up, but I can’t really do anything about it, so I’m like in Zombie Drunk mode. I watched the movie MacGruber and thought it was really good. It might have been funny, but it definitely could have sucked and I was just in a giggly mood. This paragraph might not make sense to people, but I’m not going to edit it when I get back to full strength. I think that makes this artsy.

I also decided to screw over the system and sign up for a free trial membership at Midtown Sports & Wellness. This place is off the chain nice, but I have a zero chance of actually joining. I usually feel guilty about this, but they made me wait like fifteen minutes before somebody helped me, so I am doing this guilt free. Basically, I needed to have a place with a working scale, and I also needed a place that had a sauna for my cut on Friday. Their usual deal is three days, but I went in and got five, because I’m sexy. God bless my good looks.

On Thursday, I had an average breakfast, a light lunch, and a protein shake for dinner. I’m hungry all the time, but nothing interesting happened on Thursday since I just did 45 minutes on a bike to get a little sweat going.

Friday was judgment day, and it started at 5AM when I was a good guy and took my roommate to the airport. I then had my first of two protein shakes for the day. Then, at 3:00, I went to the gym to see how much I needed to sweat out in the sauna. I was at 143, so it wasn’t going too bad of a sweat. It’s just that my body was already drained from a lack of nourishment, but I knew that being this close I could sweat off the rest. Honestly, the sauna was pretty relaxing. I just took a book in with me and read to pass the time so it went by pretty quick. I got done with two rounds and was just slightly over. Then the most glorious thing ever happened; I had to pee. My weight dropped .4 pounds which would have made me safe according to the scale, but I decided I’d do one more quick round just in case the scale was off. I got down to 139.2 before making my hour drive up to Rio Rancho.

I was worried about being horribly undernourished and dehydrated for the drive, but the sauna actually made me feel better than I had earlier in the day. I made it up to the place, checked in, and got on the scales, 139.2. I decided to get a professional drawing of myself at this weight, and here is how it turned out:
For some reason, they made me slightly tanner, and replaced my Seattle Storm gym bag with a suitcase.

I managed to drop 13 pounds in 12 days. I’m not gonna lie; it fucking sucked, but it was still good to go through that. After I weighed in, I had four dinners spread out by an hour and a half each. It was the happiest I have been in the last two weeks. So I did it, congratulations to me. Wait…what? I have to compete tomorrow? Fuck. Well, I’ve got weight cutting skills, and tomorrow will tell me whether I have some grappling skills.

-Joe

P.S. I wasn't lying about having a Seattle Storm gym bag. I love that thing.

P.P.S. Although a lot of people have probably already seen this, and even though it's long, I would definitely take a look at this profile of a former NFL agent by SI.

I Should Be An Ultimate Fighter

Just kidding. That title was only to get people’s attention. I am far too big of a wuss to ever consider competing in MMA. I currently have very little desire to get punched in the face; I’ve heard that you need to do that to be a fighter, so it’s probably not for me.

On the other hand, since moving to Albuquerque, I have started taking submission grappling (submission grappling is best summed up by saying that it is basically MMA (UFC) without any of the striking) classes at Jackson’s MMA. For those of you who are fans of MMA, you’ve probably heard the name Greg Jackson as he’s one of the most well-regarded trainers in the sport. For those of you that don’t know much about the sport, just know, my gym is pretty legit as it is considered one of the best in the world.

One thing I do know is that this gym is a fantastic place for me. When people think MMA training facility, they assume it is nothing but meatheads working to hurt people to show who is the toughest. It’s nearly the complete opposite down here. Yes, there are some meatheads, but they usually don’t last long, as the gym really stresses looking out for training partners and nearly everyone is working to help get everybody better.

Now, I could lie and say that I immediately went in there and started tapping out black belts, but even though really naïve people might believe me, it’s not worth lying about it. When I started out, I got my ass kicked. Early on, I bruised my sternum so bad that I had to lay perfectly still in bed to have any hope for sleep, because rolling over would cause me excruciating pain. I had a rib contusion that took about six weeks to fully heal. And my favorite injury, the one that proves that I’m a grappler is that I developed cauliflower ear that made my ear literally double in size (yet did not give me more advanced hearing). But honestly, shit happens, and my injuries are extremely tame (and my ear eventually reverted back to its normal size).

So, after four months, am I a badass? No, I’m not, but I’m a hell of a lot better than I used to be. Every bit of my grappling has improved. Despite losing weight, I’m stronger than I’ve ever been, and I’m, without question, in the best shape of my life. Maybe the craziest thing that I learned is that my experience of wrestling in 7th and 8th grade actually made me better than at least 80% of the people in my class at wrestling, so thanks Mr. Medema and Mr. Verdon.

Although I know that I have gotten better, I still wanted to test myself. So I entered the Southwest Grappling Championship this past weekend to see how far I have come. These next few days, I’ll be going over the weight cut (just as fun as it sounds), and how I did in the actual grappling tournament. If you think I’m a loveable asshole, this week will be informative and at least mildly entertaining. If you think I’m an unbearable asshole, stay tuned, because unless I win a championship, this story ends with me getting my ass kicked. Everybody wins (except for probably me).

Tomorrow: Week One of Weight Cutting

-Joe

P.S. In case anybody was looking for it, I found the epitome of a douchebag on the Internet over the weekend, and lo and behold, he actually showed up on my Facebook news feed:
Most people would just notice the disturbingly large and outrageously flamboyant sunglasses and determine a high level of doucheness for this person, but there is plenty of douche-gold in this picture. Another huge factor is that he dresses like that and he can't even find a person to take a picture of him in his ridiculous outfit so he is forced to hold out the camera and take the picture himself while partially blocking the lens with his thumb. Notice the incredibly small polo that he is still unable to fill the sleeves in. He's also wearing what appear to be pro-America beads, but seeing this representation of America would bring a tear to Ricky Stanzi's eye. My favorite part is the girl in the background who this clown clearly has a crush on but is afraid to talk to. He definitely took this picture so he could add this to his spank bank for later on. What a douche.