So how exactly was I going to train myself to take on these guys? Learn martial arts? Though I did consider that, I had heard countless times that it took several years to master any form of martial arts. I was going to need a much better plan than that.
Did I need to know Karate or Kung Fu to take on these guys? Honestly, not really. I mean, the bullies themselves didn't seem to know karate or kung fu and they were able to pummel me into the ground with no hesitation. All I needed was to build my strength and learn how to throw stronger punches and kicks. Honestly, what was the point of making my punches and kicks all fancy?
Although I had a large enough basement to practice, I was very limited in equipment. The only weights in the house were a few dumbbells that my dad used once a decade. The only other piece of exercise equipment we had was a treadmill that had stopped working about eight months ago (my parents hadn't bothered to replace it or even move it). It looked like I was going to need to get creative.
Thankfully, the basement was filled with several boxes of old junk that hadn't been moved in years. Many of the boxes were pretty heavy, so I had my weights. As I looked at the boxes some more, I came up with another idea. I emptied the contents of a few of the boxes into an empty crate and then used duck tape to tape all the boxes together. Now I had my punching bag. Because the boxes were cardboard, I didn't have to worry about hurting myself...at least not a whole lot.
So now that I had my workout equipment, I immediately got started. For several hours a day, I did nothing but lifted boxes and punched and kicked my hand-made punching bag (or box). Being as small and weak as I was, it definitely was a challenge. In the beginning, I would feel like passing out within the first half-hour. But I refused to quit. The more and more that I thought of all those scumbags at school, the more I became determined to give them a taste of their own medicine.
Was lifting and punches boxes my only method of gaining fighting strength? Of course no. Even I knew that I needed to do better than that. I also spent a few hours each day doing pushups, sit-ups, and running around the block. Once again, it wore me out pretty hard. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't think about giving up on my entire plan within the first two weeks. But one memory of getting the crap beaten out of me at recess was enough to immediately get me back on my feet.
In addition to all of this, I also would spend a few hours watching Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan movies (which my parents had a crap ton of). Although I didn't intend to learn Kung Fu myself, I at least wanted to understand some of their moves (the doable ones) and practice imitating them on my punching bag-box. Though it seemed stupid at first, I soon found myself perfectly mastering one of the punching moves that I had seen Bruce Lee use in one of his movies. Needless to say, it had been a great idea.
So that was my whole summer. Lifting, punching, kicking, running, doing pushups and sit-ups, and trying to imitate Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee. By the time that eight grade was just around the corner, I felt much more in shape than ever before (then again, I had never been in shape at all before that summer). I felt ready for the new school year.
Unfortunately, that one summer didn't cut it. I still had a very long way to go. The bullies were still able to throw me around on the first week of school. Though I at least now tried to fight back, it was less than effective. The bullies would just laugh when I fought back and then imitate my fighting moves in some of the most insulting ways.
Even then, I did not give up. I knew I could surpass the bullies eventually. I just needed to keep at it. So I kept going. All throughout my eighth grade year, the basement was practically my room.
For my birthday, I asked my parents for an actual punching bag (my hand-made one had completely worn out by the end of the summer and I had to make a new one; that one was also wearing out). Of course, this surprised them as it was completely different than what I would normally ask for (comic books and video games). Although my parents knew I was trying to get more active, they didn't know that I was practicing punches and kicks. I didn't want them to know that I was training myself to beat up the bullies.
Thankfully, I did get the punching bag. Although, my parents remained confused about why I had wanted it. I told them that the punching bag would help me get even more active, which just made them shrug in a "whatever" sort of way.
Now that I had an actual punching bag, I could now improve my punches and kicks to an even greater degree. With the bag being more heavier and sturdier than cardboard, my punches began to feel more genuine as they landed.
And it showed in actual combat. Halfway through my eight grade year, I landed my first punch that actually harmed one of the bullies. Despite getting the crap beaten out of me anyway, I could not have been more proud of myself that day.
By the time that eighth grade was over, I was finally able to hold up a fight with the bullies. Although they still had the upper hand on me (and still laughed at me like hyenas for having the gall to fight back), I knew it was only a matter of time before I would finally pass them up. I was just living for that moment.
I needed just one more summer.
First day of freshman year. Although I didn't spend as much time reading comics and playing video games as I did a few years earlier, I was still considered a comic book and video game geek. I still had the dorky glasses. Although I had finally gotten my braces taken off a year earlier, I now had a large amount of acne to make up for them. I was still the smallest kid in school.
Two of the bullies that had been tormenting me for years cornered me right after lunch. Another one that I had never seen before also joined in on the fun. As they all cornered me, they began their usual chants of how I was a dorky little shrimp and how they were going to beat me to a pulp (with some pretty detailed descriptions). Two years earlier, I would've been wetting my pants. That day however, I was smiling.
Show time.
In the end, all three boys wound up in the hospital. I, however, was standing on two feet and feeling perfectly fine. And I was still smiling. After that day, nobody in school ever dared mess with me again.
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