by Jeff

Jeff,

Unfortunately, surgery is a must and is scheduled for next week (the time to the procedure is a small window due to the tendon starting to tighten back up). I'll be out of action for 4-6 months. I live and breathe this shit. To not be able to train is a HUGE dagger to the heart and the depression is already setting in. I know you suffered a similar shoulder injury. How did you deal with your recovery mentally? Did you do anything to speed up the recovery process? Any advice would be very much appreciated.

-Kyle

That injury -- any debilitating injury -- is the most frustrating thing in the world for a fighter. When the inflammation goes down and the pain subsides it will feel ok. 90% of the range will be all right and you might gain some confidence in it, then you'll reach too far to get a shirt out of your closet, pull too hard to turn your steering wheel or scratch you crotch will too much fervor and all the sudden you're rolling on the floor in pain.

When I first injured my shoulder I wasn't sure exactly what was wrong and I didn't have insurance. So I took a couple weeks off until it felt decent and went back to the gym. I babied the arm best I could, then threw a punch with too much snap. That was all it took to put me on the floor and keep me out of the gym for a month.

I repeated that cycle for almost a year, missing my opportunity for it to heal naturally -- something my surgeon said it might have done had I taken a full 5 months off right at the onset of the tear.

I can't say much more about how to deal with it. Fighting is a huge part of my life. I dream of it. Being told I couldn't see a set of gloves for half a year killed me. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't sneak in a punch here and there. Just realize that every time you cheat or delay the healing process is double that you'll have to really wait to be healthy --assuming you don't destroy your chance of healing completely. If you don't do what has to be done now, if you push it off and try and work around it, you may never heal right.

This hasn't gone on the site yet, but my surgery didn't work. The labrum could not be fixed and now it can never be fully fixed.

Because I didn't do what had to be done when I first was injured I will NEVER have a shoulder that is 100% healthy. Don't make that mistake.

You have the rest of your life to fight (disregarding natural aging) and injury is a part of it -- a big part of it. All you can do is what is best and that will give you the best chance of continuing to fight. Disregard this and you could end your career in a matter of months.

Watch videos, drill moves in your head, go to classes and watch people roll. It will just make the itch worse but at least your mind will still be in the right mode. Get to a doctor and do EXACTLY what he says. Don't fuck around on this, no matter how much it sucks. Some people have to take a year off from a bad joint injury. If that's the case, THAT IS THE CASE. Skirting the matter might give momentary satisfaction but when you've ruined an entire career because you were stubborn that sort of fucks the whole point of it.

Side note: Make sure you do what you can to keep up your cardio and more importantly, flexibility. Shoulder aside, obviously. But just because you might have to sit on your ass for half a year doesn't mean you have to lose the ability to kick someone in the head. And take it from me-- someone who was depressed about the whole thing and tried to ignore fighting during rehab, including stretching. I'm back, two months into training and my kicks barely reach rib height right now. It's pathetic.

Take care man. Good luck and may you heal soon.

by Jeff

Now it feels just like it did before the surgery. And the surgery was my last real option. If this doesn't take, I'm not sure what I'll do next, so yeah, I'm pretty scared. I'm waiting in my surgeon's office though and hopefully in a few minutes he'll put my mind at ease.

"Jeff?"

I look up from my laptop at his assistant. She's librarian-cute, wears shoulder length hair that frames thick black glasses, but also wears a wedding ring. Since I came in for my first consultation I've been thinking of asking her how seriously she takes it-- that whole marriage thing-- but have only gone so far as to flirt with her. When I schedule a follow-up appointment or ask her to validate my parking the words are thick with innuendo. She never reciprocates and I'm pretty sure she's offended by my blatant implications.

"Jeff, Dr. Geraldi will see you. Come with me."

I follow her to the exam room. From three paces back her butt looks like a Seychelles nut. I want to eat it. She leaves me to read a Time Magazine article on the GOP's lack of leadership but I don't have time to finish it before Dr. Geraldi shows up.

No introduction, no formalities. He's a busy guy.

"I'm worried about it doc."

I like calling him "doc." It reminds me of a kinder, simpler time, when breakfast was lousy coffee and lunch was killing Krauts with a .45. It also gives me hope. Doc fixes things. If all I have to do is see doc, how bad could it be?

"It still hurts in a lot of the same ways that it used to. I'm hoping I'm just scared for no reason, but I'm worried the surgical repairs didn't take."

He goes through my chart, flipping page to page and ruffles his brow doing some math in his head.

"Like I told you before, a procedure like this can take up to six months to heal. I say three months is the minimum, but something like this can easily take up to six months." He smiles reassuringly. "I wouldn't worry just yet."

"I hope so, doc. I do."

He puts down my chart and lifts my right arm, applying pressure at varying angles. This is a series of joint tests that were actually invented by a surgeon on the other side of town. He's considered the best shoulder guy in the world and while I did have a consult with him, I wasn't able to have him cut me up due to insurance issues. Tim Ferriss recommended him to me. Tim had his whole shoulder rebuilt by the guy and now Tim insists that his repaired shoulder is stronger than his "good" one. I can't help but wonder if things would be different had he been my doctor.

Dr. Geraldi runs through the gamut of "does this hurt, does that hurt." "Push against me, pull away." Each time he comes to some sort of conclusion in his head and factors that information into the next test. Once this is all said and done he picks my chart back up.

"Jeff, we'll see where this goes. I'm going to write you a script for another four weeks of physical therapy. Keep doing what you're doing for rehab and I'll see you in a month."

"And the healing?" I'm practically begging for good news.

"We're only at three months, like I said. It's not abnormal for you to still be healing at this point. To be honest, if I had to guess, I'd say you're halfway home."

This is good news. I've already waited a year. I can wait another three months. My worry was that the fix to my labral tear did not take. It was, after all, one of those we'll-give-it-our-best-shot procedures that has no guaranteed outcome. I thank Dr. Geraldi and follow him outside to the nurse's station where he has the nurse write me the physical therapy script.

"Take it easy," he shakes my hand, "and don't forget to get your parking validated."

"You too, doc. And don't worry, I won't."

by Jeff

It's an odd coincidence actually. Not the rib thing, the Ethan Embry thing. People have been telling me for the past ten years that I look just like him. At what I assume was the height of our similarity I was being told a couple times a week, often by total strangers. So imagine my surprise when one of my trainers introduces me to him a few days after I get back into the gym.

Jeremy, my standup trainer, was giving Ethan a private lesson when I showed up and since we're similar size (shocking) he asked if I would spar with Ethan. Nothing rough, just light sparring. He's been working Ethan's boxing pretty regularly and I've taken the past five months off for my shoulder rehabilitation, so for a while Ethan was kind of working me over. He would lead in with a jab and work some outside shots then jab his way out. At a jabs reach of distance he had the advantage.

On Jeremy's recommendation I closed in. He'd been working Ethan's offense so that was his comfort zone. Closing in on him and putting on some pressure took away any advantage. I added some clinch work and gave some light knees to his body. Nothing hard, mostly pulling him from side to side to keep him off balance and eliminate his power on those hooks. He was out of his element in the clinch. I guess he doesn't do Muay Thai.

A few rounds in and we both were tiring. As I circled left I'd throw low jabs at his body. Each time I did he countered with a lazy left. It was long and looping and left much of his ribcage exposed. I kept up the jab and let him counter three times. On number four I snapped a right hook into his open ribs. Not hard, maybe 70%. He yelped, disproportionately I thought, at the punch I gave him.

He clenched his side and said something about his rib. Jeremy had one of the other trainers lay him down and feel out the injury. In the meantime I did some bag work. I didn't hear what was said between them. After a while he came back out and, to his credit, finished up his training session strong, though occasionally grimacing in pain and clutching his side. Later, Ethan talked to me and said that he'd hurt his ribs before, but he thought this time it was broken; he'd heard and felt the snap.

He went straight to the emergency room from the gym. An x-ray confirmed his rib was more busted than Britney.

That'll teach him. Running around looking like me, thinking he can get away with being a more successful and popular version of me, thinking he's better than me, assuming there won't be consequences.

Not the case, Ethan. Not the case.

by Jeff

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.