0-1: Diet and Making Weight

Holy crap, this is definitely the thing I most severely underestimated in terms of importance and challenge in fight preparation.

I fought at 165.

This isn't a crazy weight for me -- before training actively for Muay Thai, I weighed between 170 and 180. Closer to 170 usually. I don't really know. I never weighed myself. 

I was nervous about making weight. Partially because I never weigh myself. And partially because it felt like it'd be such a failure of will and preparation and the spirit of the fight to come in heavy. So, it's probably also true, I got into a mindset of making sure I got as low as possible rather than as close as possible to my weight. This isn't good, in case that's not clear to you. If your opponent is 165, you wanna be 165. You don't wanna be 161. You don't wanna be 168, sure -- but you also don't wanna be 161.

It also really, really did not help that I do not own a scale. Because it meant that I'd spend the latter half of my days not eating in order to weigh myself not-full-of-food before training, which was unpleasant and also not nutritionally optimal. It also meant that I had one data point, the moment of weighing myself before training (after training, you've lost so much water through sweat that it's misleading), and so things would all hinge around that data point. This was a dumb way to handle a big part of the weeks leading up to the fight. For fight two: buy a scale, you crazy kid.

So here's the deal, which you have read/thought/heard many times if you've been anywhere near any level of competitive fighting. Making weight kind of sucks. It sucks because
-- you are anxious about not making it and being an a**hole
-- you are occasionally wondering if your guy is/is not making the sacrifices you are, and getting preemptively angry at him about that
-- you are thinking about food at a time when you just want to be eating a lot, fueling your hardest training, all accelerating as fight day approaches (before, thankfully, tapering off in the days immediately leading up to the fight).

So, it sucks.

It also truly does not help not to have a scale. People, if you ever fight, get a damn scale. That's a solid gold lesson.

In the days leading up to the fight, I would eat
-- a bowl of cereal in the morning
-- two small protein-y meals throughout the day (a piece of chicken and some greens; a piece of fish and some greens)
-- then, at night before training, something for energy (a potato; a protein/sports drink)
-- and afterwards or during some protein powder in water.

I'd snack on cashew nuts. It felt like I was doing this a lot, but in the eight days or whatever leading up to the fight I didn't even make it through a bag of Trader Joe's Thai Lime and Chili Cashews (which are awesome).

It sucked. In comparison: today, the day after the fight, I have eaten

-- two fried eggs

-- a BLTA (veggie bacon, lettuce & tomato, avocado)

-- a serving of fries

-- a serving of homefries (my girlfriend didn't want hers)

-- 5-6 cookies worth of unbaked cookie dough

-- handfuls and handfuls of Japanese rice cracker snacks

-- 1/2 a tangerine

If we add the post-midnight meal I had after the fight early this morning, then I have also eaten

-- a large flour quesadilla

-- a small huatlacoche corn quesadilla

-- a tamarind aqua fresca

-- 1/2 of a papaya shake

That's more than I usually eat, but not honestly a ton. I eat a lot.

So, to make weight I was really cutting my diet. Thing was, I overdid it and cut it dumb. I should have bought a scale, and swapped to maybe a leaned out version of something like this.

source: http://ultimatepaleoguide.com/paleo-diet-meal-plans/

Instead, I did the crazy diet noted above even though I was pretty much on-weight throughout fight prep and was hungry/light feeling the whole time. Then, aided by a yoga class that I took in a dubious move the morning of my fight, I weighted in at 158.8 when we all met a few hours before weigh-in to drive up. This lead to an opposite concern: that I'd be too much under weight to fight, as there are lots of official rules governing these matches, and one is apparently that there cannot be a more than 4-or-5 (we weren't sure) lb. difference between opponents. No one wanted to see the fight cancelled, and my guy L--- was weighing in right at 165.

I had brought all this food that I was psyched to eat after weigh-in. I wound up scarfing it before, to gain a couple quick pounds. I ate
--1.5 bananas (big bananas)
--1/2 of a coconut water shake from Pressed Juicery
-- a serving of plain tera's whey protein in about 10 fl. oz. of water,
-- some more water.

I weighed in at 161.4; L--- weighed in at 164.x.

Lessons: get a scale. Be strategic and thoughtful about your diet so you are not tired, dazey, and out of sorts in the days leading up to a fight. And remember: it's not some competition to be as much below your weight as possible. It's a competition to hit it exactly; the have as much mass and strength and energy as you can possibly have at the correct weight.

Handling this like a novice got in the way of my prep, for sure: I trained okay, but I could and should and would have trained better had I managed this better.

Lessons learned. Next time.

0-1

That's my fight record, above. It means that I will never, never be an undefeated fighter.

It also means that I'm frightened. I'm frightened that I'll never win, and this will happen a few more times, and then no one will be interested in fighting me -- the guy who can't win.

And I'm frightened because I liked doing the fight SO MUCH. I enjoyed it so much. Waiting in my corner between rounds, I was excited -- excited -- to hear the bell ring again and go back at it. I wanted more rounds. I wanted more fight. Still do.

I'm also frustrated, and upset. Frustrated at losing, and upset at myself. Or vice versa.

In the strange world world where ever anyone reads this, and if that anyone-ever has anything to do with me or my fighting, I'd like to outright give respect to my opponent, the guy who beat me on March 22nd 2014, whom we'll call L---. L--- was a gentleman before and after. He fought really well -- be outboxed me ten-to-one. Frankly, I'm upset about the outcome and the moment of decision was a surprise (I outkicked him). But I was inside the fight, not watching. I don't want to take anything away from L---'s victory. He nearly knocked me out in Round 2; he's a gentleman and a fighter, and it'd be a privilege to match with him again.

I lost on decision, which means that we fought through 3 rounds, 2 minutes each (standard for an amateur kickboxing bout). Then the judges made a selection. The announcer did not say whether or not it was unanimous, I don't think.

I suspect I lost -- I don't know, really; one reason I'm scared is that as I said I really thought I'd won in that moment before the decision came down, standing in the middle of the ring with the ref holding both my and L---'s gloved hands -- back to this: I suspect I lost in Round 2. And, perhaps in general, from taking too many shots to the head.face. They weren't so hard, most of them, but like I said L--- clearly outboxed me throughout (I think. Still haven't seen the video). And in Round 2, one of those punches was hard: a real dazzler that stang my brain, wobbled my legs, etc. I came back right after it, right after it, but that may not have been enough.

I thought I'd won because, while he was boxing more effectively, I was kicking better and more and generally being more aggressive with respect to advancing on him and pushing the fight. Coach, afterward, said that sure you were being aggressive but you weren't throwing anything, weren't doing anything, not enough action. That could well be right. I mean, I'm sure it is right. But again, there was that feeling.

I got off a decent head kick in the 3rd Round. It wasn't a barnstormer, but it landed. I was pleased with that.

In the weeks leading up to the fight -- actually months before, but it only became relevant as the fight approached -- I had this document on my computer's desktop with one sentence:

The thing is to stop thinking of fighting as something you do together.

I was worried about not doing this. I was worried that my tendency to look for brotherhood in sparring -- which I think is a good thing -- would extend to the fight. As S---, a terrific boxer at TBI told me about the fight mentality: you're not friends. I was thinking about this in the lead-up to the fight, when both L--- and I were being courteous to the point of friendliness to each other.

I guess if I'm pleased about something, in addition to the fact that I didn't know poop myself or whatever, it's that I think I succeeded in that. I felt good about how I conducted myself towards my opponent. And then I feel good about my intention of aggression in the ring. Obviously -- per Coach, per the judges -- the execution was insufficient. But I don't think it was a failure of will, or "fight." I think I brought a good first-blood sense of attack. I want to bring that again next time, better, more focused, more devastatingly.

And for goodness' sake get hit in the face less.

I'm looking forward to seeing the video. Rather: I'm not looking forward to it, but I want to. To study it. I suspect I know what needs doing for the next fight. I hope there's a next. If there's a next, here's the list:
-- get rigorous about diet and making weight.
-- get rigorous about how/whether to rest before the fight.
-- work my boxing defense: chin-down-hands up, hands not too high, parry and move. Again, this is probably why I lost the fight... a lot of points lost trading hits and getting the worse with the boxing.
-- more subtly: my legs are strong and I use them all right, but I don't feel on them all the time. Like, I don't feel relentlessly confident against catches and sweeps, in particular, which can hold back my aggression. I want to figure out how to center and lower my balance, while still kicking as much.
-- I discovered too late that my knees are good weapons. Work knees.
-- I want to be stronger. I lift, but I lift light for 10-15 reps. I think I should, at least sometimes, shift to heavy for 5-8.

I thought this post would go on forever, but that's kind of all I want to say. 

Hardest Punch to Date

Sparring today, I got hit with what I think was probably the hardest punch I've ever received . It wasn't very hard; for anyone who's fought or boxed much it'd probably have been nothing. But I still feel it in my jaw.

I was sparring with J---- at the Thai Boxing Institute, and he was pressing on me because I wasn't using any kicks or movement to keep him back. I did manage to catch him with an occasional jab, and then at one point with a legitimate cross. Which he took -- rightly, and I was glad he did -- as license to go for me more, and came on with a flurry that I didn't know how to protect from. I leaned back (rather than down: instead of nestling low and behind my gloves I tipped up and made my chin/jaw a targer) and took a bunch of small hits. Then, this shot  just dazzled my jaw and concentration, made me flash on a fight I'd been watching before practice of of some guy made out of muscle and shins losing his legs and falling down after a clean shot to the jaw.

We fought on and it was great, although coach certainly saw my wobble. I feel it on my left jaw, which is odd because I'm almost 100% sure this hit came on the right. I'm awful at Muay Thai.

Fastness

In chapter 33 of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (which, if you have not read, do do do!), a pedophile scare empties the streets such that ”[i]t was as if the Pied Piper had led all the children off to some mountain fastness.” I read this chapter today with a slightly kooky and very cool little kid, and we made note of that last word. I like it a lot. The OED’s first definition, the one Betty Smith is using, is

noun
1 a secure place well protected by natural features: a remote Himalayan mountain fastness

Driving home, I decided not to cross the 405 (it was around 6:30pm – a lot of traffic) to do speed training at a UCLA track, but instead to head up into the Santa Monica mountains for an out-and-back on the Westridge fire road, an old standby. As I pulled into the lot at the trailhead, checking the time until sunset (plenty), another car slid in and parked alongside mine. A really attractive woman came out: very bright, open face and a compact, athletic body.

She took off down the trail ahead of me – I was futzing with headphones and Garmins – but I caught up to her about 1/3 of the way through, and we spent the whole run out trading the lead. We didn’t really acknowledge each other; if she was thinking what I was thinking, she may have been conscious of wanting to run her run and let me run mine. On uphills I’d generally overtake her, and on downhills I’d see her long shadow at my feet and then a moment later her tight steps would bring her alongside and then ahead of me. Then we’d hit another hill and I’d pull ahead again.

The thing was, this lady was very fast. So if I wanted to pull ahead of her on the next hill – which I did, for all of the reasons you are probably imagining – I couldn’t let her get out too far in front on the downhill. And pulling ahead of her on the ups was harder each time, although there my much longer legs (I had like ten inches on this amazing person) were a big help. The trail out ends with a stretch uphill and I put her pretty well behind me, thirty of forty seconds. I crested the top, having shaved about ten seconds off my standard splits for that part of the run – thanks to her.

I loitered, walking it off on the way to the water fountain. She came up behind, still running, and didn’t stop running as she cruised past – turned to me, definitely, and either smiled or winced into the setting sun in my direction – chugged to the water fountain thirty feet ahead, swept in for four seconds of drinking, then turned heel and came back, past me, and back down the mountain, gone. I smiled at her on the way back, but at that point it was just her and the trail.

I continued my humphing walk to the fountain, pleased about my time and the mountains and the sunset, grateful to the lady, and feeling a little happy-silly about whatever ideas I’d had about conversations resulting from the two of us cresting the mountain together. She’d be quarter-way to her car by the time I even started my way back.

I leaned down over the water fountain and soaked my hair and face, drank as much water as I comfortably could with the run down ahead of me. As I stood up I noticed the smudged word on my hand; when I want to remember a word, maybe to use it soon, I often write it on my hand on the same place at the bottom of my thumb.

Fastness.

I love living in Los Angeles, very much.

The Stack (6)

The stack is not getting smaller. It's slowly, insidiously growing. I have this fantasy of a time when there'll be two weeks where I can just read and get this stuff put in my brain. I don't even subscribe to that many magazines! Three! The Economist, National Geographic, LA Magazine, The New Yorker, and Scientific American. Five. Five, not three. That is still not many.

Here's what got done in this totally futile quest to not have any unread physical materials in my home.

2 The New Yorkers (July 2, 2012 and June 18, 2012)
1 Los Angeles Magazine (the one about new bars)
1 The Economist Special Report (London)
Savage Dragon 180
X-Factor 240
The Walking Dead 100
Fables 119
BPRD Hell on Earth: The Devil's Engine 3 of 3
BPRD Hell on Earth: Exorcism 1 of 2
Fantastic Four 608

It feels like Hickman is going pretty conventional on Fantastic Four; I hope he reverses course.

I'm remain really glad to be reading X-Factor again. Peter David likes his characters a lot, and it is warming.

Some sad, sad stuff is going down in Fables.

Even sadder in The Walking Dead. I think Kirkman calibrated it very skillfully, killing a character important enough to warrant Issue #100 in a stomach-churning way (my stomach just twisted a little, thinking about) that really effectively and deliberately undercuts so much of what the story had been building. But also, he didn't go too crazy far -- he didn't quite throw it all out. It ruined my day, that comic. I'm still sad thinking about it, so I am going to stop.

The Stack (5)

So, first a tactical/life-plan shift. I had been handling this "stack" like it mattered. This is a smart approach because: if you keep something, it better be for a reason. Otherwise don't keep it. And I choose to assume that I have a reason for keeping the few things I do. It is, however, a dumb approach because: you get into a thing where you think it matters if you read these things, or a certain volume of them in a given time, or something completely insane like that. I think I slipped ("slipped", at least; fell headlong) into that, with the stuff about getting through the stack by some date, etc.

So, this is the new stack philosophy:

- stay on top of The Economist, because that's your your main news source

- everything else is a shelf in your house that is there for your leisure and recreational reading time. When you do not need to/are maxed out with work, that's where you go. Otherwise, you have no obligation to it. That's a big shift. It may also mean the stack grows grows grows. We'll see.

Here's what I've read in the last whatever-since-that-other-update:

- 1 National Geographic

- 2 The New Yorkers

- 1 The Economist Technology Quarterly

- 3 The Economists

- 1 Wonder Woman TPB (Volume 2 of the collected George Perez run)
- 2 issues of X-Factor
- 2 issues of Secret
- 1 BPRD: Hell on Earth one-off ("The Transformation of J.H. O'Donnell")
- 1 issue of BPRD: Hell on Earth: The Devil's Engine
- 1 issue of Fables
- 1 issue of Elephantmen
- 1 issue of Fantastic Four
- 2 issues of The Walking Dead
- 2 issues of Savage Dragon
- also, Jesse Kellerman's Potboiler, which was very good

As usual, I really only want to talk here about comic books.

The Secret: good; Hickman is stylish and tight. I may not go on with it, but only because time is limited and there isn't yet a character I super care about. But it's good.
X-Factor: why did I stop reading this? It's silly and soap-opera-ish and ongoing episodic, but Peter David cares a lot about his character and a lot about dialogue. I'm resubscribing.
- The whole BPRD family of books continue to be just top-of-the-form good. The one-off was affecting: strange and sad.

Mint Fail

I like using Mint, but you'd think a pretty simple algorithm could've changed the tone of this update.

But this obviously isn't even my account, btw. I'm not carrying low/no-interest credit card debt. That'd be crazy.