A rather emotional training session.

I rejoiced at the thought of having a three-hour long training session today, despite a sprained knee (thanks to sparring) and a night of drinking.

So I go to the gym and start hauling ass to the best of my limited ability. And just when I was doing this drill for catching a kick and doing a counter, my fucking knee pops again. God damn it. By pop, I mean that feeling of the joint about to dislocate.

My coach decides to do punches instead. And then, my FUCKING KNEE POPS AGAIN. FUCK. So we're doing the punches with me resting on my rear leg. By this time, I'm tearing up already out of sheer fucking frustration. I want to fucking kick and train normally, FUCK. My fight's coming up, and I'm just a sitting duck.

Sure, the smart thing is to stay off the leg until it heals, but c'mon. If you were in my shoes, you can't afford not to train. Kahit papano, I'd still want to improve, even on a marginal amount. It would seem that I really need to give this knee a fucking rest. Fuck...