Judo, my brain and me...

I have something of a love/hate relationship with my brain. We were pretty good buddies until my late 20s, at which point it went in the opposite direction to how I had life planned - and we're still trying to repair that relationship.

Over the last three years we've taken positive, but tentative, steps to work together more and things are much better than the were a decade ago. But occasionally my brain still goes and does its own thing and waits for the rest of me to catch-up, a bit like an unruly teenager trying to avoid any kind of responsibilities, knowing eventually they'll have to pay for it. And because my brain pretty much decides how I behave (alongside pizza, football, wrestling and music) I have to go along for the ride while I try and wrestle (no pun intended) some control back.

Our latest reunification started around 7.40pm on Tuesday night - I can't say the exact time because the clock on the wall was hours and minutes behind (or in front, I guess, you never can tell) and I didn't have my watch on. But I know I was nearly halfway through my second ever judo class and gasping for breath when the conversation started.

- Hey Mike! Buddy! Old friend!
- Fucking douchebag brain.
- That's not nice. Aren't you having fun?
- Sure, I'm having fun. Grappling is great - it almost feels like wrestling. Until I just about collapsed. I'm fucking dying here.
- Of course you are. You're a 43-year-old obese man who hasn't done serious exercise in a very long time.
- But I lost like 13kgs. And when I look in the mirror I definitely look thinner. And I couldn't fit in these jeans just a few weeks back. And I'm on the last hole of my belt.
- All of these things are true.
- So why do I feel like shit?
- Because you're still a 43-year-old man who has done virtually no exercise in decades. And you still weigh 130kgs. Did you seriously think that eight weeks of eating healthy and doing some mild exercise was enough to offset all those years of neglect?
- Not exactly but I...
- Jesus, you really are a fucking idiot! You can't even crouch properly.
- Hey, that's harsh.
- Let me put this in small words you might understand. If. You. Want. To. Do. This. Properly. You. Have. To. Be. Smaller. And. Fitter.
- That's not true. I can continue doing this and participating where I can - and sitting out when I get too tired.
- So you can get a fucking participation certificate?
- Hey, it's not my fault! You were the one who told me to do this right now.
- And yet the Gi doesn't fit and you can't tie the belt properly because it won't go around you twice.
- I was aware. Thanks. But I thought you were helping me!
- So NOW you expect me to make good decisions? The same brain that told you that you desperately needed an XBox One 18 months ago? You know, that black thing that sits on your desk that never gets played? Or made you register like 50 different domain names for all the amazing ideas I come up with? Or makes you buy Moleskin notebooks every few months when you still have plenty unused ones? 
- Okay, okay. You've made your point. I have burns on my legs and toes. I have a weird mark on my head, my back hurts and I'm feeling about 60 right now. I'm realising that I was perhaps a little premature.
- And not for the first time, eh? Eh?
- Again, fuck you.
- A bit premature? Dude, I had you thinking you were fucking 16 again. Oh, this is my best one yet.
- So what about the wrestling. Was that one of your stupid ideas too?
- Hell no, dude. That's fucking genius. But we need to work together on that one.

Our coming back together was completed late last night. I'd just come off a two-hour work call and was absolutely knackered - yet still couldn't sleep. The conversation restarted.

- Hey brain. You there? What do I do now? I'm going to let so many people down if I stop.
- Who exactly are you letting down?
- Well, all those people who write and say nice things about me on the internet. And particularly Sam.
- Are they stupid too?
- Fuck no, they're some of the most brilliant people I know. And Sam has never been anything but supportive with anything I've done.
- And are you giving judo up for ever?
- Nope. I'm going to stop until my body is better ready to put it through the things it needs to be able to do to take a full part in this.
- That sounds kinda sensible.
- Really?
- Yep. And are you giving up on wrestling?
- Nope, that's still the goal
- So what exactly is the prob...

There was no flash of light to signify us coming back together again, no jolt of brain chemistry that glowed in the darkness - just a large, bearded man falling asleep, possibly a little more contented and less worried than previously.

I woke this morning for another 37 minutes on the exercise bike and an early work call. The body hurts a little less than it did yesterday, although those blister burns on my toes hurt like fuck - but I do have a clearer, and more sensible, way forward in my head. 

In this case it didn't break me - it brought me back together. 

Judo is going to take a little bit of a back seat while I concentrate on embedding my healthy eating habits, getting more exercise and fitter than I currently am. I know now that if I persist with judo in the condition I'm in then I'm going to end up hating it - and soon.

Not only does that threaten my goal to wrestle, it also threatens to put me back on my path of unhealthy eating - hey, if there's one way to get over a massive disappointment it's buying a whole pizza, 12 bags of Maltesers, five litres of Irn Bru and some tasty balsamic vinegar and onion crisps and scoffing the whole fucking lot. I can't take that risk. Not now. Not ever.

It's time to make sensible decisions, to not push things too hard and to say to myself that it's okay to not do everything at once. I'm at my lowest weight in two years, my second lowest in nearly a decade. I'm doing fine and I'm letting no-one down - and that includes myself. Judo will still be there at the start of the next semester in February. And if I'm not ready then it'll still be ready in May. I don't have to do this all at once. And probably shouldn't.

So where to next?

I've got a 10-class pass to Boxing Alley to see if that fits a little better with where I am with my weight loss and fitness levels - but I won't be afraid to temper that excitement if it becomes apparent it's just too soon. And that trusty exercise bike is still going strong - so using that a couple of times a day is an option. But I'm not giving up.

After all, you can't undo decades worth of neglect in a few weeks. A sometimes wise brain once told me that...

Day: 58
Weight lost: 13.0kgs
Feeling: A little disappointed but determined
Wrestling dream: Still alive and kicking!

Why I almost certainly will never wrestle a match

I'm fairly certain my goal of wrestling a match will end without me ever having done so - and I'm pretty good with that. But I guarantee it's not for the reasons you think.

It won't surprise any of you who know me, even a little, to find out I've overthought this. A lot. That's par for the course with everything I do - but stick with me here because I think this makes some sense.

It's not that I'm a vastly overweight 43-year-old man with absolutely zero training in anything that would remotely prepare me to be a wrestler. Or that I've lost 12.3kgs but still remain, according to ideal height/weight formulas, around 60kgs from my ideal weight.

It's definitely not that I did three front rolls for the first time in decades on Saturday and landed on my head every time or that falling backwards from a crouched position onto a not-particularly-soft mat is way harder than it looks.

And it's not because parts of my body I forgot I had hurt two days after a relatively easy judo class. Or because I lack self-belief. It's not even because I have a dodgy ankle that hurts like shit after around 6000 steps or because I'll probably quit eating healthy because I suddenly remember that pizza tastes delicious so why shouldn't I eat a whole one?

They may all end up playing a part, of course, but it's not THE reason.

The real reason is that Impact Pro Wrestling (IPW), based here in Auckland, is just too damned professional and has way too many options to bother sticking an old fella like me in the ring. Let me explain a bit more.

I'm sure I could find a less than scrupulous company somewhere who would be willing to take some form of payment to put me in a crappy two-minute match in front of three people and a dog - but that's never what my wrestling goal was about. That kind of Machiavellian shenanigans, simply to tick a box to say I had done it, would only be conning myself. And I'm too wise to fall for my own shit. Most of the time.

No, if I'm going to wrestle it's going to be with a company I trust - and I trust IPW. And, because they're just so damned good, every time I watch them put on a show I feel that dream slide a wee bit more. Every time the Mt Eden Memorial Hall echos with that frightening sound of someone's back smashing into the mat, every time I see someone half my age say things on the microphone or do things in the ring that I could only dream of, every time a Ric Flair-esque chest chop garners a massive 'woooooooooo' from the crowd I take a small step back.

And that was before I had the absolute pleasure of watching some of their newer wrestlers go up against some of the old hands at the first IPW student show on Friday night. Most of these wrestlers have been training for less than a year and knocked it out of the park. The odd tentative move aside there was an undeniable quality to the work, the only shame being the lack of crowd to appreciate it.

So before Saturday night's excellent Holy Grail event I put myself in the position of those responsible for IPW and thought about it logically. If I was booking matches then I sure as hell wouldn't put me in the squared circle when I had this much talent available, so much younger and capable than I ever could be. And that's a good thing, right?

If I never get anywhere near an IPW ring, despite my willingness to fight for it, then they should be applauded for it because it means they had better options. That's great for them and the future of New Zealand wrestling. Who cares if that weird bearded guy who sits in the front row and sometimes cheers the heels (I'm team Ashlee Spencer all the way - sorry Candy Lee!) never moves from that seat and into the ring, right? (As a quick aside, the new level of storytelling with Ashlee's brutal attacking of Candy outside the ring before the bell was awesome. I totally popped for that moment - and I can't wait to see where they go from here!)

Ultimately it comes down to this - IPW are responsible for the health and safety of each and every wrestler who appears on their shows and I accept there's a fair chance someone of my age and history will never be a risk worth taking. Frankly, that's how it should be.

To me there is no difference between IPW (or Southern Pro Wrestling (SPW) for that matter - seriously, check them out if your down in the south island) and the WWE. These are men and women who are putting their bodies on the line to entertain people like me. That deserves the utmost respect and it's why I won't disrespect any of them by showing up to the IPW tryouts in January if I think I'm going to waste one second of their times.

Now don't think this is me quitting on my goal. It's absolutely not. And there's still that part of me who truly believes I have some wrestling matches somewhere deep inside. But I think it's wise to realise that just because all your efforts focus on 'a thing' - whatever that may be - it doesn't necessarily means you will succeed. Or that it's a failure if you don't do it.

Age has given me many things, most of them unwanted. Who needs extra nose hairs, bags under the eyes or the ability to forget most of what you've ever learned? But the most useful thing may be the willingness to understand compromise isn't a bad thing if everyone gets a bit of what they want.

So I'm still shooting for the stars, that tiny pinprick of light that could be an IPW match or two. If I end up losing a lot of weight, getting much fitter and talking myself into a non-wrestling role with IPW because I'm just too annoying to ignore then I will still consider that a massive win. Because wrestling is much more important than one guy's mad idea of trying to become a wrestler at 43.

The only way to find out what happens next is to keep reading - because I sure as shit have no idea what's going to transpire. But if you are to take anything from this blog then please let it be this - if you have any interest in wrestling, whether that's watching, storytelling, managing or being in the ring, then find a quality local provider and support them as much as you can. Pay for the front row tickets, help put up the ring, take it down, sell the concessions.

They're not doing it for the money but for the love of it - and I know they'll appreciate the help.

Fit you been dein' min?

Wow, it's really been a month since I wrote an update, eh? Time gets away from you when you're trying to do as much as possible to take your mind of the hunger pangs when trying to lose weight.

Actually, that's just a poor joke to hide my writing laziness. With only a couple of exceptions I really haven't found myself being that hungry at all. And in the last couple of weeks the weight has just started to drop off as I found a way of eating that works for me.

The old adage that 'breakfast is the most important meal of the day' may well be true - but it doesn't say when you should eat that breakfast, right? That's why I have mine between midday and 1.00pm!

I've always found it easier to avoid eating at the start of the day rather than around lunchtime - I have no idea why that is, but it's always been the case. And so my old habits of toast or cereal has taken a back seat as I drink a large mug of strong Scottish tea and head off to work with a smile on my face and a relatively empty belly.

The discovery that vanilla-flavoured almond milk makes porridge taste like rice pudding has also helped me get into the right frame of mind - it's absolutely delicious and now I find myself really looking forward to the big bowl that will keep me sated until dinner.

I've read so many rules, tried so many diets and seen people suffer trying to lose weight that I'm a firm believer in just going with what's working for you. And as long as I'm feeling good (and I haven't felt better than this in a long time) then I'm going to persevere.

The only downside so far is the exercise. The bike has been somewhat ad-hoc over the last 10 days or so, just due to school holidays and the occasional odd shift at work. And I find it boring, even with a phone to watch Netflix with. I'd much prefer to walk more in the mornings and do a short, sharp ride at night - but my right ankle is giving me all kinds of gyp.

I had a physiotherapist look at it earlier this year and essentially the wear and tear in it means as little as 6,000 steps in a day can give me all kinds of swelling and pain. It's not ideal. But certainly gives me a good excuse as to why I'm not targeting the 2018 Auckland Marathon on my bucket list! I'm hoping that another 20kgs or so will help alleviate the worst of the suffering, but there's only one way to find out for sure.

So what else can I do in the meantime? Here's what I've come up with so far:

1) Swimming. I did this for a few months last year and really enjoyed it. I got into a good habit but the swimming pool shutting for a month over Christmas and New Year meant I fell out of that habit and never got back into it. It didn't help that I used the pool when it was supposed to have been closed to the public (hey, there were no signs!) and I had to be asked to leave by the attendant, who had presumed I was there to use the gym. Oops.

2) Cycling to work. This is probably my favoured option, providing I can get a bike seat that doesn't hurt my arse. I really like the idea of ebikes - the only downside being their tremendous cost, up to $3.5k or so depending on the model and battery size. And I'd need an expensive one due to my size. I know I couldn't deal with the hills I have to travel on to get to work without the help of the battery so this is currently filed in the 'It would be awesome, but I really shouldn't. Should I? Maybe. Okay, probably not.' drawer.

3) Boxing. I think a punch in the head would probably be good for me every now and again. Seriously, though, I know boxing is an excellent sport for aerobic fitness without ever having to get into a ring with an opponent. But you're looking at $35 per week for three months with some sessions with a personal trainer in there too every week. Throw in the boxing gloves and you're looking at $1400 or so for just three months worth of training.

4) Sucking it up and exercycling more.

I love spending money but normally on cool things like computers, games, music and phones. And not important stuff like life. Where the fuck did my priorities go wrong?

Day 47

Weight - 133.1kgs - a total loss so far of 10.5kgs. It would have been more but Sam and I went out for dinner last night and I haven't gone to the toilet since Friday night. Yes, yes, TMI. But I don't care.
Exercise - Big walk yesterday has left ankle really sore - but probably going to cycle later
Feeling - Great. Worried about the ankle but being positive
Next plans - Getting The Ultimate Worrier podcast off the ground

Gonnae listen tae me talk shite, pal?

I'm full of great ideas. Well, good ideas. Okay, ideas. But I figured that one way to help me achieve my goal would be to document it all the way. This blog is part of that, but I think a podcast would take it to the next level.

So I put it out there on social media - what should the podcast be called? And the answer came via Andrew Frame (who will be sent a free t-shirt once I've gotten to that stage as a thank you) - The Ultimate Worrier. It's hard to understate just how perfect this is. Not only is it a nod to the golden era of wrestling but it definitely plays into my mental health issues too.

This is going to be a fun project - it'll be updates on how I'm getting along, but most importantly I'll be having guests from the world of wrestling and beyond, telling their stories, asking for their tips and tricks and hopefully entertaining everyone who listens. Some of the local IPW NZ wrestlers have already stuck up their hands to be a guest so now all I need to do is record the bloody thing and put it out there.

I'd better get to it!

The Ultimate Worrier?

Geez fucken peace, brain, eh?

I can't be 100 per cent sure, but I reckon self-doubt has always been a big part of the reason why I've generally talked a good game but never quite delivered when it comes to certain aspects of life.

For a while that self-doubt combined with other immovable forces so that I couldn't have done many of those things I wanted anyway. Or that's what I've always told myself.

But since my personal circumstances changed I still come up against the same barriers. New ideas has never been the issue - it's seeing them through. And it's only since my endeavours have been encouraged that I've realised I can blame anyone and everyone I want but I'm the problem. Or at least my brain is.

That's what I'm trying to change with Project 'Get Your Arse Kicked in the Squared Circle' aka 'Becoming a Bampot' and why I'm trying to keep it as public as possible. It's about being accountable to more than just myself, to have other people buy into the idea that although it's a fucking nutty idea at 43 to start the process of being a wrestler - for one match or 100 - it doesn't matter.

Essentially I'm trying to embarrass my brain. Or at least make it so the feelings of potential embarrassment overwhelm the self-doubt numbskulls that inhabit my headspace. 

Will it work? Who the fuck knows, right? Last night I dreamed that John Campbell, the marvellous Kiwi journalist who has a soft spot for the excellent Scottish post-punk band Orange Juice, talked to me about wrestling while we walked up a dirt road together. When my brain does shit like that I have no hope of predicting how things will go. <shrug>

But I'm going to find out. And while my brain is #teambampot then I hope you all are too.

Day 14

Weight - Down over 3kgs but not weighing myself until tomorrow
Exercise - 25 minutes on exercise bike
Feeling - Pretty damned good, actually. Walked past a cake in the kitchen with barely a second thought.

Obesity (ah fucken hate that word)

Day 2, or day 1 of the 'what the fuck did I say I was going to do?' regrets tour as I like to call it, is done. But despite another 3am wake-up and an almost-overwhelming desire to stay in my warm bed I got up and did 23 minutes on the bike this morning, 30 seconds more than yesterday. This was deliberate - 30 seconds more each day isn't much but it seems achievable and over time will add up.

And all before 5am!

As you probably have guessed this isn't the first time I've set out to achieve weight loss and improve on my fitness. Or had an amazing idea to change my life. It may surprise you to know that it's actually happened to varying degrees over the years - but I've never been able to sustain it.

The most successful I've ever been was a decade or so ago. One April evening something just clicked in me. It came after my boss came into my office at work, closed the door and told me I had to lose weight. I was mortified, more embarrassed than I've ever been before. I couldn't believe it - I was so upset, shaking with anger and shame. It took me a few hours to process but that night I swore to lose weight. Not because of him. No, fuck that. But to spite him. I knew that very moment this was not a person I wanted to work for - and I was going to make sure when I handed in my resignation letter I was going to walk out with my two middle fingers in the air and my head held high.

I did up a poster to pin beside my computer which committed me to exercising and losing weight so it was never far from mind. I exercycled (is that even a word? It looks weird. If not is should be) every day, often twice. I cut out every single piece of snack food out of my diet. And then I found my true motivation - raising money for charity by running the Auckland Quarter Marathon with the Heart Foundation.

I started running, more than I'd ever done before. Early starts weren't too bad, even though I was taking the most horrendous depression drug at the time (within 20 minutes of taking a pill I would need to sleep, it made me feel like a zombie in the morning) and the weight started falling off. I lost 36kgs in just over four months - a huge amount and, with hindsight, completely unsustainable.

The quarter marathon came and went. I beat my goal time (1h 13 minutes, motherfuckers!) and then... nothing. There was nothing there. The motivation disappeared in a second. The post-marathon snackfest never ceased and slowly but surely all of the original weight - and more - piled on. By the time I had put 15kgs back on I was already hating myself. By the time my marriage ended I was 12kgs heavier than I'd been that day my boss walked into the office.

Over the last three years I've lost weight - 20kgs - and then put most of it back on again. Motivation comes in fits and starts but this is the most motivated I've felt in a long time. Living longer, apparently, isn't motivation enough. Doing something I've always wanted to do - even if I didn't realise it until now - is enough. At least so far.

So what's it like being obese? Perhaps dangerously so? I can't speak for anyone else so please consider that. But it's fucking miserable. In so many ways. Every mirror is your worst enemy. Every time you take a bite of something that isn't 'healthy' you get paranoid that people are judging you. And let's be clear - some of them absolutely are. Your doctor doesn't want to talk about your depression, but your weight. Every time someone looks at you, you wonder what they're thinking. Every plane trip is a worry that you're not going to be able to fasten the seatbelt. You hate clothes shopping because you wonder whether anything will be big enough. Every time you get charged an extra few dollars in an online store for a t-shirt your heart breaks just a wee bit more. You eat because you're miserable and then you're miserable because you eat. It's a self perpetuating cycle of misery, hate, comfort-eating and emotion, sometimes multiple times in a day. It's not a lot of fucking fun.

So why not do something about it? That's the usual response, right? And when you write those words down it looks easy. But it's the same reasons people find it hard to quit anything you know isn't doing you much good. There's no single reason - pick any combination of the following list, leave it for an hour and then do it again - doubt, depression, heartbreak, worry, nervousness, panic, addiction. And those are just the ones off the top of my head.

That's why I have to cash in when the motivation strikes. That's why I'm putting this all out there - it gives me something to concentrate on and every person who has liked a tweet, replied to me or hasn't told me I'm fucking dreaming has helped take some of that weight off my shoulders. It's why I so appreciate people saying 'why not' instead of 'why'. It's why everyone who reads this blog gives me extra inspiration. It's why this time I'm going to succeed.

Incidentally, I have considered gastric surgery seeing as I've been so unable to do this and maintain it long-term. But I'm not going to pre-judge the outcome of my desire to wrestle a match by ruling this in or out of future options - just like I won't judge those who choose surgery as the best thing for them.

Day 2

Weight - I'm not weighing myself ever day
Exercise - 23 minutes on exercise bike
Feeling - Fucking knackered. Thanks to my brain for the early wake-up!

Whit on earth ye daein', ya bam?

In the late morning of Tuesday, August 21 2017 something unusual happened. It was shortly after I tweeted this:

Googles 'can you start wrestling training at 43 years old so you can have a match in front of an audience to knock it off your bucket list'

— Bampot Bigelow (@mikekilpatrick) August 21, 2017

It was a strange feeling, something which I'd become increasingly aware of over the last three years but hadn't quite been able to grasp fully. It felt like people actually wanted me to succeed. They were saying 'why not?' instead of 'why?'. It was... encouragement? Yes, encouragement. A wrestler from the local promotion told me to go for it. I'd heard of this 'encouragement' shit before and it felt good. It's what Sam had been doing for two years without it ever making sense. And that's when it struck me. The only* thing stopping me from doing this was me.

*This is not strictly true. The excess 50kgs, the two fucked knees, a dodgy shoulder, zero wrestling training, my age and having the flexibility of a large Kauri tree also plays a part but it remains largely** true.
** Until I get bored with getting up at 5am to exercise every day and laziness becomes the overwhelming reason NOT to do it.

And so with nothing*** stopping me I put it out there into the universe. One day, presumably before I turn 50, I will step into a wrestling ring in front of a crowd and have a match. It's been out there for over 24 hours now and nothing bad has happened. No-one has told me to grow up, wise up or fuck up. This is definitely**** going to work.

*** see previous notes
**** probably

Unfortunately I have no real idea on how to actually do this so I've started the process where inevitably it always starts - exercise and eating well. No more sneaky pies or Prawn Cocktail crisps at lunchtime. No more***** of that delicious Freya's Roggenbrot bread toasted with lashings of saturated and unsaturated fats. And early starts to exercise. Fuck it, let's do it!

***** Again, not strictly true. There will be some of this. Just much less than normal. And fuck, it's really delicious. If you haven't tried it yet, get to it.

Day 1

Weight - 143.6kg (yes, I know. I know.)
Exercise - 22.5 minutes on exercise bike
Feeling - Tired but capable