The Machismo Epiphany We must be prepared to defend our nation, our families and property from a tyrannical government and a dependent class created by government. So therefore the conundrum unfolds. As a young, vibrant and extremely muscular young man I had no problem bench pressing twice my weight, curling my weight and pounding a 100 pound heavy punching bag into smithereens. I was also extremely proficient with a speed bag and could keep one going for an hour with every move imaginable. Four years in Special Operations during Vietnam kept me in top shape for whatever came my way. Twenty years in Law Enforcement prolonged that physical conditioning to the highest levels possible. Then 23 years as a Construction worker and Manager required that I stay in top physical condition to corral impudent and hard headed employees. But age has a way of lessening your stamina and strength that you just don’t believe until you decide to renew your abilities for protecting your family, friends and property from intruders and dangerous minions of darkness and destruction. So began my renewal process. I dug out the old weight bench, springs, machines and even a new bicycle. It didn’t take long to realize that this was a process that may take a while. I loaded the bar with twice my weight I was, at 18, and could not budge the thing from its rack. I could only curl half my weight and five springs became three. But after a two month regimen of two a day workouts I was catching up. To regain my punching power and core strength I borrowed a 100 pound heavy bag from my Nephews. Working that bag again kept me sore to the core for weeks, but that too passed and I can once again move that behemoth quite well. Not to be outdone by younger and far more agile opponents I decided that working a speed bag was rather useless, but an epiphany struck me one day watching You Tube videos of young pugilists training in the gym. They were using a newfangled bag called a reflex bag. This is a rubber ball, encased in a leather sack stitched together similar to a football, only round. It has two bungee cords attached to the top and bottom of the leather sack with one attached to a rafter and the other to the floor. It develops your reflex speed and accuracy. The speed and “reflex” is controlled by the length of the bungees. I was not satisfied with the full length cords so I tightened them until they were literally humming tight. That thing was fast. Thus began my descent into the world of reality. Full of myself and my awesome punching power after a month or so on the heavy bag, I was ready for the speed drills. Stepping up to that reflex bag sitting just at above shoulder level I was ready to begin. Well, I gave that thing a mighty right hand twist punch that would have knocked Sylvester Stallone out of the ring. What happened next is a little blurry and somewhat mind boggling. That damned sack “reflexed” about 50 or 60 times before I realized that it was beating the living crap out of me and I could lift my arms to catch it and stop the onslaught of a thousand fists pounding my forehead. I couldn’t figure out where the sirens were coming from either. More than a little embarrassed, I looked out my shop door to make sure no neighbors had seen me get my butt beat by a soccer sized ball. Luckily no one was in sight. I slunk back into the house to evaluate the damage and what I saw was the biggest reality check of my lifetime. My glasses were askew to one side of my nose, my ball cap was smashed with the bill cocked sideways and slightly tipped down over my left ear. As I said, there are stitches on that bag that resemble a football stitching and there were many of those imprints across my forehead about a sixteenth of an inch deep. I looked like Earnest P Worrel after a bad wreck. The moral of this story is that even though the fight is still in us, the reflexes are just not there anymore. If I can get my butt whipped by a leather encased rubber ball what chance do I have with a younger more agile opponent. I would hate to see the face I saw in that mirror after a 15 second bout with a reflex bag; and I would certainly hate to hear screaming like a little girl from my throat, the siren sound I mentioned earlier, and the total loss of all machismo because the want to was not up to the think so or the can do… Maybe in about 6 months I can figure out how to control that demonic sack of ninja warriors, but until then, I will just rely on my trusty 45 and the old 12 gauge shotgun. Distance is an old man’s friend.
Posted on: Sat, 01 Feb 2014 15:36:59 +0000
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