2024 Training Log Part 22

On the stereo today, Mogwai.

I don’t think I’ll do a Monday to Saturday thing as per usual here. I think I’ll just take you through the week of the competition and see what happens.

So I made a choice- a choice now- to drop to the -88.3kg category for the UK Masters last week. I got the competitors list last Thursday and saw that I had 2 options. Stay at 94kg weight and drop to Masters 2, or drop weight and stay at Masters 4.

Now here’s where the doubts start coming in when you’re carrying something. I found Heavyweight 94kg much tougher than I thought I would, and it’s because I’m really protective of my spinal thing. It’s just bugging me from time to time, and if it’s a “good back day” (bald people don’t have good hair days so I need something), then I’m fine. I can hang with anyone. But when it’s a bad back day, I can barely sit never mind roll. So last Thursday I was thinking of flights and car journeys and what my back would feel like after that, and went for the -88.3kgs.

I stood on the scales- 95kgs in the Gi. I had 7kgs to lose in just over a week, or, no fight. Wasted flights and entry. Okay. Let’s do it.

First thing that I did? I stopped taking creatine, which has the effect of making you retain water. Maybe as much as 2kgs. Second thing that I did? Reduced my carb intake to about a portion of rice per day, with slightly more on training days. Third thing that I did? I ran beside my daughter’s scooter to school each morning for 2k and then walked 3 or 4 more kilometres the long way home with the dog. An additional fasted cardio session each morning.

I knew I’d need to do some calorific deficit, but I didn’t want to be a zombie, which I had been on weight cuts in the past. So I just went slightly below maintenance, trusting that the low-carb/high protein/high fat would strip body fat only.

I stood on the scales post-training on Monday night in my underwear- 90.1kgs. About 3kgs in 5 days. Easy work!

But then…

Something strange happened. Nothing else came off. By Wednesday, I was in fact heavier. On Thursday morning, I stood on the gym scales and I was 92kgs without wearing the Gi. Admittedly this was with a good bit of water on board that day, but even so, this seemed impossible.

I had forgotten to factor in my age. You just can’t do this stuff at 46 as easily as you did at 26. Your body says “Whoa! Mate! We need this stuff to live” and hangs on to fat and water more greedily it seems.

So I went into Friday in a dichotomic state of confidence of having done this plenty of times before, and doubt at having never done it in my mid 40s.

So some drastic fasting was in order. I’d already cut out all fibre to stop water retention in the last days, but now I went zero carb, and very low calories. Friday’s meals amounted to about 1000kcal of mainly protein dense, high energy/low weight foods. On Saturday I had 2 eggs for breakfast and then hoped that sweat, and the other bodily secretions would get me to a state where I’d be able to have 1 or 2 small meals before weigh in at 1pm.

After training with Josh Barnett on Saturday for a 3 hour seminar in a hoodie and layers, I stood on the scales, Gi in hand. 89.3kgs. 1 kg away. Happy, fucking, days. I had a good walk with my dog and a hot bath later that day, the last kg would surely be off now. I could afford a little bit of food and liquids. I ate a repast of 2 rice cakes with peanut butter and slivers of banana on them and had a glass of water before bed. I texted some people, “Bang on!” said I. “Great work!” said they. “Easy!” said I, “Gonna be able to have some light grub before weigh in tomorrow!”

Hubris.

So Sunday comes, game day. I don’t feel hunger in the mornings so no issues. I had a sip of water, and I, ahem, completed my ablutions, surprised at how much water content there still was. I was pretty happy with that, and looking forward to hitting the check scales to see some number in and around the 87kg mark. We flew over and got in the rental car, stopping at a shop where I got my isos, energy dense snacks, and water. My estimate was that I was going to have maybe 500g to play with on the scales, so I spent a lot of the journey wondering if it would be better to go with iso drinks or some small bites to satiate the uncomfortable feeling in my gut.

We got there, and I stood on the test scales. 89.8kgs. 1.5kgs OVER weight. I had once again gained weight from a mysterious source. I questioned the staff. Either the scales were wrong or I am creating matter from nothing inside my own body. Science needs to run some tests on me, I’ve solved the energy crisis. The test scales was weighing about .5 heavy. But that still meant I had a kg to go in less than an hour.

What happened? Faulty scales there or in my gym is the only answer. But there was nothing to do but put on my hoody and jacket and try to run it off. 1kg worth! I have honestly rarely seen someone actually do that, despite great efforts, but I wasn’t travelling for nothing, so I layered up and went onto the astroturf pitch outside and started to run.

There’s misery, and then there’s running (when you hate running) in all of your clothes with your hoody pulled around your face wondering if it’s all going to be for nothing if you can’t drop it. Dry mouthed, hunger pangs, dead, jelly legs. But I just repeated some things to myself. Did I ever tell you I talk to myself a lot? Well I do, and I find myself good company, actually. And I don’t know if this is worth typing out or if it makes me sound like a yellow pack Tony Robbins but here’s what I do in scenarios like this.

I take my doubts and rewrite them.

“I’ve never missed weight before”- yes, and you’re not going to now either, so keep moving. “Okay, I’ve never missed weight before, and I’m not starting now.”

“I’ll be really weak after this”- Maybe, but is this any different to being on round 8 or 9 in the gym? “No. I feel about the same”.

“I am so hungry”- There’ll be food afterwards. Right now you have a job. “That burger afterwards will taste twice as good”.

“No one would blame you for stopping now. You’ve done 7kgs in a week”- That’s just an off-ramp. Stop offering yourself escape routes. “I’ll be able to look anyone you coach in the eye and tell them to stop whinging and get the weight off”.

After about 20 minutes a rivulet of sweat formed on my nose and dripped satisfyingly in front of me as I jogged laps. Then another and another. I was sweating more than I thought I would. Anyone who has ever tried to get that last 500g off will tell you how sickening it is when you just can’t seem to sweat anymore. You just get this warm, oily slick on your skin. Clammy almost, like you’re in a fever. But you don’t sweat. But that day, despite the water cut overnight, I had it in me to lose, it seemed. Maybe the 40-something body hangs on to a lot more than you think.

I went and sat on the dressing room bench for a few minutes, before Brian came in and told me they were calling my name. Here goes nothing, I thought, and towelled down. My tee shirt and hoody were soaked through, a good sign. I stood on the scales. 88.1kg. allowing for the test scales discrepancy, I’d lost 1.2kg in an hour.

Thank fuck.

So I got 500ml of lucozade sport into me, and saw that the semi final of the bracket was on. I probably had another 10 minutes, so I took out the pouch of liquidized baby fruit I had bought and slurped it down. Shit! What’s this? It’s not a fruit pouch, it’s yoghurt! Idiot! Yoghurt on an empty stomach right before competing. What a moron. Always read the label.

The first match went well. The guy had good, solid base and almost passed my guard once, but I recovered and set up the X from De La Riva, I faked an overhead sweep and then hit a quick foot switch to single X and a footlock which he tapped to.

The final was okay. I felt in control on top after he pulled half guard, but when he went deep I screwed up a back step and let him come up on a single. I’ve rewatched the video, I should have been way more aggressive but he swept off it and then I was on the back foot. He went for a pass and as I was recovering locked in a power-half which was really tight and strong. I’ll be robbing that move. From there he took my back and the match finished that way.

Silver medal.

At a guess, I consumed 6,000kcals from 2pm to 11.30pm last night. I’m 92kgs this morning.

Oh how I love it! The training. The anticipation. The thrill of getting on the mat to do it. I’ve loved it since the first time someone kicked me in the face. My first Taekwondo tournament. It hurt! The first thing I thought was, I’m going to kick him back exactly the same way. So I did. And I saw his eyes go wide and I said, you know, I think I’ll do that again. So I did, and I walked out with my first trophy for kicking people hard in the face. And I thought, this is alright you know. And then I wanted to get fitter and faster and stronger and smarter, knowing that sooner or later someone is going to put that fitness and speed and strength and wit to the test.

And those someones have beaten me about 50% of the time, so I have to keep trying to nudge that percentage up. I’m not some big winner.

And it’s given me so much, the thrill and anticipation. I don’t think I’ll ever stop.

And I love the dieting. Ha! No I do not love the dieting. But I love the discipline of it. That through sheer force of will you can master hunger, or dehydration (within safe limits of course) and exhaustion. Master your mind. Why? Why just to do it sometimes. Just because it’s there to do. Why not? Why not set a challenge, stupid as it might be. Everyone else is so safe. Careful now. Stay off the grass. Why would you even do that? Fuck em.

And there were celebratory pints and burgers and chats afterwards. I’m not a monk.

I’m resting today and tomorrow morning I’ll be back in the gym. Log will be back to normal next week.

See you on the mat,

Barry