“Share the love,” he says.  “I’ll be fun,” he says.  Famous last words from my boxing guru,  Coach Don.  Little did I know that when he says “Share he love” he really means “Let your neighbor slug you in the gut until you feel like there’s an alien spawn in your bowels trying to bust out and do the macarena.  Nice.  In the future, this will be an excellent time to take a bathroom break.

There are three things that I know about boxing.  1) I don’t like getting hit in the face.  2) When I fight, I tend to get hit in the face.  3) Sharing the love is not a good thing.

Meanwhile, in Jiu Jitsu, I have discovered that I get more panicky than Lindsay Lohan without a coke dealer when people lay on me in side mount.  That’s really awesome since, when you panic, you tend to breath rapidly and, when you are in side mount, the neanderthal on top you prevents you from breathing.  Excellent combination.  It’s like being underwater and running out of air in your scuba tanks.  I tap out, and my training partner is all confused like, “Dude, I didn’t even do anything.”

Oh well, I blame it on agent orange.

And then there’s the kicks.  Ah yes.  The kicks.  Angelica Brotherton is actually up for a second Smelly Pirate Hooker Award on this one for making me do this nonsense.  So, you grab the fence, stand on one leg, stick your other leg out, bend at the knee, and do go-go girl kicks.  Only I look like a drunk bum kicking a trash can because my leg isn’t strong enough to hold my fat ass up.  Yeah.

Still training.

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