My Body Snitched on Me

I’ve been in Thailand a month and a half so far and one of the most common pieces of advice is to calm down or relax. In Muay Thai sparring is not a death match. Quite the opposite actually— it is supposed to be a friendly exchange of light-to-medium melee meant to improve striking precision and ability to gauge distance a. One of the most frustrating parts of training Muay Thai thus far is my inability to control the power of my strikes or reactions when getting hit.

On my literal first day. Pedro, my instructor, saw how tense and rigid I was and explained there are times when we have to be hard and soft. Hard being the fiery aggression mixed with an earthlike density to sustain attacks. The softness, I took to mean embodying the rhythmic dance-like nature of combat that deals with evasion and parry. This concept, while simple to understand, is actually hard to apply. In fact, it’s just the underlying endeavor of my year-long project. Pedro also explained that people display fears in two different ways when in the ring. The first is typical and what you expect of Scooby Doo; Pedro personified it as someone who hits hard, very hard, but cannot go blow for blow and consequently runs away. Their fear of harm is what motivates constant evasion. The other type is the complete opposite. Fear is the stimulation. Fuel if you will and when it’s injected one becomes a juggernaut swinging wildly and neglecting a very important part of fighting— energy management. Basically, the idea Pedro shared and what I’m communicating, maybe flowery, maybe pretentiously, is the fight or flight response, and the latter applies to me.

We have come to a certain point in this blog— the coveted but recycled and maybe tasteful literary device where the title of the work is alluded to in the body. It goes a bit like this: Fredrich Nietzsche once said “There is more wisdom in the body than in your deepest philosophy.” Before you ask, no I do not sit around reading late nineteenth, or early twentieth-century German philosophers like that. Admittedly, I do have a Kindle edition anthology of his best works that I never read, so when I stumbled across this quote on social media I remembered it. Again, maybe pretentious, maybe flowery depending on your opinion of me. I do, however, agree with this assertion even though I don't agree with his other major position so concisely put, “Gott ist tot”. Ten bucks to whoever can guess what that means. If you already speak German it doesn’t count.

Nietzsche's words confront me when training in Muay Thai because I feel there is a gap between what I believe to be true about my own courage and what is actually true. Let me explain using a story. If you read my first blog post you would remember a certain young Algerian-Swiss man who trained with me during my first month. His name is Omar. Omar is a nice fellow, very in-tune with his emotions, but also a physically impressive specimen. I got into a little bit of a spat with him while training one evening. Omar’s trained Muay Thai for four years, I believe, but don't quote me. My understanding is that he trained for two years, took a break, and started training again for the last consecutive two years. Anyway, his experience level is important for two reasons; when he first started training he was a bit like me and had time controlling his power. The second reason is that I thought he was condescending to me when he kept reminding me of my need to fix the problem he conquered.

The little tiff happened while Omar and I were sparring in the ring. As stated before. I have a hard time controlling my power, and the fact that I am explosive and agile compounds the issue. From an optical perspective, I suppose I look like an inflatable tube man. During the match, I threw some combination punches ending with a rear right leg round-house kick. Because I did not gauge the distance properly I did not hit Omar with my shin, but with a knee right above the belt. Once again, he told me to calm down. This time he added the caveat that if I hit him in the testicles, he would tear my head off. This made me furious, the type of indignation that makes you tilt your head slightly and squint just a margin. This tinge of rage caused my throat to tighten and ignited a slight heat in my belly. He’s said something similar to me before when sparring, but this time it was different because of what he said to me earlier on in training.

While shadowboxing, I started punching the bag practicing a combo that Pedro taught me the day before instead of working on the footwork he had explicitly told us to rep. Omar saw and told me to stop with what I perceived to be the definiteness of an authority figure and the concern of an evangelical Christian who volunteers in Africa for a week and then posts on social media how it changed their lives. Omar ended his reprimand with a “trust me” that from what I could see was laced with frustration. At this point, I’d been training in Muay Thai for three weeks so I automatically gave deference to anyone who offered advice—especially those who’d been training in the style for years. However his comment while shadow boxing mixed with the constant reminders to control my energy just felt condescending. I am more of an intention vs impact person, so when I assume the best of somebody and their words, in most cases sticks and stones don’t break my bones. Nonetheless, I was still a bit peeved, but not to the point where I thought it would affect my interactions with him.

Surprise, I was wrong ! After he made the decapitation comment, I let the reigns bridling my anger go. I didn’t do anything immediately. He caught me with a few clean jabs to the face. I also have a problem with dropping my front left hand which leaves me completely open, specifically to taller opponents. The punches stung and felt like they had some power behind them. So I rebuffed him saying that it felt like he wasn’t controlling his power, implying that he was a hypocrite.I cited his experience, saying that he should set the tempo of the fight. I don’t remember the exact order of words that ensued, but I distinctly remember him saying that we could go one-hundred percent if we wanted. My throat tightened even more because I thought he was trying to punk me. I jumped at the opportunity. In annoyance and eagerness I shouted back, promising him that I wasn’t scared. I even, cringnly credentialled the fact that I am from Los-Angeles. I did this knowing full well that I am actually from the Valley and it is an unwritten rule that there are two distinct places and one is not allowed to do it. He responded he was from the mountains! Apparently, the Alps make the Swiss people tough. Who knew?

So we want one-hundred percent. It was a flurry of tit-for-tat haymakers, body kicks and leg kicks. During the bout I was reminded of his words and especially offended at the notion that he thought he could “tear my head off” with such ease. People who are close to me know that I am a resilient individual. This is a two sided coin. I don't feel I have to extol the value of resiliency. However, the problem is that I have a hard time asking for help. This ultimately makes things harder for myself. It gets worse because it is a point of pride that I don’t need as much help as everyone does. It makes me feel special. Another variant of this tendency is a weird sort of masochism; I receive a lot of satisfaction knowing I can withstand a good deal of physical pain.

A short story within a story: I broke my jaw playing football at Hermosa beach when I was fifteen. I was kneed in the jaw while trying to make a tackle. I blacked for about two seconds. Once I got up and dusted the sand off me, I went to the bathroom to assess the damage, in the mirror I could see the right side of my mouth was bleeding. At this point I thought I'd broken my tooth. It wasn’t until an off-duty dental assistance at the cabana bar my dad was drinking at informed us of what had actually occurred. Moral of the story, I wasn’t in pain and it took me five hours to get any medication, bouncing between two hospitals before ultimately landing at Children's Hospital L.A.

Remember that I drop my left-hand a lot. This gave Omar plenty of opportunities for some really devastating blows, and he took advantage. He caught me with some strong haymakers. He landed a sidekick to the side, the crux of his foot wrapping around my rib cage ever so slightly and hitting me in my kidney. He even landed two head kicks, the first of which made my neck crack. Nevertheless. I thought, he thought, I was a punk. After each blow I advanced. I made it a point to always walk him down so he would know that no matter how hard he hit me, no matter how painful, he could no not hurt me if he tried. I was also trying to use this tactic to intimidate him. Sparring came to a close when he asked if we were good. I said yes, we touched gloves and hugged it out. I suspect he ended the match because he could see how fatigued it was. While chivalrous, it didn’t matter because I was committed to going all night to prove a point. I was still a bit worked up afterwards, and even though I had a slight headache from the bout, I couldn’t wait to recant the story to Taylor, my fiancé. I was the hero of course.

Obviously what fueled this petty squabble with me was a mixture of frustration, machismo, and pride. While reflecting on this night, I can’t help but think the three attributes I listed are held together by fear. This is embarrassing to actually admit. I was scared when I was twelve and got jumped by a group of other young boys. Now though, I am a man. Where exactly is the fear? As I am writing this, I am trying to pinpoint its exact location. I played college football. I can squat and deadlift double my weight, as well as bench press one and a half times my weight. According to an instagram reel i watched, that puts me into the ninetieth percentile of strongest humans who’d and so. I have a muscular physique; Pedro calls me Max Tyson because of my stalky, yet powerful build and my bullish style of fighting. I can obviously take a punch, or knee. The metal in my jaw can attest to that.

So what is it? I don't think my body is lying though, it possesses wisdom. If you're moving too fast in life your body will tell you to slow down by growing weary. Similarly, if you're too sedentary it will begin to stiffen foreshadowing the type of prison immobilization is. When you're thirsty, your mouth dries out and when hungry, your stomach communicates via grumbles. I’m listening to my body and it’s telling me that I am scared. In the above paragraph, I listed a whole bunch of reasons why I think I’m not. While good attributes, as I write they feel like defense mechanisms. What comes to mind is the cliche definition of courage—not the absence of fear, but the resolve to face it knowing you are scared. I mean Jesus of Nazareth, in my opinion the most courageous person to ever live, purposefully took on an excruciatingly painful death meant for criminals knowing he was innocent. His motivation was love.

I’ve said that I was scared when I was twelve years old, insulating that it is in the past. I didn’t like that Omar thought I was a punk. I think I was scared of him thinking I was, because I don’t want anyone thinking I’m weak. I guess people’s opinions really do matter. Even though I think the woman I love the most is supernaturally kind and gracious, I am frightened that I may not be able to provide for her in our marriage one day. I am more terrified of looking into her eyes if she deems me no longer worthy of her respect as a man. I am scared that if I stop being so resilient, that if I allow things to be easier, I might like it and be seduced by the allure of excuses, ensuring I stay broke and unsuccessful. As I write this, I realize I'm actually scared of a lot of things and my fear has depth. Maybe embracing humility and admitting that I’m scared is the key to gaining control and mastering composure. It’s a first step, Maybe?