20.X.1 Training Montage: MMA, Car Chase
The year is 20.X.1.
After my New Year's training in California I set out to focus on training for my official Mixed Martial Arts debut, by focusing on my training at American Top Team. While there, I a went to a seminar with Rob Kamen. Dutch kickboxing legend Rob "The Dutchman" Kaman was putting on a kickboxing seminar. I wasn't going to pass that up, so I went. In case you couldn't tell, Rob Kaman is dutch. He has a few nicknames, most of which revolve around him being dutch, or his lowkick for which he is infamous. I love lowkicks. He reminds me somewhat of Jon Bluming, the European karate pioneer who studied under Masutatsu Oyama, the founder of Kyokushin Karate.
No one I talked to seemed to actually know the TIME that this seminar took place, but I had heard around 10am. Surprising absolutely no one, I got lost on the way there, but managed to arrive at around 9am to warm up. The only problem was, no one there knew what time the seminar was supposed to be either! They thought maybe 1pm. I said I'd heard 10. They suggested I leave and come back around 1.
I didn't.
I just hung around until 11:30... which turned out to be the start time.
The place was full of people who had a base of grappling. Only myself and two other people could be said to be stand-up fighters. Sensing this, the Dutchman began with basic drills. Once everyone had warmed up he demonstrated what made the basics so good. The majority of the basic drills focused on timing and rhythm, two of the most important qualities of fighting. It was Rob Kaman's mastery of these two qualities that made him a formidable force to be reckoned with. Qualities which he hoped to impart to those at the seminar like myself.
Looking around, it seemed like the stand-up fighters where catching on a lot faster than the grapplers. This was only natural. Though by the end of the seminar the grapplers had improved quite a bit.
Outside of Rob Kaman's technical abilities and physical conditioning there was one thing that I really liked about him. His attitude. Every time he would look out at everyone training he would always say the same thing in his heavy dutch accent:
"SMILE! Do you people not smile here? This is fun!"
I agree. Whenever someone would do good he would smile. If they didn't do so good he would chuckle and say something about working even harder. No matter what, the grin didn't leave his face. You could tell it was one of sincerity.
At the end of the seminar we all gathered up around one heavy bag. If there was one thing Rob Kaman wanted to check and teach to everyone it was this: A strong low kick! Everyone had their low kick evaluated by the master of low kicks. He coached everyone individually to a better low kick, which was great for me, because I use them often.
The seminar was great, with the perfect blend of intangible concepts like rhythm and timing, and techniques like low kicks and counters.
If anyone has the opportunity to train with Rob "The Dutchman" "The Dutch Touch" Kaman I highly recommend it.
... by the way, he's dutch.
A couple months later and my training was going great. I was confident and ready to fight.
A friend of mine at American Top Team, Mike, was getting ready for a fight in Chicago, and I was helping him get ready by grappling with him. The fight was only a week away and his adrenaline was riding high. As we grappled, the informal roll became more intense. I'm no slouch so I won't tap unless a technique is applied in a manner that demands tapping. I'm no jerk either though. If a technique is good I will gladly tap and let someone know they have a done a good job. I have a reputation for needing things done extra hard for them to work on me a little (if at all); Mike has a reputation for always going maximum hard.
Four minutes into the match he had maneuvered me into a very solid arm bar. It was good so I went to tap, only to realize my other arm and both feet where pinned and immobilized. I could make no motion signifying my acquiesce. All Mike knew was that I wasn't tapping. He turned up the pressure. Before words could escape my mouth I felt a violent stretching in my shoulder, followed by a loud pop and give. My arm had been ripped out of it's socket.
Sound was now leaving my mouth.
"Are you ok?" Mike asked.
"I... I don't know. Hang on." I said, more confused than anything.
I stood up and adjusted my arm. It was now back in it's socket. I moved it around for a few seconds before going back to finish the last minute in the round with Mike. We grappled hard that final minute.
When I finished with Mike, I stretched and performed pushups and wheelbarrow laps and pushups. Knowing I needed some rest, I went to bed.
Upon waking the next morning, I found I couldn't move my arm. A few days later, the gym's resident moxibustionist came in and performed moxibustion on some of the fighters, myself included.
Moxibustion is, to over simplify it, reverse acupressure. It's also known as "cupping". This is when cups are placed over pressure points and through burning, or a pump, a suction is created activating the points. I watched as gym mates had it done first, their faces contorting in pain, sweating profusely. They said it hurt, and hurt bad, like trying to do 1,000 Hindu squats while on fire. My time came.... and it felt great. They said I must be wired different.
You can debate the science of moxibustion all you want, but there where only two things that mattered to me:
1. Before the treatment, I only had 1/10th my range of motion in that shoulder
2. After treatment I had 100% range of motion in that shoulder. What a jump in 15 minutes!
The moxibustionist also said that I had bad posture in the top of my neck, and he told me how to correct it, and that said that if I did I would become stronger. He was right.
After a few weeks my shoulder was fine, but my MMA debut got pushed back until way later. I'll never forget the feeling and sound of my arm being ripped out.
No trips to the hospital, and no intervention save for my own and moxibustion.
Gambled and won.
The next notable thing that happened about a month later when I did some sparring with Bellator Fighter Brent Weedman, who came from a background of Byakuren karate (a mix of Kyokushin and Shorinji Kempo), and then it was off to Florida for a training camp.
The American Top Team gym I train at was having a training camp for about a week at the main academy in south Florida (Ft. Lauderdale-coconut creek area, close to Miami), no charge! The only thing the people going had to worry about was getting there. Originally there was going to be about 8 of us renting a van and splitting the cost to get there. However, a week before we where supposed to leave, a member of the decided he would rather split off and drive down with his (pregnant) girlfriend. Then some others joined him. Right before we left we had officially formed two groups; Group 1, and Group B.
Group 1 consisted of the coach and owner of the gym - Carlos, Sansone - a muay thai exponent, Coop - a college student, and myself. Group B was Loyd, his pregnant girlfriend, Diablo, Mrs. Diablo, and Rakhim.
This was a training camp where training two and three times a day was expected and the car ride one way was 20 hours; I feel that bringing a hormonally unstable women is a bad idea.
The evening we went to leave, we all met at the gym, save for loyd and the ladies. That moment, Rakhim received a message from loyd that said he was running late and wouldn’t' be able to leave until the following day.
It's a 20 hour drive... they where going to miss at least a full day of training camp!
"Do you guys want to leave tomorrow?" Rakhim asked.
Hell No. We weren't the dissenters, and we weren't going to lose a day of training because of someone else. Also we had Carlos with us, so we couldn’t' really change our plans. I felt bad for group B, and Rakhim in particular. All he wanted was to see some famous fighters.
So Group 1 left. Four people in a jeep for 20 grueling hours, but we made it.
We put our things int he hotel and headed off for training at the main school.
The gym is huge, and equipped with almost everything you would need for training (and plenty of things you wouldn’t'). There are multiple training areas, so that many classes can be held at once. They have a multi heavy bag area, a Judo / Jujutus area, a stand - up area, a ring, 2 cages, and a free weight training area.
Carlos and Coop went and studied Jujutsu, Sansone and I studied muay thai under master Cha.
Good Training!
Afterwords the four of us met up with UFC fighter Mike Brown for dinner. Mike and Carlos are good friends so we all went out to eat. It was the four of us, Mike Brown and his girlfriend, and his hilarious English fighter friend, Brad Picket, who was in the states preparing for a UFC fight, whose name I cannot remember. During dinner, Mike looked over at me and said to Carlos" Look at this guy and his shirt, he looks old school." To which Carlos replied "That's Nash all right. He's as old school as it gets. As crazy as they get too!" The 7 of us talked and swapped stories and Mike's friend taught us his secret funny " side control ear-rape technique". Then he pantsed Carlos on the way out...
The next morning Carlos asked us if we wanted to go to the beach before training. The three of us lit up with excitement, and got ready for the beach. Carlos drove us to the beach, pointed out the window and said "there it is" and then drove us to training. What a horrible tease! I suppose we did technically go there, though we didn't get out of the car.
That afternoon we trained muay thai and jujutsu. Then lunch, and training at Carlos's friends gym. While there, the kickboxing coach struck up a conversation with me. Turns out, he's a fan of kyokushin karate! We got along great, and he invited me back to the gym to train, should I ever find myself that way again.
Group B arrived finally and joined us. Rakhim was ecstatic to see some famous fighters, especially Thiago Alves. "Is he here!?" Rakhim asked. "He was" replied Carlos. "Did anyone grapple with him?" Yeah. "What was it like!?" Sansone chimed in " Ask Nash, he's the one who rolled with him." Rakhim looked like he had just touched the sun. "Nash! What was it like to roll with Thiago Alves?!"
...who?
"UFC fighter Thiago Alves!"
...
"You grappled with him..."
when?
"the big guy!"
Oh, that's him? He looks bigger on TV. I didn't realize that was him.
The look that came from the group when they found this out was one that said "You are so oblivious, everything awesome is wasted on you."
It was fun to grapple with him though, I wasn't going to just give anything to him... especially become I didn't know who I was dealing with.
The next day we had early morning training, followed by lunch, and a REAL trip to the beach. We all had good beach training: flipping over waves, tower fighting, and German suplexs abounded! Afterwords we where all invited to Mike Brown's house for a cookout and to watch the fights that where on that night, including Brent Weedman (who lost in a very controversial judges decision, he actually won).
Mike's house was beautiful, and packed with food and fighters from around the world. Carlos cooked some chicken, and Diablo brought Mike some wine. Turns out, Mike loves wine. It was a great time.
The following afternoon, Coop, Sansone and I set off for our 20 hour return drive. I wound up driving a majority at night. Mistake.
The Georgia state police seemed to think so too...
Apparently "as fast as a vehicle can go" is too fast for them.
Passing through Georgia on the way back to the Midwest from South Florida, I was driving somewhat fast. It was the middle of the night on a long stretch of crappy Georgia back-road, and I was driving Sansoni's brother's jeep, with Sansoni asleep in the backseat. I probably shouldn't have been driving at all, but I was and I was in a hurry to get the hell out of Georgia. Miles and miles of dark uninhabited road stood between me and not being in Georgia, and my speed was increasing so as to get out of there faster. Before I knew it, I was speed ball Tucker-ing through the backwoods when I blew past a cop car parked lights off perpendicular to the road. I was sure I was going to get pulled over. I kept checking the rear-view mirror, but no lights, no cop. Gambled and won!
I decided to back my speed down to the speed limit (70mph?) and drive semi-responsibly until I escaped the state. That was the plan anyway: Take my good fortune and play it safe. I didn't stick to the plan. Slowly and unintentionally my speed crept up, until finally it was right back where it was, and at that moment I blasted passed two cops pointed at each other on either side of the road, lights off. “I'm going to jail”, I thought to myself. Looking in the rear-view mirror as I rocketed away I checked for any police lights coming on, but none ever did. Gambled and won again! No reason to slow down now! I kept driving like a lightning bolt with no worries. No worries until I saw the next cop car that is. I flashed past him just like the others, but this time the lights came on and he pulled out onto the road. I was going so fast though, that by the time he pulled out I was already like a mile away. Even though I had quite the head start, the police car was much faster than the little white cubic jeep I was piloting. I really didn't want to deal with officer unfriendly though, so my sleep-deprived brain came up with a plan.
Straight in front of me on this long straight bit of road, that no one had probably driven on in hours, was a large hill. My sleepy-brain reasoned that if I could speed up and over the hill, then switch lanes and back my speed down to the speed limit, then when the cop got over the hill he would think I was someone else; I would appear just another law abiding driver. Sleepy-brain.
I executed my part of the plan perfectly, but when the cop came flying up over the hill he changed lanes and got behind me. “Oh, he's going really fast. He must need around me. I'll get out of his way” is what I was thinking. I changed lanes, and the cop did the same. “Oh, how inconvenient. We changed lanes at the same time while he was trying to get around me. I'll change back.” I changed, and he did as well. “Oops, he had the same idea. I'll just change right back.” I moved lanes, he moved lanes, and unbeknownst to me I was now in a high-speed car chase. Accidentally. Shortly thereafter the officer sped up, came beside me, and ran me off the road. The viscous jostling woke Sansoni up. “What's happening?”, he asked sleepily. I think we're being pulled over. “Why?” I may have been speeding... “How fast were you going!?” ….How fast does the jeep go? “...Nash!!”
The police officer approached the window, Coop in the passenger seat secretly recording the conversation on his phone. I was glad it was just the three of us in the car. The cop was instantly condescending, his thick backwoods drawl making it all the worse. This was a part of Georgia where outsiders weren't welcome. If you weren't from there, and related to everyone there, they didn't want you. I was too black to be there. The officer informed me in no uncertain terms that the speed I was going was a felony, BUT for a couple hundred bucks we could pretend like it never happened. Now, normally I wouldn't negotiate with authoritarian southern inbreds, but I was heading off to Thailand in a week or so, and really didn't want a felony clogging up my border crossing; I've got a hard enough time legitimately crossing borders as it is. I paid, begrudgingly, but at least I dot the hell out of Georgia and didn't have some odd felony from the place following me around.
We all made it back though, with incredible training and memories as souvenirs... among other things. Money well spent (and not spent!).
Next it was off to Thailand, home of Muay Thai! I would pall around with a volunteer organization for a few weeks and then get some kickboxing in. How difficult could it be?
-Nash
After my New Year's training in California I set out to focus on training for my official Mixed Martial Arts debut, by focusing on my training at American Top Team. While there, I a went to a seminar with Rob Kamen. Dutch kickboxing legend Rob "The Dutchman" Kaman was putting on a kickboxing seminar. I wasn't going to pass that up, so I went. In case you couldn't tell, Rob Kaman is dutch. He has a few nicknames, most of which revolve around him being dutch, or his lowkick for which he is infamous. I love lowkicks. He reminds me somewhat of Jon Bluming, the European karate pioneer who studied under Masutatsu Oyama, the founder of Kyokushin Karate.
No one I talked to seemed to actually know the TIME that this seminar took place, but I had heard around 10am. Surprising absolutely no one, I got lost on the way there, but managed to arrive at around 9am to warm up. The only problem was, no one there knew what time the seminar was supposed to be either! They thought maybe 1pm. I said I'd heard 10. They suggested I leave and come back around 1.
I didn't.
I just hung around until 11:30... which turned out to be the start time.
The place was full of people who had a base of grappling. Only myself and two other people could be said to be stand-up fighters. Sensing this, the Dutchman began with basic drills. Once everyone had warmed up he demonstrated what made the basics so good. The majority of the basic drills focused on timing and rhythm, two of the most important qualities of fighting. It was Rob Kaman's mastery of these two qualities that made him a formidable force to be reckoned with. Qualities which he hoped to impart to those at the seminar like myself.
Looking around, it seemed like the stand-up fighters where catching on a lot faster than the grapplers. This was only natural. Though by the end of the seminar the grapplers had improved quite a bit.
Outside of Rob Kaman's technical abilities and physical conditioning there was one thing that I really liked about him. His attitude. Every time he would look out at everyone training he would always say the same thing in his heavy dutch accent:
"SMILE! Do you people not smile here? This is fun!"
I agree. Whenever someone would do good he would smile. If they didn't do so good he would chuckle and say something about working even harder. No matter what, the grin didn't leave his face. You could tell it was one of sincerity.
At the end of the seminar we all gathered up around one heavy bag. If there was one thing Rob Kaman wanted to check and teach to everyone it was this: A strong low kick! Everyone had their low kick evaluated by the master of low kicks. He coached everyone individually to a better low kick, which was great for me, because I use them often.
The seminar was great, with the perfect blend of intangible concepts like rhythm and timing, and techniques like low kicks and counters.
If anyone has the opportunity to train with Rob "The Dutchman" "The Dutch Touch" Kaman I highly recommend it.
... by the way, he's dutch.
A couple months later and my training was going great. I was confident and ready to fight.
A friend of mine at American Top Team, Mike, was getting ready for a fight in Chicago, and I was helping him get ready by grappling with him. The fight was only a week away and his adrenaline was riding high. As we grappled, the informal roll became more intense. I'm no slouch so I won't tap unless a technique is applied in a manner that demands tapping. I'm no jerk either though. If a technique is good I will gladly tap and let someone know they have a done a good job. I have a reputation for needing things done extra hard for them to work on me a little (if at all); Mike has a reputation for always going maximum hard.
Four minutes into the match he had maneuvered me into a very solid arm bar. It was good so I went to tap, only to realize my other arm and both feet where pinned and immobilized. I could make no motion signifying my acquiesce. All Mike knew was that I wasn't tapping. He turned up the pressure. Before words could escape my mouth I felt a violent stretching in my shoulder, followed by a loud pop and give. My arm had been ripped out of it's socket.
Sound was now leaving my mouth.
"Are you ok?" Mike asked.
"I... I don't know. Hang on." I said, more confused than anything.
I stood up and adjusted my arm. It was now back in it's socket. I moved it around for a few seconds before going back to finish the last minute in the round with Mike. We grappled hard that final minute.
When I finished with Mike, I stretched and performed pushups and wheelbarrow laps and pushups. Knowing I needed some rest, I went to bed.
Upon waking the next morning, I found I couldn't move my arm. A few days later, the gym's resident moxibustionist came in and performed moxibustion on some of the fighters, myself included.
Moxibustion is, to over simplify it, reverse acupressure. It's also known as "cupping". This is when cups are placed over pressure points and through burning, or a pump, a suction is created activating the points. I watched as gym mates had it done first, their faces contorting in pain, sweating profusely. They said it hurt, and hurt bad, like trying to do 1,000 Hindu squats while on fire. My time came.... and it felt great. They said I must be wired different.
You can debate the science of moxibustion all you want, but there where only two things that mattered to me:
1. Before the treatment, I only had 1/10th my range of motion in that shoulder
2. After treatment I had 100% range of motion in that shoulder. What a jump in 15 minutes!
The moxibustionist also said that I had bad posture in the top of my neck, and he told me how to correct it, and that said that if I did I would become stronger. He was right.
After a few weeks my shoulder was fine, but my MMA debut got pushed back until way later. I'll never forget the feeling and sound of my arm being ripped out.
No trips to the hospital, and no intervention save for my own and moxibustion.
Gambled and won.
The next notable thing that happened about a month later when I did some sparring with Bellator Fighter Brent Weedman, who came from a background of Byakuren karate (a mix of Kyokushin and Shorinji Kempo), and then it was off to Florida for a training camp.
The American Top Team gym I train at was having a training camp for about a week at the main academy in south Florida (Ft. Lauderdale-coconut creek area, close to Miami), no charge! The only thing the people going had to worry about was getting there. Originally there was going to be about 8 of us renting a van and splitting the cost to get there. However, a week before we where supposed to leave, a member of the decided he would rather split off and drive down with his (pregnant) girlfriend. Then some others joined him. Right before we left we had officially formed two groups; Group 1, and Group B.
Group 1 consisted of the coach and owner of the gym - Carlos, Sansone - a muay thai exponent, Coop - a college student, and myself. Group B was Loyd, his pregnant girlfriend, Diablo, Mrs. Diablo, and Rakhim.
This was a training camp where training two and three times a day was expected and the car ride one way was 20 hours; I feel that bringing a hormonally unstable women is a bad idea.
The evening we went to leave, we all met at the gym, save for loyd and the ladies. That moment, Rakhim received a message from loyd that said he was running late and wouldn’t' be able to leave until the following day.
It's a 20 hour drive... they where going to miss at least a full day of training camp!
"Do you guys want to leave tomorrow?" Rakhim asked.
Hell No. We weren't the dissenters, and we weren't going to lose a day of training because of someone else. Also we had Carlos with us, so we couldn’t' really change our plans. I felt bad for group B, and Rakhim in particular. All he wanted was to see some famous fighters.
So Group 1 left. Four people in a jeep for 20 grueling hours, but we made it.
We put our things int he hotel and headed off for training at the main school.
The gym is huge, and equipped with almost everything you would need for training (and plenty of things you wouldn’t'). There are multiple training areas, so that many classes can be held at once. They have a multi heavy bag area, a Judo / Jujutus area, a stand - up area, a ring, 2 cages, and a free weight training area.
Carlos and Coop went and studied Jujutsu, Sansone and I studied muay thai under master Cha.
Good Training!
Afterwords the four of us met up with UFC fighter Mike Brown for dinner. Mike and Carlos are good friends so we all went out to eat. It was the four of us, Mike Brown and his girlfriend, and his hilarious English fighter friend, Brad Picket, who was in the states preparing for a UFC fight, whose name I cannot remember. During dinner, Mike looked over at me and said to Carlos" Look at this guy and his shirt, he looks old school." To which Carlos replied "That's Nash all right. He's as old school as it gets. As crazy as they get too!" The 7 of us talked and swapped stories and Mike's friend taught us his secret funny " side control ear-rape technique". Then he pantsed Carlos on the way out...
The next morning Carlos asked us if we wanted to go to the beach before training. The three of us lit up with excitement, and got ready for the beach. Carlos drove us to the beach, pointed out the window and said "there it is" and then drove us to training. What a horrible tease! I suppose we did technically go there, though we didn't get out of the car.
That afternoon we trained muay thai and jujutsu. Then lunch, and training at Carlos's friends gym. While there, the kickboxing coach struck up a conversation with me. Turns out, he's a fan of kyokushin karate! We got along great, and he invited me back to the gym to train, should I ever find myself that way again.
Group B arrived finally and joined us. Rakhim was ecstatic to see some famous fighters, especially Thiago Alves. "Is he here!?" Rakhim asked. "He was" replied Carlos. "Did anyone grapple with him?" Yeah. "What was it like!?" Sansone chimed in " Ask Nash, he's the one who rolled with him." Rakhim looked like he had just touched the sun. "Nash! What was it like to roll with Thiago Alves?!"
...who?
"UFC fighter Thiago Alves!"
...
"You grappled with him..."
when?
"the big guy!"
Oh, that's him? He looks bigger on TV. I didn't realize that was him.
The look that came from the group when they found this out was one that said "You are so oblivious, everything awesome is wasted on you."
It was fun to grapple with him though, I wasn't going to just give anything to him... especially become I didn't know who I was dealing with.
The next day we had early morning training, followed by lunch, and a REAL trip to the beach. We all had good beach training: flipping over waves, tower fighting, and German suplexs abounded! Afterwords we where all invited to Mike Brown's house for a cookout and to watch the fights that where on that night, including Brent Weedman (who lost in a very controversial judges decision, he actually won).
Mike's house was beautiful, and packed with food and fighters from around the world. Carlos cooked some chicken, and Diablo brought Mike some wine. Turns out, Mike loves wine. It was a great time.
The following afternoon, Coop, Sansone and I set off for our 20 hour return drive. I wound up driving a majority at night. Mistake.
The Georgia state police seemed to think so too...
Apparently "as fast as a vehicle can go" is too fast for them.
Passing through Georgia on the way back to the Midwest from South Florida, I was driving somewhat fast. It was the middle of the night on a long stretch of crappy Georgia back-road, and I was driving Sansoni's brother's jeep, with Sansoni asleep in the backseat. I probably shouldn't have been driving at all, but I was and I was in a hurry to get the hell out of Georgia. Miles and miles of dark uninhabited road stood between me and not being in Georgia, and my speed was increasing so as to get out of there faster. Before I knew it, I was speed ball Tucker-ing through the backwoods when I blew past a cop car parked lights off perpendicular to the road. I was sure I was going to get pulled over. I kept checking the rear-view mirror, but no lights, no cop. Gambled and won!
I decided to back my speed down to the speed limit (70mph?) and drive semi-responsibly until I escaped the state. That was the plan anyway: Take my good fortune and play it safe. I didn't stick to the plan. Slowly and unintentionally my speed crept up, until finally it was right back where it was, and at that moment I blasted passed two cops pointed at each other on either side of the road, lights off. “I'm going to jail”, I thought to myself. Looking in the rear-view mirror as I rocketed away I checked for any police lights coming on, but none ever did. Gambled and won again! No reason to slow down now! I kept driving like a lightning bolt with no worries. No worries until I saw the next cop car that is. I flashed past him just like the others, but this time the lights came on and he pulled out onto the road. I was going so fast though, that by the time he pulled out I was already like a mile away. Even though I had quite the head start, the police car was much faster than the little white cubic jeep I was piloting. I really didn't want to deal with officer unfriendly though, so my sleep-deprived brain came up with a plan.
Straight in front of me on this long straight bit of road, that no one had probably driven on in hours, was a large hill. My sleepy-brain reasoned that if I could speed up and over the hill, then switch lanes and back my speed down to the speed limit, then when the cop got over the hill he would think I was someone else; I would appear just another law abiding driver. Sleepy-brain.
I executed my part of the plan perfectly, but when the cop came flying up over the hill he changed lanes and got behind me. “Oh, he's going really fast. He must need around me. I'll get out of his way” is what I was thinking. I changed lanes, and the cop did the same. “Oh, how inconvenient. We changed lanes at the same time while he was trying to get around me. I'll change back.” I changed, and he did as well. “Oops, he had the same idea. I'll just change right back.” I moved lanes, he moved lanes, and unbeknownst to me I was now in a high-speed car chase. Accidentally. Shortly thereafter the officer sped up, came beside me, and ran me off the road. The viscous jostling woke Sansoni up. “What's happening?”, he asked sleepily. I think we're being pulled over. “Why?” I may have been speeding... “How fast were you going!?” ….How fast does the jeep go? “...Nash!!”
The police officer approached the window, Coop in the passenger seat secretly recording the conversation on his phone. I was glad it was just the three of us in the car. The cop was instantly condescending, his thick backwoods drawl making it all the worse. This was a part of Georgia where outsiders weren't welcome. If you weren't from there, and related to everyone there, they didn't want you. I was too black to be there. The officer informed me in no uncertain terms that the speed I was going was a felony, BUT for a couple hundred bucks we could pretend like it never happened. Now, normally I wouldn't negotiate with authoritarian southern inbreds, but I was heading off to Thailand in a week or so, and really didn't want a felony clogging up my border crossing; I've got a hard enough time legitimately crossing borders as it is. I paid, begrudgingly, but at least I dot the hell out of Georgia and didn't have some odd felony from the place following me around.
We all made it back though, with incredible training and memories as souvenirs... among other things. Money well spent (and not spent!).
Next it was off to Thailand, home of Muay Thai! I would pall around with a volunteer organization for a few weeks and then get some kickboxing in. How difficult could it be?
-Nash