Jorgefighter's blog

I bet that most of us have had matches that left us injured for days. I can remember at least two fights where the guys nearly destroyed my shoulder and, the very next day, stupid me went to play racketball (my other fav sport).

Also, last time I went to London, one year ago, I had a fight everyone of the six days I stood there (and some days, more than one fight). Just as the shuttle was bringing me from the plane to the airport, I took out my cell and began to search and write my contacts. By the fourth day, my hands were shaking frantically and without control because (I guess) the pain that my arms had been enduring. That same day I went to a mat room hidden in and car factory (wow!) and had a two hours fight. Last day the great John took me to his fight team and I met some very experienced wrestlers. I failed at being a decent rival for them, but still tried my best. Back home, when the plane landed, I was SO tired I thought that I could no get home. The same happened last time I went to Madrid, and, you know? I would do the same. I dont know about you, but one of the things I consider when I am planning a travel is: "Will I find fighters there?" Is not necessary, but if I travel, I like to capitalize on it to meet people who, because of the distance, can meet easily.

It's a hard life for us fighters. After those five years of private matches (since 2005) I am still surprised when someone says "A fight with no pain". Sorry, what does it mean? Pain is not the goal, but its necessary if you want to harden yourself, and if you want the other to submit. That's not ballet which, by the way, is much harder than wrestling (have you seen dancer's bodies, their strenght, their power, their flexibility and the MANY injuries most of them have?).

It's a hard life for us because often we have to be careful. We have to be careful who we choose to tell about our meetings: often, because they wont' understand; in other occasions, because friends will keep on worryng and saying: "Be careful, call me when you finish, you should stop doing that, some day you will regret, blah blah blah". Then you come home with a scratch on your skin, or obvious pain. And, like a child, you often have to create an excuse. Between: "Oh, that mark here? I was training and felt to the floor" or "I went to a hotel room to meet a man whom I knew nothing, and once we were there we began to kick each other's butt", what dou you prefer to tell your mum when she asks what's that bloodied stain on your elbow? (Perhaps cold seasons like winter are the best for covering these scars but, then, who travels in january?).

It's a hard life because sometimes (me, often) suffer bitter, unexpected beatings, or we feel that we are no good fighters and that we should quit. That hurts more than the body pain. I've been there often, battered, and thinking that I was such an easy rival undeserving of any challenge. (I've to say that as time goes by, I feel less like that, thanks to the good friends and their/your support). But then, after thinking and putting things in a scale, I've always returned. I call it "the comeback to where the pleasure hurts".

Because even loses are a pleasure. Perhaps it is the return to our primal instincts, banned by laws and society; perhaps because its a chance of leaving free all the anger and adrenaline that we have retained due to the lack of emotions and very standarized lifes. But there are many pleasure on fighting. The one of a good workout. The one of meeting someone with whom you develop a friendship. The one of working a good sweat and then going for a beer. The one of giving your best, even if you don't success. The pleasure of having enough confidence in someone that he can choke without you suffering for your life. The one of fighting someone in equal terms and conditions, but without having nothing against him. I'll never understand why is that, but I feel closer to boys that I have met just once or twice than to people I have known for years, like workmates,my cousins or my friends' partners. The pleasure of beating a cocky hunk who thinks that muscles are enough (they aren't, sweetie).

What about you? Why do you like this?