Woke up feeling off last weekend, ya know? Like dragging concrete blocks with my feet. Tried watching UFC, saw a fighter moving like cold syrup – slow, sluggish, almost lazy. Hit way too close to home. Decided right there: gotta fix my own lazy fighting energy. Here’s exactly what I did, step by messy step.
The “What’s The Damage?” Moment
First thing? Took a cold hard look at myself. Not fun. Grabbed my training journal – that dusty thing buried under sweaty gloves. Flipped through last month’s entries:
- Felt like a zombie during pad drills.
- Fading after two rounds? Pitiful.
- Footwork? Stuck in mud.
Felt bad. Real bad. But also, kinda relieved. Now I knew the enemy: Me.
Getting Off My Butt (Literally)
No fancy gym tricks. Just action.
- No skipping breakfast anymore. Slammed two eggs, oatmeal, a banana. No arguments. Stomach grumbled, did it anyway.
- Water became my annoying sidekick. Chugged a bottle first thing. Kept another glued to my hip all day. Peeing every hour? Annoying. But necessary.
- Set the stupidest small goal. “10 minutes of footwork drills TODAY.” Just ten minutes. No “maybe later.” Did it right after coffee. Took two minutes to lace my shoes. Felt ridiculous shuffling around my kitchen. Didn’t care. Did. The. Ten. Minutes.
Finding the Spark (The Hard Way)
Energy was still low. Felt dull. Sluggish brain, sluggish fists.
- Shut off the screen zombie mode. Limited doomscrolling to 15 mins. Phone went on silent during training. Ignored texts. World didn’t end.
- Went hunting for music that punched me awake. Found some old thrash metal. Blasted it at max volume for five minutes. Head pounded. Heart raced. Woke the damn beast up.
- Fake it till your body believes it. Stood in front of the mirror. Puffed my chest like an idiot. Threw mock jabs. Smiled wide even when I wanted to scowl. Felt stupid. Brain eventually caught on: “Oh? We’re doing this now?”
Testing It In The Ring
Couldn’t hide forever. Hit the gym Tuesday.
Warm-up was still rough. Body protested like rusty hinges. Started light sparring. Felt that old drag creeping back… but then remembered the eggs, the water, that stupid forced smile. Muscles clicked. Threw a combo. Footwork responded. Didn’t gas out second round like usual. Third round? Actually threw something resembling power. Partner noticed. “You move… different?” Felt a stupid little grin crack through. “Yup.”
Keep It Stupid Simple Now
Lazy fighting ain’t fixed overnight. Still fighting it. My rule book now is basic:
- Eat within an hour of waking. Every. Single. Time.
- Water bottle? Attached to my hand like glue.
- Five minutes of music madness pre-training. Non-negotiable.
- A tiny goal daily. Five minutes. That’s it. Progress stacks.
Is it magic? Heck no. It’s sweat, boring routines, and refusing to stay glued to the couch. Feel less like a lazy UFC fighter wanna-be now. More like a guy who finally started scraping the rust off.
