The premise is this: Two guys (One former jarhead and one professional MMA fighter) head off to foreign lands and exotic locales to discover new ways that human beings pummel the hell out of one another. Then, over the course of a week or so, they study this martial art and put it to the test against a professional. Needless to say, they almost always lose, but it's more about seeking personal strength and understanding other cultures as it is about bloody sport. Where does the problem lie, you ask?
I want in.
Watching the two men don their gi's and clear their minds while preparing to put their long-practiced skills and strategies to the test brought back something I didn't realized I missed until this afternoon.
When I got my black belt (a-many years ago), I had to fight two people to at least a draw in order to pass the final exam, in addition to doing 100 push-ups and 90 sit-ups in a minute (Not the same minute) and memorize somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 punch-and-kick combinations and 9 approximately three-minute-long "art-martial forms." (Basically glorified ritual dances.)
I found myself thinking about that fight today, even after the show was off. My fists tightened, my knees locked, and my head was ringing with the many, many kicks it had received over the years.
I want it back. I miss the fight. Even just for a second, I want to feel it again.
Somehow, sitting here, procrastinating on my Occult paper, I don't feel it anymore. But now I know.
It's only a matter of time.