Here's my "All Over the Map" from this week's Arkansas Weekly:
Having just turned 35 (excuse me…cough, clears throat), I’m reminded of how quickly time passes.
I’m also reminded of the fact that with my age I may be in the early stages of developing man boobs – something that, clearly, is unacceptable.
With that terrifying realization, I recently decided to embark on an aggressive physical fitness program to sculpt my already somewhat impressive physique into a lean and rugged machine.
(RE “already impressive physique”: We’ll overlook the aforementioned development of male bosoms as well as the frustratingly consistent water retainment I’ve been experiencing around my abdominal area).
So, I’ve decided to begin training in mixed martial arts -- also known as MMA. MMA is a very physical fighting sport that combines martial arts and boxing, and in the matches I’ve seen through my fingers covering my eyes, it’s also very brutal -- lots of blood, broken noses, missing teeth and cauliflower ears.
The potential for such violence does give me pause before I begin MMA, but my panther-like reflexes, along with my ability to run away extremely fast, will ensure that I won’t be pummeled by another opponent. The training, however, will be intense and rigorous. I’m confident that such a program will harden my boobal tissue into a literal breastplate of smooth steel.
Oh, and all of the water retention around my abdomen should disappear because of the gallons of sweat that will leave my body.
MMA fighters are tough, dedicated individuals who also appreciate and respect their own. For the most part, these men (and women) train together in a communal manner only to likely end up in the ring facing one another. It is a rarified brotherhood, open only to those who have the focus, dedication and spirit to master – through physical strength and mental aptitude -- the myriad number of ways one can navigate their opponent into their own defeat.
And after writing the above paragraph, I’m now thinking that perhaps I should take up badminton in order to get myself into shape. I mean, the only things that keep my focus and inspire my dedication are a) naps, and b) coming up with various ways to sneak out of work early in order to catch an occasional late afternoon lunch at Hooters.
But no – I need to change. I realize that both items “a” and “b” could possibly be contributing to the softening, swelling and slight sagging of my chest. I must conquer my selfish and lazy ways. After I type this paragraph, I’m going to get in my vehicle, go to the nearest MMA training facility, and begin my journey into extreme and productive conditioning. The next paragraph will only be written after my first day of MMA training. Wish me luck! MMA!
(Twenty minutes later, Rob returns to the Arkansas Weekly offices. – Editor.)
OK. That, uh, didn’t unfold exactly as I expected. And I really can’t share too much of my first MMA workout because both of my eyes are swelling shut as I type these words. Plus, I should be passing most of my teeth in an hour or two, so you’ll forgive me if I go curl up into a ball and weep for a while.
Thanks.
Having just turned 35 (excuse me…cough, clears throat), I’m reminded of how quickly time passes.
I’m also reminded of the fact that with my age I may be in the early stages of developing man boobs – something that, clearly, is unacceptable.
With that terrifying realization, I recently decided to embark on an aggressive physical fitness program to sculpt my already somewhat impressive physique into a lean and rugged machine.
(RE “already impressive physique”: We’ll overlook the aforementioned development of male bosoms as well as the frustratingly consistent water retainment I’ve been experiencing around my abdominal area).
So, I’ve decided to begin training in mixed martial arts -- also known as MMA. MMA is a very physical fighting sport that combines martial arts and boxing, and in the matches I’ve seen through my fingers covering my eyes, it’s also very brutal -- lots of blood, broken noses, missing teeth and cauliflower ears.
The potential for such violence does give me pause before I begin MMA, but my panther-like reflexes, along with my ability to run away extremely fast, will ensure that I won’t be pummeled by another opponent. The training, however, will be intense and rigorous. I’m confident that such a program will harden my boobal tissue into a literal breastplate of smooth steel.
Oh, and all of the water retention around my abdomen should disappear because of the gallons of sweat that will leave my body.
MMA fighters are tough, dedicated individuals who also appreciate and respect their own. For the most part, these men (and women) train together in a communal manner only to likely end up in the ring facing one another. It is a rarified brotherhood, open only to those who have the focus, dedication and spirit to master – through physical strength and mental aptitude -- the myriad number of ways one can navigate their opponent into their own defeat.
And after writing the above paragraph, I’m now thinking that perhaps I should take up badminton in order to get myself into shape. I mean, the only things that keep my focus and inspire my dedication are a) naps, and b) coming up with various ways to sneak out of work early in order to catch an occasional late afternoon lunch at Hooters.
But no – I need to change. I realize that both items “a” and “b” could possibly be contributing to the softening, swelling and slight sagging of my chest. I must conquer my selfish and lazy ways. After I type this paragraph, I’m going to get in my vehicle, go to the nearest MMA training facility, and begin my journey into extreme and productive conditioning. The next paragraph will only be written after my first day of MMA training. Wish me luck! MMA!
(Twenty minutes later, Rob returns to the Arkansas Weekly offices. – Editor.)
OK. That, uh, didn’t unfold exactly as I expected. And I really can’t share too much of my first MMA workout because both of my eyes are swelling shut as I type these words. Plus, I should be passing most of my teeth in an hour or two, so you’ll forgive me if I go curl up into a ball and weep for a while.
Thanks.
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