I can't think too clearly right now. I was preparing for a pro fight. I was hoping to do 10 professional fights by the time I was 42, like a Puerto Rican Brenard Hopkins. It seems the Almighty Creator has other plans. I don't necessarily know what they could possibly be. I love fighting about as much as I do writing and music, and even my new girlfriend, who I have to say, has the sexiest French accent. There does seem to be a crimp put in my style for this moment. The events that eventually led to my bicep's demise(just a tear-so what!) were what I should have foreseen. I pushed my body beyond normal limits and should have expected something like this to happen-especially when I was only getting an average of 4 hours of sleep a night. I was training 2-3 hours a day, coupled with training clients, working from 6 am until 9, sometimes even eleven at night. I was passing out on the bus from work at night, exhausted beyond belief. I didn't want to listen to my body, though.
So, ladies and gentlemen, this is my message to all you aspiring pro athletes out there. Your body is smarter than you. This is pretty much all of the time. You can get your body to do inconceivable things. These things may seem superhuman. In fact, they are. To get your body to perform at levels that it doesn't normally function at is insane to most. But to the one who's in the midst of the purging fires, there is a satisfaction that comes from knowing you are at your best. I pushed myself to the point of being the best. I saw myself doing things that were utterly mind-blowing. The drills I was performing, coupled with my fearlessness in sparring to sharpen my skills-those are things I will never forget, nor will I ever want to let them go. I'm going to have to take a couple of weeks off to let my arm return to some semblance of a normal shape. Then there may be the possibility of surgery, of course after having a doctor look at my arm. I'm not shook up by the prospect of such things.
I spoke of, in some of my earlier writings, how I always wanted to do something extraordinary in my life. I trained for such a goal. I injured myself because I pushed myself to limits I wanted to go beyond. I pushed myself too hard, in retrospect. I should have stayed on that bus when Vlad called me yesterday afternoon to come in to spar. I couldn't keep my eyes open. But I didn't want to flake out and look weak. Now I'm in a state where I feel like a pastured race horse. I won't be able to push myself for at least a couple of months. I won't be fighting a pro fight in November. In the middle of the night, I woke up, hoping this all was a bad dream but I had to accept what had happened. At least I tried my best. I won't beat myself up for that. At least now I've learned the most invaluable lesson of all-rest is not a bad thing. And now I'll be forced to rest indefinitely. I will definitely train again. I don't know if it would be a reasonable thing to think of training for a fight. I do know that miracles do happen. I'm a miracle. I remember waking up on park benches or staircases, stumbling from a night of pummeling myself with Jameson's whiskey and Colt 45. I'm a personal trainer now. My business is growing. I write incessantly. I also was training for a pro fight. For someone who was where I was 5 years ago, to where I am now, this is a true miracle. I really did it! I did my best. That was something you wouldn't have seen the old Oscar do. The miracle is just in living, breathing, and having my being as a person who doesn't do things half-baked. I do them as if tomorrow might never come. And that, dear readers is a miraculous feat.