Last Poster #8

[philwhite35]

Just happened to see I’m a 3:d degree black belt, so quick’n easy

Congrats.

 

[Prince_Alarming106]

Seeing as you were all so nice about my paintings, here's my latest

 

[Stuarto66]

Seeing as you were all so nice about my paintings, here's my latest

Love the paintings Alarming, very nice work!

 

[drop bear106]

Found this on line. From kat Connor.

Kat Connor - "The Perfect Weapon"

Kat Connor - "The Perfect Weapon". 24,064 likes · 2,197 talking about this. Between the time when the oceans drank Atlantis and the rise of the sons of Aryas, there was an age undreamed of. Unto...

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ROUND 1: During my tenure as a terminally online martial arts nerd I've participated in every kind of debate about martial arts that one can have, methodology, techniques, styles. If Kat will fight that internet troll (she will) But one of the most oddly common and contentious ones in the traditional vs modern martial arts debate has always been

"What about dem gloves tho?"

Indeed, like many I have speculated about dem gloves tho Now reader, i must confess I also always got really annoyed whenever people who didnt fight at all told me I didnt understand the secret sauce of their martial art because, as a nice girl who mostly stays out of trouble, I had never actually hit nor been hit by anyone without dem gloves tho. So this topic weighed heavy in my mind. But being Just-That-Much of a nerd about martial arts... I did the only rational thing.

I decided I would became a professional bareknuckle boxer - FOR SCIENCE!

Convenient timing, too.

Recently there was an article/accompanying youtube video that I saw spammed all over the place, like 100,000 shares or some ****, about bareknuckle fighting that made a lot of claims and assumptions that seemed primarily tailored to gesture towards *ing **un kung fu perspective on the nature of fighting bareknuckled. Why the *ing **un vertical fist, why this or that knuckle. Why gloves make modern combat athletes "wrong" or why training with gloves/wraps basically makes you a cripple when it comes to real fighting without pillows on your hands.

See; lots of martial arts get super deep into theorycraft and idealized aesthetic particulars and as a nerd myself I can totally get down with some theorycraft and idealized aesthetic particulars. But when those particulars get out of hand... when we gaze to long into our navel than our navel gazes back. By the time you come up for air you might have done something horrible like joined a martial arts cult...or doing Systema. OH **** THOSE ARE THE SAME THING ARENT THEY?

Anyways...

Lets do some science.
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ROUND 2:

Run it back for a second. I am a multi-decade martial artist (30+ years) and combat athlete(20+ years). An almost 40 fight veteran of mostly muay thai, some MMA, and now bareknuckle boxing.

I admit that getting ready for my first bareknuckle match breaking my hand was BY FAR the scariest thing to me. It's one of the most common (and justified) concerns in these discussions, and on a personal side my bony little hands have never made a particularly tight fist without a little support. But In all my years of combat sports that never a concern before because as a nice girl who stays out of trouble of I'd probably never have to punch anyone without gloves anyways - why should i even care?

Ha.

So that said, the whole leadup to my first BKB fight I was training for pinpoint accuracy. Like a laser guided ninja. Big *** middle knuckle right on the chin or nose or whatever. Delivered with the perfectly measured control and precision that honestly you can only really expect out of an expert martial artist who is very comfortable in an adrenalized state. My plan was simple- no wasted shots. No hitting skull. I will hit only what I mean, only when I mean, and only as hard as I need to.

All the confidence I lacked in my metacarpals I could, at least, have in my skills.

I think it was the last bit of Round 2 when I realized that I just was not landing enough. Nor was I landing hard enough. Neither scoring points or doing damage. Hitting small targets just hard enough and just right enough was just to much to ask even at my skill level. For two rounds the other girl was throwing bombs and putting scores on the card - And me? I was about to lose my professional bareknuckle debut.

I very distinctly remember the moment where I decided "love it, if I break my hand I'll get it fixed later but right now I need win the lovely fight." So i shifted gears and I started hitting whatever I could hit however I could hit it. Top of the skull, side of the skull, chest, arms, ribs. Anything and everything that I could land on i did. It got grindy and it got ugly but it got done...

Barely.

-
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ROUND 3:

So now we fast forward it's my second BKB fight. Since I showed up to this fight trusting that as long as I kept a tight fist my hand would probably fine I was ready to drop bombs. So I did and I made a fuckin mess. Like holy **** Rated R for depictions of violence mess. The Art I painted with my Martial was blood on canvas on her on me and probably on the referee, too.

Moving past the theory-crafting first fight I had arrived at a series of martial truths.

What knuckle do you land with? It doesnt fuckin matter.

What orientation are you landing with? It doesnt fuckin matter.

What if I land on their forehead or top of their skull? It doesnt lovely matter.

Every knuckle, every joint, the palm, wrist, back of the thumb even the top of my thumb is bruised and swollen cause when you're in a lovely fight NONE OF THAT MATTERS. love your theory crafting. love your "olden days" romanticization of what you think bareknuckle boxing with giant mustaches and and love what your sifu/sensei whatever has been telling you about how sport fighting would never work without gloves cause you might get a booboo on your hand if you don't punch in some hyper specific way that you learned in angry white pajama class.

If you want to win lovely fights - and I know you do. None of that **** matters.

Winning fights is about getting more, better, harder shots on target with whatever the love you can land with. Gloves? Shots on target. No gloves? Shots on target. Ring? Shots on target. Street? That's right.

Shots. On. Motherfucking. Target.

Period.

If you get in your head about what might happen to your hand or how you really need to do this or that and you wait for your moments and they are putting shots on target, guess what? You're losing the lovely fight.

And as a ring fighter I wanna make this even clearer for you - if the only time you think you're gonna punch someone bareknuckled is in a self-defense situation or whatever then what happens to your hand matters even less. Not more, as the common martial "in a real fight" cliches go.

I have to be cognizant of my hands because a week or two after the last fight I am already training for the next fight cuz I got quotas to fill. If you're a self defender you have unlimited time to get your **** pinned and stapled and plastered back together after you win the motherfucking fight in front of you.
---

THE DECISION: That's my take on that debate. Maybe after a few more bareknuckle fights I'll have more to say or maybe I'll change my tune but for now I think you can pretty much take this to the bank. It's been a very informative experience.

If I missed something you're curious about or if you just want to tell me I am wrong cuz great grandmaster so-n-so said so than that's fine to. Go ahead and hit me with all that stuff.

PS: I'm sorry I'm not as eloquent as the *ing **un guy that wrote that original article I mentioned for those of you who remember it going around- but I bet I could whoop his ***

 

[Monkey Turned Wolf106]

I've got to find 8 hours of work today, and anywhere from 2-8 hours of work to do friday, so I can get paid. Sadly I don't get any sort of PTO or holiday pay in my current position, so I've got to work while everyone else is off. Which is rough when my whole job is fixing tech issues of those users who are off.

Planning to just slowly close out some existing tickets and do backend stuff, spaced out enough that if anyone looks they can see continuing work from me.

 

[Xue Sheng99]

Merry Christmas… whatever
Feel more like Scrooge or the Grinch this year

 

[Prince_Alarming106]

My parents have discovered the backlog of all series of strictly on the iPlayer and I think I'm losing the will to live...

"Are we discussing the same dancer? It looked like she was pole dancing and he was the pole!"

"Move your feet you stupid girl! We'd have eaten you alive in 'tenements"...

 

[Prince_Alarming106]

FORJOICE AND ENBLIMEY! FANTASTICATE ALL AND ONE FOR IT IS THE DAY OF CHRISTMASSING!

 

[Monkey Turned Wolf106]

My brother got me a trx kit for christmas, which works since i no longer have a free gym. Excited to give it a try.

 

[jks919977]

My brother guy me a trx kit for christmas, which works since i no longer have a free gym. Excited to give it a try.

You can do a lot with suspension gear like TRX. Don't be afraid to experiment and see what works or to use different mounting options.

 

[D.Nuckols]

My First Post - Coincidentally In The Last Post Thread​

The last students cleared out and the dojang got quiet in that particular way that makes you hear everything you normally ignore… the HVAC clicking… the faint rattle of a flag chain… the broom bristles catching tape seams on the mat.

I stayed behind like I usually do. Not because I’m some kind of saint. Because if I leave right when class ends, I’ll carry the noise home with me. If I sweep the floor and put the gear back where it belongs, the day stays in its lane.

I’d just finished rolling the jump ropes when I noticed the front door wasn’t latched all the way. Not open… just not locked. The kind of detail that makes you feel your stomach drop half an inch.

I walked toward it, light on my feet out of habit more than skill, and through the glass I saw a man standing under the parking lot light. Hands down. No hoodie. No drama. He looked like he’d been carved out of work… thick forearms… rough knuckles… posture that didn’t waste anything.

He gave the door a single knock. Not urgent. Not timid. Like he was checking if the building was real.

I opened it halfway… kept my body behind the frame.

“Can I help you?”

He looked past me at the mats like they were an old problem he’d finally come back to solve.

“I saw the lights,” he said. “You still train?”

“We just finished.”

He nodded once. “Good. Then you’re warmed up.”

That made me smile… just a little. The kind of smile you give someone who doesn’t know how many ways a sentence can go sideways.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

He took a breath, and for the first time I caught something behind his eyes… tired… but sharp.

“A round,” he said. “One. No audience. No story. Just pressure.”

I should’ve said no. I know that now. Every instructor knows the list… liability… ego… weirdos… bad timing. But there’s another list you don’t say out loud… curiosity… pride… the itch to find out if what you’ve been drilling actually shows up when the room isn’t clapping.

I stepped back and opened the door.

“You got gear?” I asked.

He reached into his truck and pulled out a faded bag that looked older than my first belt. From it he produced a mouthpiece, a pair of gloves, and headgear so worn it was basically a suggestion.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said. “I’m here to see if I can still keep my head.”

That was a strange way to put it. Not can I win… not can I take you… but can I keep my head.

I locked the door behind him. Not because I was scared of him, exactly. Because I didn’t want anyone wandering in and turning this into a circus.

We bowed on the edge of the mat. I kept it respectful and simple. He mirrored it without any movie stiffness. That told me enough… he wasn’t pretending.

“Rules?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Light contact. Clean. You call it.”

“Touch only,” I said. “No cheap shots. If anything feels off, we stop.”

He nodded. “Fair.”

We touched gloves and started.

The first thirty seconds were nothing but measurement. He stayed planted like a post… but the post was alive… weight centered… knees soft… hands loose. His feet didn’t dance. They moved when they needed to move and not one inch more.

I feinted a jab and stepped out. He didn’t bite. I circled. He tracked without chasing. That kind of patience isn’t common in people who are nervous. It’s common in people who have been hit hard enough times to stop making emotional decisions.

I threw a light round kick to the body… more to test his read than to land. He shifted his elbow down like a door closing. No flinch. No overreaction.

Then he stepped in with a straight punch that stopped an inch from my chest… perfectly aligned… perfectly calm.

Not fast. Not fancy. Just correct.

I reset and watched his shoulders. He watched my hips. That’s not an accident either. A lot of folks stare at hands like hands are where the truth lives. Hands lie. Hips don’t.

I tried to create an angle. He cut it off. I tried to bounce him with footwork. He didn’t follow the bait. I started to feel it… that mild irritation that shows up when your technique is fine but it isn’t moving the problem.

So I did what most people do when they’re annoyed… I sped up.

I snapped a jab-cross… slid left… and touched a kick to the ribs. Clean. He absorbed it… stepped in… and touched my shoulder with a short punch that would’ve been ugly if it wasn’t controlled. Then he slid his lead foot inside mine.

Not a takedown. Not a sweep. Just a step that said… I’m closer than you want me to be.

I backed out. He let me.

That’s when I realized the round wasn’t about him testing me. It was him testing whether he could stand in the fire without turning it into a fight.

He never chased. Never tried to “win.” He just kept taking space the way a tide does… quiet and inevitable.


I started throwing more tools… less speed. A low kick. A hook. A step off line. He answered with fundamentals… guard… balance… distance… a simple check… a simple step… a simple touch.

Every time I offered him a chance to get emotional… he refused it like it was poison.

After a few minutes, I finally did the thing I tell students not to do… I committed too hard to a technique I wanted to work… not one that was available.

I stepped in with a backfist I didn’t need.

He didn’t counter with anything flashy. He didn’t even counter with anger. He simply met me with a straight punch that stopped dead-center… inches from my face… and the rest of his body stayed so stable it was almost rude.

If he’d followed through… I would’ve paid for my impatience.

We paused without speaking… same time… same instinct.

He lowered his gloves first.

“That’s enough,” he said.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

We bowed again. This time it felt different… less ritual… more acknowledgment.

He sat on the edge of the mat and pulled his headgear off. Up close, I could see a thin scar behind his ear… and the kind of sun damage you only get from years of working outside or living hard.

“What brought you in?” I asked.

He stared at his gloves like they were evidence.

“I used to be good at getting angry,” he said. “It worked. Until it didn’t.”

I didn’t say anything. When someone says a sentence like that… you let it land.

“I’ve got a kid now,” he continued. “And I caught myself talking with the same voice I used to use when I was ready to go. I don’t want him learning that.”

He looked up at me.

“So I came to find out if I can stand in a room with another man… feel the pressure… and not turn into who I used to be.”

That was the real round. Not punches. Not kicks. Control.

I nodded slowly. “You did.”

He exhaled through his nose. Almost a laugh… but not quite.

“Your basics are sharp,” he said. “That’s why I asked for one round. Not because I’m looking for trouble. Because I’m looking for proof.”

He stood… shouldered the bag… and walked toward the door.

At the threshold he stopped and turned back.

“Most people think the hard part is learning to hit,” he said. “The hard part is learning you don’t have to.”

Then he left.

I locked the door behind him and stood in the quiet again. The mats looked the same… but they didn’t feel the same. There’s a difference between training for a belt and training to keep your life from spilling over onto people you love.

I swept the floor one last time… slower than before.

And that was it.

No trophy. No applause. No story anyone would believe if I told it like a brag.

Just one clean round with a stranger who reminded me what martial arts is when you strip it down to the bone… posture… breath… distance… and the decision… over and over… to stay in control.

I turned off the lights… and the room went dark.


Last post, for now...

 

[Buka22]

I really enjoyed that.

 

[Buka22]

P.S.

And Welcome to Martial Talk, D Nuckols.

 

[D.Nuckols]

P.S.

And Welcome to Martial Talk, D Nuckols.

Thank you, much appreciated sir!

 

[HighKick]

Beautiful story. Welcome to Martial Talk @D.Nuckols .

 

[Prince_Alarming106]

Ultimately, I know that this is a battle I will lose. But game on. Game fiddlesticking on.

 

[Prince_Alarming106]

A friend came round with a bottle of brandy and a pack of cigarettes, so I will wish you all a happy new year now while I am still able to see. See you next year.

 

[Stuarto66]

A friend came round with a bottle of brandy and a pack of cigarettes, so I will wish you all a happy new year now while I am still able to see. See you next year.

Happy New Year to you

 

[Prince_Alarming106]

Happy New Year to you

And to you too <3

 

[Prince_Alarming106]

There's something faintly worrying about the fact that a dude did a Turkish getup with a 115kg barbell to raise awareness of mental health issues. I mean, it's apposite enough...