Post by James Edwards on Mar 8, 2019 23:25:54 GMT -5
One leg up. One leg down. Right. Left. Alternate to break up the damn repetition.
I remember thinkin' in Mumbai that doing the same thing every day was the foundation of championships. That was bullshit. If it were true, I'd have a belt and a tournament win.
I don't have either, and all I got is a room at a budget hotel in Sweeden so small the toilet, and the shower are two feet from the bed. I do still have one leg up and one leg down, but I've added in squats. One new move ain't going to do it. I need another one, and I need to be able to lift some heavy sons of bitches to do the one I got in mind.
I keep tellin' myself this is the tour I quit the Gospel cold turkey, and that it's time to be a fuckin' man and pull the trigger on the shit I've been workin' on.
But I can't!
Every time I get close to swearin' the kick off I see flashes of the damn Mountain coming down on me. I remember that I got a title match against a guy that won the belt on his first try. Irvine, the Mountain, the new junior champ and the Hammer all get a piece of me on this tour.
I start thinkin' about that and the room spins. I'm not sure if I should fall face down on the bed or fling my ass towards the toilet and pray to the porcelain gods. Then I know I can't throw anything new out there because guys like that can smell uncertainty. The only way I can keep em' from getting a whiff and lockin' on to my trail is to use the Gospel.
They're scared of it, even Alex Irvine. He's probably afraid of it the most because he ain't taken it yet. Fear of the unknown is the secret to puttin' Baby Boomers down.
Their fear is the only way I keep my fear from happening. I can't fail again on this tour. I ain't going to let myself. I'm too young and good at the fight game to be a has been, never will be. I'm going to bury all my past failures here in Europe. There will be a motherfuckin' funeral this time. I will look down on the grave dressed all in black and spit on the past. I'll do it because I'm the man with the feet hands that end careers. The ones that'll rebuild the wall of intimidation that made me untouchable early in my Lion's Road days.
Then there's that feeling though, clawin' at the back of my like a pissed off cat going to down on a scratchin' post. The sense that I'm going backward. That I'm dependin' on a kick, they can see coming from two days away. The one that makes me think I should keep up the step ups and squats so that I'll finally throw some mystery back into my ending moves.
I hate all this shit, man! Being cooped up. Losing every fight I have in Max-J. Not being able to decide how to end fights. All I do are these workouts that might end up being pointless if I don't quit being such a chickenshit.
I'm shit in the ring because I'm such a chicken right now, and that's the difference between the me that everybody is afraid and the me I'm so scared I'm becoming.
It's time to either show I have some stones and become a champ or be a pussy-ass chump.
This is a daily struggle for me. It keeps me paralyzed. It keeps me chained between choices. And the longer I put off choosin' the more likely I'll have to do it in the ring where one moment of indecision will be enough to send back to this hell I've made for myself.
I remember thinkin' in Mumbai that doing the same thing every day was the foundation of championships. That was bullshit. If it were true, I'd have a belt and a tournament win.
I don't have either, and all I got is a room at a budget hotel in Sweeden so small the toilet, and the shower are two feet from the bed. I do still have one leg up and one leg down, but I've added in squats. One new move ain't going to do it. I need another one, and I need to be able to lift some heavy sons of bitches to do the one I got in mind.
I keep tellin' myself this is the tour I quit the Gospel cold turkey, and that it's time to be a fuckin' man and pull the trigger on the shit I've been workin' on.
But I can't!
Every time I get close to swearin' the kick off I see flashes of the damn Mountain coming down on me. I remember that I got a title match against a guy that won the belt on his first try. Irvine, the Mountain, the new junior champ and the Hammer all get a piece of me on this tour.
I start thinkin' about that and the room spins. I'm not sure if I should fall face down on the bed or fling my ass towards the toilet and pray to the porcelain gods. Then I know I can't throw anything new out there because guys like that can smell uncertainty. The only way I can keep em' from getting a whiff and lockin' on to my trail is to use the Gospel.
They're scared of it, even Alex Irvine. He's probably afraid of it the most because he ain't taken it yet. Fear of the unknown is the secret to puttin' Baby Boomers down.
Their fear is the only way I keep my fear from happening. I can't fail again on this tour. I ain't going to let myself. I'm too young and good at the fight game to be a has been, never will be. I'm going to bury all my past failures here in Europe. There will be a motherfuckin' funeral this time. I will look down on the grave dressed all in black and spit on the past. I'll do it because I'm the man with the feet hands that end careers. The ones that'll rebuild the wall of intimidation that made me untouchable early in my Lion's Road days.
Then there's that feeling though, clawin' at the back of my like a pissed off cat going to down on a scratchin' post. The sense that I'm going backward. That I'm dependin' on a kick, they can see coming from two days away. The one that makes me think I should keep up the step ups and squats so that I'll finally throw some mystery back into my ending moves.
I hate all this shit, man! Being cooped up. Losing every fight I have in Max-J. Not being able to decide how to end fights. All I do are these workouts that might end up being pointless if I don't quit being such a chickenshit.
I'm shit in the ring because I'm such a chicken right now, and that's the difference between the me that everybody is afraid and the me I'm so scared I'm becoming.
It's time to either show I have some stones and become a champ or be a pussy-ass chump.
This is a daily struggle for me. It keeps me paralyzed. It keeps me chained between choices. And the longer I put off choosin' the more likely I'll have to do it in the ring where one moment of indecision will be enough to send back to this hell I've made for myself.