Gabriel Medina’s family quarrel becomes nuclear; wild sex tape allegations from a drunken night out in Rio; Yasmin Brunet in court! “Another lie created to attack me is about a supposed homosexual relationship. As if living in love was something to offend.
Explosion at Surf Expo.
Last week found me the goal in my heart to strive for greatness once again. To set a good example for kids around the world, David Lee Scale is included, and challenge my old nemesis to the greatest trilogy in fighting history even better than Fury vs. Wilder.
Noble and wild.
Except the last time I really fought was a lifetime ago and in a Sydney suburb still brave and free. My opponent was the remarkable slab weaver, mixed martial artist, Maroubra Boy Richie “Vas” Vaculik who inexplicably accepted the match. I trained in Brazilian Jiujitsu in the morning, took a short kickboxing lesson in the afternoon, met him in the ring as the night drowned out the light.
The thing I remembered the most was exhaustion. Pure physical exhaustion after a few seconds of bouncing around the ring to kick myself in the kidneys, temples lightly shod.
Sweat is flowing, sweat blinds me, shortness of breath. Finally, towards the end of the first round, I punched, dislodged my shoulder from its socket and thankfully disgusted Richie and his trainer by wincing and refusing to continue.
Fighting is tiring.
The lesson learned and I remembered that I knew I had to achieve some semblance of fitness before the next Blast at Surf Expo.
Now before, I was the type to say that “surfing is my training” except that I was equipped with the latest and greatest in fitness tracking technology, the WHOOP 4.0, I realized that surfing was not, in fact, a workout or at least not my way of surfing.
An average session (twin album fin) on one of Cardiff-by-the-Sea’s rare reefs (Pipe’s, Turtles) was not recorded as an “activity”.
SHOUT knows everything, knows when the heart rate is skyrocketing, knows when the body is tense, knows when it is not. If the sleek black wristband detects some kind of strain, it connects quickly, asking later through the easy-to-navigate cellular smartphone app what kind of activity it was. Sometimes he guesses, always correctly.
Three things are constantly being calculated: effort, recovery and sleep. Tension, as Derek Rielly explained, is measured on a scale of 0 to 21. A day spent in the David Lee Scale’s Adidas would register somewhere between the middle and upper 4s. A day spent perched on a Corinthian leather stool, under a zinc countertop, dissecting the motivations of the world’s greatest surfer, Kelly Slater, drinking Gray Goose and sodas would fit somewhere in the 5s. weak to medium.
Surfing, or at least the way I surf, would fit into the 7 mediums and, again, not an “activity”.
I learned two things from this valuable information. I have to ride harder and kick over 10 every day, if I was hoping to steal the heavyweight crown as a super middleweight.
Hit above 15 probably.
Let me tell you that beating above 10 isn’t easy. SHOUT is a cruel and heartless trainer which is what makes him so good. The amount of sweat flowing, grimacing, does not matter. Tricks can be performed, exhaustion felt, SHOUT comes back with a shrug. He doesn’t care about the layout.
Here is, for example, a day when I ran in the park doing intermittent push-ups and really sweaty boards.
Here was a day when I ran three miles to the station to retrieve an abandoned car doing intermittent pushups along the way.
My legs didn’t work right after the getaway to the train station and I knew I had to get stronger, fitter and faster. I knew my piecemeal approach as clearly evidenced SHOUT, would not cut it.
I needed my cousin Danny, locked up a second time after robbing Southern California banks in a record music video, pulling out, stealing art and jewelry, then pivoting back to banks before d ‘to be locked up again.
I needed some form of prison.