Mushy Goo – Redux

Staring into a plastic bowl full of mushy goo, vaguely resembling food. Slivers of chicken float on top of some miserable soup-salad combination, looking as if it were prepared in a mental institute by an in-patient. Yet, I chug it down. I don’t enjoy it. Merely a means to an end.  My focus is to get this done quickly so that I can workout in the deep underbelly of my house; my batcave, my dangeroom, my ‘chamber’. I’m treating this soupy gloop, the way I treat many things in my life. Actions of a mind preoccupied with the notion of unifying his spirit and body through the medium of Gung Fu.

Unlike many people, I don’t have many distractions. I don’t drink or smoke, and eat generally good food, whilst not always aesthetically pleasing. Obviously I don’t do drugs, play video games or watch too much TV (with the exceptions of Mighty Boosh, Celebrity Juice, Walking Dead, True Blood and about 2o other shows).

Yesterday evening I spent an hour repeating the same punch on the heavy bag with my dominant side. My hand hurt, quite a bit. But there was no skin peeling, no blood nor any aggressively bruised knuckles which was some small comfort. Its hard to describe the sensation of standing in front of a bag, for an entire hour. Just hitting a heavy bag like a slow beating metronome. Mind numbing. I never said Gung Fu was meant to be enjoyable.


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