On Becoming A Better Athlete


I had planned on posting about my workout at “Atomic Athlete.” Though I hate exercise, I know that it is going to very directly improve my performance on the mats, competition or otherwise. I’m also a bit of an anti-hero in this regard, as I have the athleticism of a slightly bruised, anemic kumquat.1

Their workouts take me from my sweet child-like innocence, believing everything under my father’s roof, and consistently deliver me unto wretchedness, miserableness, poverty, blindness, and nakedness, and with the visage of a gruesome grieving ghost I go shuddering through nightmare life until the soreness is gone.2 Last Friday I learned, for example, that I only need to do 200 box step-ups and run a mile before my irises leave a yellow imprint in my vision, before I nearly keel over from heat stroke.3 That was an interesting lesson.

But I did not make it today. And my half-pint of Black Label before bed had nothing to do with it.4 I’m scheduled to attend class tomorrow. If I do make it this time, I promise to give a general description of the workout, the ways in which it will almost certainly help my jiu-jitsu; and, most amusingly, I will write about my mental states while working out.

If I should not make it, however, I’ll post something about Sam Harris. As it happens, a fair amount of traffic directed to this site is a result of Google searches related somehow to Sam Harris’s experiences with Our Gentle Art. Barring his own site, I managed to somehow corner the Google search market for “Sam Harris [BJJ-related term].” So that’s sorta been on the agenda for a while.

Happy Wednesday. I’ll post something tomorrow.

————–

1. What the hell do you call a hero who is neither a hero nor has any of the qualities traditionally associated with a hero? An anti-anti-hero? No, no, I got it! The Jiu-Jitsu Wanderer.

2. For those who recognized it, that was a wholesale lift from Kerouac. The original quote is found in On The Road, “Isn’t it true that you start your life a sweet child believing in everything under your father’s roof? Then comes the day of the Laodiceans, when you know you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked, and with the visage of gruesome grieving ghost you go shuddering through nightmare life.”

3. I didn’t keel over. In fact, I kept going. But at some point, with my vision in sepia, I made the decision that I would rather fall over and die than stop before anyone else did.

4. You’re not an alcoholic if you’re a writer.

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