Sometimes, my friends, I have bad days. And then other times I have really bad days. And people never understand what I'm meaning or truly what I'm saying when I say that I'm crazy-- but in my heart of hearts and Jon of Jon's the real Jon knows and the real Jon understands that I, quite honestly, might have a few screws loose. I have quite the nasty knack for punishing myself in every interpretation of the word.
A few months ago I had a bad day. Home from a long day of working hard pulling and storing stadium seats at Memorial, I came home beaten and fatigued... But not quite to my liking. I seemed to be missing a few notches around my eyes and jaw line and having steam to blow off and self-loathing to satisfy I beat myself. Really and truly, beat, myself. And I think I won. If people thought I looked bad, they should've seen the other guy... Which was the me that lives in my thoughts and walks in my dreams.
It was all so easy.
Balled up my fist until my knuckles went white
And went to work.
Iron sharpens iron, right?
I pounded in the dings, then out, and then in again. Thoroughly lining up swings to predetermined and calculated areas. In my mind it was all justified as conditioning for rugby, but let's be honest that was a shoddy excuse at best. I was just mad and too broke to afford breaking anything (other than myself), so I burned out some negative energy in the best way that I could find.
But I wasn't just some savage about it
I'm no idiot.
It was methodical. There was a routine. A circuit.
First it was the left quad. starting a few inches from where the femur and the pelvis meet, as I sat bedside, I would line up the first swing, and from them continue to swing repeatedly, an inch over every time, until I reached just above the knee. On average it was about 8-9 swings if I got it just right. This would be repeated for the right quad directly after. Then it was the calves, where hitting on either side of the shin bone, I would start just below the knee and like the quad, work my way down in about 8 swings for each calf. This would complete the first round of legs.
Next was the arms. No different from the legs, I would start right below the shoulder joint and swing about 16 times before I got to my wrist.
Then was the torso. For this, starting just above the hip bone, I would swing with bare fist about an inch further up each time until reaching a few inches below the shoulder blade on each side. Again, about 8-9 swings. Then I would pick the tighten my fist back up again, swinging at each pec, trap, and central abs 8-9 times.
To boot, I kid you not, I would brace for and swing with bare fist at my face. My own deranged face: specifically around my eyes and jaw line. 8-9 of the strongest punches I could manage to force myself to do but doing my best to avoid concussing myself.
And that is the end of round one.
I went 6 rounds and only stopped because my roommates came home-- with (surprisingly) nothing but a busted lip, slightly swollen eye and some deep bruises around my body to show for it. But nobody noticed so I think that all worked out in the best way possible.
When my girlfriend asked me what the 6 tallies on my whiteboard in my room meant
I didn't quite have the heart to tell her that that is what I had done
And somehow felt both guilty and proud of
...
I couldn't allow her to worry about such a thing
And entertain the idea of what it might lead to
So I dodged the question politely
Held her tightly
Decided it would be better discussed at a later time (like maybe now)
And let my eyelids close for a while
PS Don't worry friends, this will not happen again. It was, "experimental," if you will [and a bust].
I think next time I will just do what I used to do-> not let the negativity build up to begin with.
I think that would be a good plan.
Update 2/15/16: I am currently undergoing counselling/therapy for this ordeal and the things around it
A few months ago I had a bad day. Home from a long day of working hard pulling and storing stadium seats at Memorial, I came home beaten and fatigued... But not quite to my liking. I seemed to be missing a few notches around my eyes and jaw line and having steam to blow off and self-loathing to satisfy I beat myself. Really and truly, beat, myself. And I think I won. If people thought I looked bad, they should've seen the other guy... Which was the me that lives in my thoughts and walks in my dreams.
It was all so easy.
Balled up my fist until my knuckles went white
And went to work.
Iron sharpens iron, right?
I pounded in the dings, then out, and then in again. Thoroughly lining up swings to predetermined and calculated areas. In my mind it was all justified as conditioning for rugby, but let's be honest that was a shoddy excuse at best. I was just mad and too broke to afford breaking anything (other than myself), so I burned out some negative energy in the best way that I could find.
But I wasn't just some savage about it
I'm no idiot.
It was methodical. There was a routine. A circuit.
First it was the left quad. starting a few inches from where the femur and the pelvis meet, as I sat bedside, I would line up the first swing, and from them continue to swing repeatedly, an inch over every time, until I reached just above the knee. On average it was about 8-9 swings if I got it just right. This would be repeated for the right quad directly after. Then it was the calves, where hitting on either side of the shin bone, I would start just below the knee and like the quad, work my way down in about 8 swings for each calf. This would complete the first round of legs.
Next was the arms. No different from the legs, I would start right below the shoulder joint and swing about 16 times before I got to my wrist.
Then was the torso. For this, starting just above the hip bone, I would swing with bare fist about an inch further up each time until reaching a few inches below the shoulder blade on each side. Again, about 8-9 swings. Then I would pick the tighten my fist back up again, swinging at each pec, trap, and central abs 8-9 times.
To boot, I kid you not, I would brace for and swing with bare fist at my face. My own deranged face: specifically around my eyes and jaw line. 8-9 of the strongest punches I could manage to force myself to do but doing my best to avoid concussing myself.
And that is the end of round one.
I went 6 rounds and only stopped because my roommates came home-- with (surprisingly) nothing but a busted lip, slightly swollen eye and some deep bruises around my body to show for it. But nobody noticed so I think that all worked out in the best way possible.
When my girlfriend asked me what the 6 tallies on my whiteboard in my room meant
I didn't quite have the heart to tell her that that is what I had done
And somehow felt both guilty and proud of
...
I couldn't allow her to worry about such a thing
And entertain the idea of what it might lead to
So I dodged the question politely
Held her tightly
Decided it would be better discussed at a later time (like maybe now)
And let my eyelids close for a while
PS Don't worry friends, this will not happen again. It was, "experimental," if you will [and a bust].
I think next time I will just do what I used to do-> not let the negativity build up to begin with.
I think that would be a good plan.
Update 2/15/16: I am currently undergoing counselling/therapy for this ordeal and the things around it
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