Why I Think a Local MMA Fighter Wants to Kill Me

Tag : punching bearing

And to think I joined a gym to prolong my life.
Recently, at the request of my wife, my doctor, and several peopleI didn’t even know, I joined a gym in order to a) drop a fewexcess pounds and b) get everybody off my back.
The gym is so reminiscent of “Average Joe’s” fromthe movie Dodgeball that I’ve affectionately named it “Below AverageJoe’s”—because it’s just a tad dirtier.
And though the gym doesn’t feature either a pirate or StephenRoot in goggles, it is cheap. And that’s just fine with me.
Working out at Below Average Joe’s been pretty cool. Exceptfor one tiny, little problem.
Thursday morning.
You see, I like to walk but absolutely hate treadmills andellipticals. My gym has a track upstairs, and I use it for walking.It’s not a big track, mind you—22 laps will get you amile—but it gets the job done. Unfortunately, my gym also hasMMA classes. Upstairs.
And guys who’ve done well enough in classes to compete. Youknow, competitively. In competitions.
One guy has apparently done well enough to compete competitively incompetitions and trains just after dawn at least one day aweek…
On Thursday...morning.
Did I mention that he's a psycho? By the time I’ve hauled mytotal sorriness upstairs at 6 a.m., “Rocky” (it’swhat I call him in my internal monologue) is already sprinting around the track.
I calmly lay my keys, cell phone, and slice of pizza down on thefloor near the counter I will use to, um, count my laps. The onesthat I walk.
After he’s done sprinting, he begins the serious training. Hemoves over to a punching bag and just starts ripping into it. Hemakes the “whoosh whoosh” sounds with his mouth whilehe’s beating the absolute inanimate life out of the bag.
He’s not using gloves. He howls and then eats a live chicken.
Next, he moves onto kicking another bag. He’s actuallyattached two 45-pound weights to the bottom of this bag. He’stotally wailing on it. He grunts with each kick. He sounds likehe’s pooping.
And now comes the most uncomfortable five minutes of my week. Afterthe kicking is complete, he stares at me, kneels to the ground,straddles yet another punching bag, and just goes to town on it.When his back is turned to me, two related observations spring tomind: a) he looks as though he’s dry-humping this poor bagand b) dude needs a girlfriend.
Honestly, it’s hard not to double over with laughter. ButI’m just afraid enough of dying that I manage to stifle it.
Meanwhile, I nervously round the circular track and try to hidebehind the hexagon cage where the MMA guys will spar in another 12hours.
After the punching bags are thoroughly whipped, I often feel hiseyes bearing down on me in the hopes that he’ll get areaction. The only thing I think to myself is if I don’t showfear I can avoid becoming his female dog.
And it’s at that point that I usually trickle just a littlepee.
In fact, I’ve begun wearing black shorts on Thursday so thathe won’t be able to perceive that I may have slightlyurinated myself.
I’d like to take this moment to come clean with the MMAcrowd. I don’t understand the fuss over the sport. Heck, Inever even figured out why boxing was a big deal. I guess I’mjust a lover.
MMA fighters and fans are totally hardcore. And that I respect. Thesport’s best performers work tirelessly and are obviouslytalented.
It’s just that I’m not a terribly intense personmyself. My hobbies involve watching my favorite teams playbaseball, football and basketball, working on a variety of writingprojects and reading to my kids.
I also enjoy spending a lot of my time not bleeding .
Obviously, you can understand why I may have trouble relating to aguy who beats the crap out of inanimate objects in an effort tobetter prepare himself to beat the crap out of living, breathinghuman beings.
Seriously, why couldn't my gym have started a dodgeball team? Iknow the five D's. I can do the five D's. Plus, I could appear onthe Ocho. Who wouldn't want that?
But I digress.
So on Thursday morning, while you're safely tucked away in yournice, warm bed, I’ll be busy walking for my life, hoping thata crazy psycho MMA fighter won’t try to kill me.