It’s been ages since I last posted, and while I’d like to say I’ll be more regular with it, I’d be lying to you, my three readers. I will agree to put in a strong effort, though.
Much of what’s been keeping me busy is my time at Team Quest, my MMA fight club. Since joining up in January I’ve had quite a few ups and downs in my training.
Though kickboxing is what ignited my passion for the club, Coach Scott convinced me to work on my strength and conditioning training through his FitQuest program. Things were rough at first, and my legs nearly up and quit my body.
Mama’s first ice bath
My kickboxing training continued, until my sparring partner and I were a little too enthusiastic. He is far more experienced and has built up that lovely calcification on his shins that I don’t quite have yet. The result? Forced time off from hitting people.
My baby hematoma
While the injury stung, this gave me an opportunity to really focus on FitQuest and whip my ass into shape. I fell for this training in a way I can’t properly explain. Coach Scott became such a huge influence and support in my life. His encouragement and ability to push my limits truly changed me in only the most positive of ways.
Birthday torture! Huzzah!
One of my Questmates and I created and tackled our own Centurion: 100 reps each of ten different exercises. We were going a bit blind near the end, but it was an amazing night. The feeling of accomplishment was beyond compare.
Conquered.
And then everything changed.
Handjobs? Out of the question.
That’s right. Both wrists broken. Fractured in three places on each side, dislocated on each side, surgery on each side, pin on one side. And this is where my fight life pretty much came to a screeching halt.
With this trauma, my entire life and routine changed. Serious depression set in. Above all else, I learned who my true friends were. More than the physical pain, the mental effects were excruciating.
Nearly three months after the accident, the pin has been removed from my bone, the casts are off, and therapy has begun. The hard work is paying off in that my flexibility has improved, but my strength is still slow to come back. The pain is not nearly as bad as those first few weeks.
(paper clip for scale, not involved in the surgery)
This isn’t a sob story, nor is it me looking for a pity party. I’ve come out on the other side of a major trauma knowing a lot more about myself and that my passion for this sport is beyond the anguish of an injury. Training (mostly lower body) has once again become part of my daily life and I eagerly await the day I can punch someone in the face again. This may not make sense, but in the words of the most lovely and insightful Mr. Stephen Fry,
“We have all experienced passion that is not in any sense reasonable.”
Weird on the Avenue 