This Is What We Do

Arron Barringer

So there I was. Sitting in the living room of my new man-cave, puffing on a stogie and sipping some Irish Whiskey. My pretty little lady friend and I were having a great conversation, the music was low, the mood was right. Then all hell broke loose. By which I mean my iPhone started clattering atop my glass coffee table like an ultra-pissed R2D2. (Yup. I said R2D2) My pretty lady friend raises an inquisitive eyebrow. I grin slyly as I look at the screen. It’s my manager.

“Hey.” I ask in a tone that is almost a question.

“Can you make 145 by next Thursday (May 27th)?” She asks. If there is a point anywhere around, my manager will get right to it.

“Absolutely.” I reply in a tone of absolute confidence.  I havent been 145 since I was in 10th grade.

She tells me the money. I haven’t been in the gym on a consistent basis since Ray Blodgett tried to rip my arm off like the opening scene from  Cat People. Still, a loss will pay the rent and keep the power on.

“I don’t care who I’m fighting, I’ll take it.” I state with conviction.  OhcrapOhcrapOhcrap.

My pretty little lady friend is all smiles. She wants to know what that was about. I look at her, puff the stogie, take a sip of the Nectar of Eire and say, “Well Darlin, looks like we gotta work on Cardio.”

Seven Days and a Wake Up

I take a run in the morning. Three miles among the abandoned warehouses of East Down Town. It’s not as hard as I thought it was going to be, but it’s a LONG way from being combat effective.

Home. Shower. Shake. Gym.

I weigh in at 157. This is good. I’ve got to concentrate my training. On a regular schedule I would be ending the sparring phase and entering my maintenance and rest phase. My rest day will be the day of weigh-ins.

Holy ring rust, Batman. I was in Jits class and some homeless guy wandered in from the parking lot and Gogoplata’d me.    Then a thirteen year old Kung Fu kid jumped up and kicked me in the face.  One of those is true.

Lots of hammer swings on the tire. Kettle bells. Calisthenics. Protein shakes and celery. Chicken breasts and rice. My body has no idea what to do with itself.  Healthy already? Craaaaaap.

I’m exhausted, but I’m motivated to win this thing, and that means it’s going to hurt.


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