FourOuncesToFreedom.com - February 20, 2008

by JeffI have him mounted. My knees squeeze his ribs and grind into the mat. My hips torque with each dropped haymaker that slams into his head. Some shots are blocked by his gloves, others sneak around his guard and catch him flush. There's a pause in the rhythm and he looks up at me, his face unscathed, mocking.

I'm throwing punches as hard as I can through air that has the density of pudding. Each fist connects sluggishly and despite my efforts the guy under me isn't hurt. I wake up, my fists clenched in a frustration that carries over from my dream.

This is nothing new. This show stages nightly.

I lie awake most nights drilling combos in my head. Generally whatever I was working that day in the gym or maybe a fight I watched that stuck with me. My heart rate rises and I get all worked up. I can't help it. Some people stress over their bills or tomorrow's to-do list. I obsess over a sweep that I can't quite stick or a four-hit combo that has been lacking snap. Yesterday I was caught in a standing guillotine after I shot in with my head ducked. Last night I shot in dozens of times, reevaluating my head positioning and footwork. I drilled the move over and over until eventually I fell asleep to the TV, a distraction that usually helps.

But once asleep the thoughts rarely stop and most nights I dream of fighting. Very rarely training, it's almost always fighting, although the locations and situations vary, as do the styles. Some nights in a ring or a cage, some nights in a bar. What doesn't change is that I'm powerless, throwing weightless punches through through molasses. What's worse is that in the dream I'm aware of it, but I can't change anything. Dreams should be an escape and I feel cheated, overcome with a feeling of futility. I swing for the fences and kick like a mule but by the time I connect I might as well be wiping a smudge of mustard from his chin.

It drives me insane. I work myself into a frenzy and wake up soaked in sweat, earning me some criticism from those I've shared a bed with. Apparently, girls don't like it when they can feel my sweat pooling against them and there wasn't any sex involved. "It's gross," I'm told, informed that it wouldn't be as bad if I would just stay on my side of the bed, rather than flailing against them as I often do.

What would Freud say about this? Some low level research says this is a pretty common aspect of dreaming, not punching hard enough or running fast enough, though how common it is to have the same dream every night is another issue all together. Clearly I'm obsessed with fighting, it doesn't take a rocket surgeon to figure that out, and probably worried about how good I am. Of course weak striking isn't the only thing I worry about, but maybe my subconscious just isn't smart enough to dream me up a botched omoplata attempt that results in me giving up my back and losing by rear naked choke.

I could keep speculating, but analyzing this stuff would be better served by a professional. Thankfully Rudius has a much needed asset, our own in-house psychologist, Dr. Rob. He was kind enough to give his thoughts on this reoccurring dream.

Posted by Jeff at 12:41 PM