NICK FROST WRITES A COLUMN ABOUT SPORTS FOR CHARITY
SWATH's Nick Frost jumped at the opportunity to write about sports when asked by comedian/actor David Walliams for the charity Sport Relief. Walliams, is known for swimming the Thames River for the charity.
Frost writes about his "Top 3 sporting moments" which include kickboxing, rugby and European football. Check out his kickboxing story below and read about the rest of his exploits here.
Number three
In the early 2000s I was introduced to the noble art of kickboxing, it thrilled me and I loved it. I loved the honour and the discipline and I also loved the punching.
One afternoon a group of us were sparring, I was watching a man I'd never seen at the dojo before roughly fight with a smaller partner. His attacks were relentless and without mercy, the smaller man receiving a proper pasting, it was troublesome to watch. "CHANGE!" barked Sensei Russell. It was my turn to spar with this stranger, he grinned through his gumshield and winked at me as he came forward.
We circled around, sizing each other up. He snapped out crisp shots, I absorbed them and countered. He began showing his frustration at my airtight defence by throwing heavier and heavier punches, I approached and he fired out a vicious front kick, then another. I stepped back guessing what was coming next, a third, rapier-like kick flashed forward, I stepped to one side taking advantage of his poor balance and countered with a spinning back fist to his ear, his defence dropped, his head dropped and – using techniques I had learned both in the dojo and on the cobbles – I flicked out a perfect roundhouse kick to the burly youth's chin.
Upon impact I watched his eyes roll to white and he dropped to the floor, gumshield cartwheeling across the canvas, groaning like an incontinent pensioner. "Stop fighting," yelled Sensei Russell."Frost! 50 press-ups!" I smiled as I pushed out those press-ups. Shouting out each one, crisp and loud, while they lifted big 'un on to a chair. We never saw him again at the dojo.
Good.
I hate bullies.
Roll credits.
via @malenacasey
One afternoon a group of us were sparring, I was watching a man I'd never seen at the dojo before roughly fight with a smaller partner. His attacks were relentless and without mercy, the smaller man receiving a proper pasting, it was troublesome to watch. "CHANGE!" barked Sensei Russell. It was my turn to spar with this stranger, he grinned through his gumshield and winked at me as he came forward.
We circled around, sizing each other up. He snapped out crisp shots, I absorbed them and countered. He began showing his frustration at my airtight defence by throwing heavier and heavier punches, I approached and he fired out a vicious front kick, then another. I stepped back guessing what was coming next, a third, rapier-like kick flashed forward, I stepped to one side taking advantage of his poor balance and countered with a spinning back fist to his ear, his defence dropped, his head dropped and – using techniques I had learned both in the dojo and on the cobbles – I flicked out a perfect roundhouse kick to the burly youth's chin.
Upon impact I watched his eyes roll to white and he dropped to the floor, gumshield cartwheeling across the canvas, groaning like an incontinent pensioner. "Stop fighting," yelled Sensei Russell."Frost! 50 press-ups!" I smiled as I pushed out those press-ups. Shouting out each one, crisp and loud, while they lifted big 'un on to a chair. We never saw him again at the dojo.
Good.
I hate bullies.
Roll credits.
via @malenacasey
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