First of all, Liam (who writes the Part-time Grappler blog and who also happens to be a clever cartoon artist) kindly analyzed some of my previous tournament footage and suggested I work on keeping better posture and more thoracic straightness during my takedowns. Simultaneously, one of our wrestlers pointed out a mistake I was making with my arms during my shots... and voila, I feel like my shots have improved worlds. I'm still hesitating a bit, but I get way deeper and way more threatening than I did before. So yay-- and THANK YOU to Liam, and Randy, and Vidush...
But today's topic: I find the whole "fire in the belly" (about competing) thing really hard to analyze and comprehend. Not that I have to-- I'm happy to accept it and just go tear up some chicas-- but I'd like to so I can better manipulate it to my advantage next time.
Just watching the last tournament in Austin seems to have tipped the scales for me. I turned a corner and felt like hmm, I can do *that*.. maybe not better than them, maybe a little worse, but definitely not a LOT worse. And now I have a fabulous excuse not to compete (yes, this stupid effing cold... 3 weeks I was battling a lingering, rattling, low-grade occasional cough... then two nights ago I started getting stuffy. Blamed it on a cat allergy. Uh-uh. Came home to cat free zone and despite all the mucinex DM and claritin in the world, still stuffed up.) And despite the excuse, I'm loving that I am actually looking forward to competing.
It's a community thing-- the Hillary Williams seminar is the next day, and I know lots of girls who will be at NAGA too-- but it's also a little blossoming of that dark, bloody, hungry side of me that wants to rough someone up. I don't want to be mean per se, I want to be clean and elegant and efficient and unstoppable. [However-- if it comes down to it, I'm perfectly ready to be more like Jordan. I'll kneel on your arms and fist-to-throat you if you let me and I won't feel regret, either.] Grrrrr. Girls don't have many excuses or chances to let this side of us out. Yeah, if your man wanders, you can tear the floozy's hair out; if your kid's trapped under a car you can She-Ra it up with one hand. But some of us (all of us?) have a streak of narrow-eyed, curled-lip, snarling menace deep inside... and isn't it lovely to get it out on purpose? For some reason the mental image I have is showing up at a fancy cat show and between all the plush Himalayans and the posh Russian Blues comes this hungry, lean, marmalade alley cat. She wouldn't come running at the sound of a can opener but she can catch a squirrel and string it up right quick.
Last time I did NAGA (last May) I was a squirrel.
Saturday, I'm the cat.