I love the calm moments before the storm

Think Gary Oldman in Leon.
So, I've finished training and am now resting up before the fight. I still have to learn the ritual dance called the Wai Kru, but that won't be hard.
Woke up this morning with a bit of pain in the ribs and thought about postponing the fight. When I got to the gym, Tim and Noom suggested the same thing. Now, as anyone who knows me will tell you, the most sure way of getting me to do something, is suggest that I might not have the strength or willpower to do it. It's macho insecurity on a base level, but it works for me. So, I told them in no uncertain terms that the fight would be going ahead as planned.
During my afternoon nap, I thought about it and decided that I would rest for 24 hours and decide then. So when I returned to the gym, I was greeted with flyers with my picture on them. They must have got my picture from the 'gay pride disco rejects' web site. I have that Glenda Gilson look of surprise on my face, some silver lamme shorts, not unlike Elvis' jumpsuit and what look like those oversize novelty gloves you give to retarded kids so they can't pick up anything sharp, pointy or poisonous. That being said, I'm still a handsome motherfucker. Anyway, I explain my master plan to Tim, assuring him, that 48 hours of rest will definitely be enough. He points at the flyers and says "That's good buddy. Cause it's too late now" And with that, the die was cast. So fuck it. In there like swimwear, and all that. And if I die in the ring, I'll die doing something I love. Just like one of my late heroes, Steve Irwin. N.B. Steve Irwin was that Australian naturalist who loved being stabbed by fish.
Also some good/bad news, got a camera so there will be some pictures up soon. Actually got a camera a while ago, but I've only got round to reading to instruction book. And blog pictures are much better than real pictures, because you don't have to let on you care about the mind numbingly dull life your friends lead. Or what utterly banal and meaningless building they were able to get 37 separate shots of, at various angles. Pictures that would suggest that their trip was not in fact fascinating, but one as depressing as an eastenders Christmas special during a funeral. But I digress.
Got a massage from one of the trainers on Sunday, and again today. Done with boxing liniment, which is a lot like the bastard child of deep heat and chilli oil. And the heart of the sun. Fuck, the pain was everywhere. Especially bad were the armpits and the open cuts all over my body. I imagine my suffering to be like that monk in Vietnam. And just like him, no one really took any notice of my burning body.
So that's about it I guess. Next post will be after the fight in which I'll either be saying "I am the champions" (like the queen song, but more self indulgent) or "that fucking ref was bribed".
Talk to you all soon....