Posted: August 21, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland., Uncategorized



I remember the first (and only) time that I tried to use nunchucks. 

Nunchucks are a traditional martial arts weapon consisting of two sticks connected at one end by a short chain or rope. My best friend and next door neighbor had gotten some at the State Fair. Me, him and some other friends gathered in his barn to try them out. 

We were twelve year olds who had seen one Bruce Lee movie, we figured that made us experts. 

What could go wrong?

A few of the other guys went first. They unleashed some impressive moves. One guy totally dismembered a bail of hay…it was brutal. 




my turn. 

I enthusiastically grabbed the sticks and tried to make a celebratory manly grunt that sounded more like a basketball deflating.

It was an unparalleled exhibition of adolescent awkwardness resulting from a complete lack of coordination and training. 

It started out promising because I had paid attention to the Bruce Lee movie and I assumed the intimidating pre-fight pose. I had a scowl on my face that clearly communicated that I meant business.

Then I started moving…

That is when things went horribly wrong.

I was wildly swinging the wooden nunchucks around, I pounded myself in the face and pinged myself in the nether regions. I was very successfully beating the crap out of myself. 

I couldn’t stop because my buddies were watching.

THEN, I couldn’t stop because of the momentum of the out of control weapon in my hand. 

My gracious friends averted their eyes and acted like they didn’t notice the carnage.

FINALLY the martial madness stopped and I dropped the nunchucks.

It was a knockout. 

By the end, I had little purple bruises all over my head and body. It looked like I had been punched repeatedly in the face by small children with tiny fists. 

That was fun to explain to my Dad. 

Last night was rough, it kinda felt like I was laying in bed using nunchucks for the first time.

There were lots of random aches and pains, my arms, legs, and nether regions were taking an invisible beating. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise, I have a war going on inside of me. The life giving poison is pounding and pinging the belly bully. 

This is not an exhibition.

This is real life. 

We are dealing with the repercussions of Round two. This round is different than the last, my body is a little more tired.

I feel pretty punch drunk.

And while the battle raged last night, my throat was raw and everything tasted like I’d been sucking on a rag used to clean ashtrays at a midwestern bus stop. That was a super pleasant bonus! 

Here’s the thing I’ve learned about night fights…

Morning always comes.

You get to drop the nunchucks and walk away, probably with some weird bruises.

You walk away wiser, stronger, more aware. 

I’m waiting for the knockout…

The final knockout when the belly bully is beaten into oblivion and the bell rings. 

It’s coming!

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