Elbow injuries blow. You use your arms for so much stuff, even for leg exercises. I was just on the elliptical yesterday and my right elbow hurt from the bouncing, even though I didn’t use the arm… pumping things… I don’t know what the arm components of an elliptical are called, don’t judge. Even though I work out a ton, I don’t really know all of the engineering behind the machines I work out on. Should I? I kinda feel guilty about it right now… but not guilty enough to start Googling about it.
Nay, instead, I am here to fulfill my obligation of a weekly post. Besides… I want to be a writer someday, I think it would be awesome. Perfect for my introverted self. Introversion might be considered a curse by others, but it’s truly not. Introversion means that you’re more likely to know yourself compared to the other people who roam about constantly getting into each others’ business. Though I’m not all vain about that advantage either, as my social skills are pretty lacking sometimes. I still say the wrong things during normal every day talk. Example:
Other person: “Hey, it’s nice to see you!”
And then I move on. But I don’t reciprocate it properly. It’s so frustrating because every time I realize I’ve done this, the other person’s gone and it’s too late to remedy my mistake. Fffffuuuu-
Back to my bitch-ass elbow. I can’t believe I injured it doing a move during wrestling practice that I’ve done for the majority of my career. Like, lolwut, I hyperextended it in an awkward direction? I didn’t even know that risk was there, I’ve done the ankle pick so many times, how could I have even thought about it? Only the biggest dumbass of the kinesthetic sense could have done it, yet, here I am. Oh man. I go crazy when I have to go on the elliptical for so long. I break several times during the two hours that I have to be on it to come back to the wrestling room, to feel the resilite at my fingertips once more. And to make sure that my back’s doing okay.
Goddamn, the back. It only does everything. Screw that up and you’re screwed until your back decides to get better again. My back gave out about a month or month and a half ago. Nothing specific was being done, it just decided to spasm one day. Luckily I got a VERY cool chiropractor who helped me get back into the action. In retrospect, after going through that back episode, I realized how overrated core training is for back health. Yes, the stomach is very important for the back, but the back needs to be trained too.
In fact, the back rehab exercises I had to do made me into a better athlete. They worked my hamstrings and glutes, making my legs stronger, giving my body that much more support. It was awesome how quickly my booty evolved to become more amazing. Chicks, if you’re reading this and want to shape your butt… pelvic tilts and Supermans. That is all. You’ll have an even better butt than before.
And I say “even better butt” because it’s really hard to have a butt that doesn’t appeal to me. I have weird tastes. I think it’s a guy thing. Because honestly, it’s like, I recognize the butt as a chick’s butt so I’m like, “Hoohoo.” But if the butt is like, especially good, then I’m like, “HooHOOHOO.” Know what I’m saying? Probably not.
Anyway… there’s some guy on the wrestling team who thinks I use my injuries to get away from practice. It’s so annoying. I yelled at him after I couldn’t take it anymore and he hasn’t really given me a lot of direct crap about it, but today he was implying the same BS again. We were doing sprints though, so I couldn’t explain. Doesn’t really matter much now though. If I wanted to get out of wrestling, I’d be out already. Nothing rubs me the wrong way like being accused of skipping out on one of the things I love most. There’s a magic to the sport that outsiders don’t see.
Most people think wrestling is gay because of the singlets, or because it’s two guys sweating on a mat together, or whatever. You could probably find something “gay” about other sports, to be honest. I still remember this one basketball drill I saw one day because I was waiting for wrestling practice to start… oh my. And football is arguably “gay” because, well, you’re dog-piling over a ball. Before you get all offended, I’m not saying that I actually believe in any of those thoughts. I’m just saying if you used the same logic as the same person who thinks of wrestling as “gay,” then you’d have to say that every other sport is “gay” to some extent.
There is a special magic to one-on-one combat with another person. It’s even more thrilling when you practice with the same person who can challenge you to try and take your varsity spot one day. It’s personal. It’s an intimacy you experience with no other kind of person. And for me… well, it’s the thrill of the hunt. After my first year of wrestling, I realized subconsciously that a “victory” wasn’t defined by the points on the scoreboard or by the referee who slaps his hand on the mat to call the pin. I “won” matches but could still have an empty feeling afterwards, no sense of accomplishment. It all depended upon the hunt: did I have to scramble furiously to get every point, were my techniques crisp and aesthetically pleasing to watch (when you execute a move so well, you just KNOW that it had to be the sexiest thing that a spectator could possibly have seen from the stiff-butt-inducing bleachers), did I feel amazing after the match? Or, in a nutshell: was it my best?
It became about the hunt and that’s what continues to be the case today. It’s the thrill of the chase for me. I did swimming last year and I loved it, it’s just about as hard as wrestling (if not a little harder because you’re in the water and if you’re tired you can get psychologically messed with because people aren’t supposed to be breathing water) and there was a stronger sense of a team element in it (the team element I’ll discuss in another post)… but it wasn’t the same. You can’t kick the water’s ass, you can’t shape its life, the stakes don’t quite feel as high. Swimming is more of a zen-mode sport. Wrestling’s a rage-mode sport, at least for me. I get to go a little crazy during wrestling, maybe even borderline psychotic as I pump myself up to get bloodthirsty, to get ready to wreck some kid who steps in the ring with me. And if he beats me by points, then I’ll have beaten him mentally in some way by making him so gassed out in the end. As for swimming… well, good luck swimming the shit out of that water, which really couldn’t be bothered by you at all. It would probably drown your annoying, sorry ass.