MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

"Fuck," While Damon hissed through clenched teeth and his hands gripped his thighs, the sound of the rolling pin echoed through the gym.

"Stay still," Kru Wichan said in his gruff tone, focused on his task. "I almost done."

The older man was holding a wooden rolling pin, which is a rough but traditional way to condition your shins.

Damon leaned his back against the wall for support and sat there with his face twisted in pain and resolve.

The rolling pin pressed against his shin again, grinding slowly up and down. Damon winced, his jaw tightening as he tried not to flinch.

The dull, searing pain radiated through his legs, but he didn't move. He couldn't.

This was part of the process, like a rite of passage for any serious Muay Thai practitioner.

He wasn't a masochist. He wasn't doing this because he enjoyed it.

Far from it.

But he knew it was necessary.

Conditioning wasn't just about building up his physical endurance.

It was also about making him mentally tough and getting his body ready to take and give devastating blows without hesitation.

"Breathe," Wichan said, his tone almost annoyed. "Pain is part of learning. You fight it, you lose. You embrace it, you grow."

Damon let out a shaky breath and tried to calm down as the pin hit the painful bone in his shin again.

The way his nerves were screaming in protest made him feel the heat from the friction.

"How much longer?" Damon muttered, his voice strained.

Wichan gave a small grin but didn't answer. He instead cautiously ran the rolling pin one last time over Damon's shin and then leaned back with a smug grunt.

"Done," Wichan said, putting the pin down. He looked at Damon with approving eyes. "Your body will thank you later. Now, stand."

Damon groaned as he struggled to stand up. His legs were shaking but they were still strong.

He shook his legs and rolled his shoulders to test how much weight was on his feet.

Even though the pain didn't go away, he felt strong, like his body was already getting used to it.

Wichan nodded, his expression serious. "Good. But remember, this is not the end. You must do this every day. Until pain is no longer pain."

Damon wiped the sweat from his brow and chuckled dryly. "Yeah, sounds fun."

Wichan's lips curved into a faint smile. "It is not fun. It is Muay Thai."

Wichan walked away, his pace steady, but his words carried weight. "Follow me. We now strengthen another part."

Damon's eyes widened as he stumbled after him. "Wait, I thought we were doing one part a day?"

Wichan didn't even look back; his answer was silence, and it was clear what he meant.

Damon sighed because he knew he couldn't win this argument. He limped along because the workout had made his shins hurt.

As they came around the gym's corner, Damon looked over and saw a small group of bamboo trees moving in the wind.

When Wichan stopped and pointed toward them, he went from being confused to... not confuse.

"Starting tomorrow, this is your punching bag," Wichan said in a quiet but authoritative way.

Damon blinked, his jaw tightening as he walked closer to one of the trees.

Hesitantly, he raised a fist and threw a light punch against the bamboo to test it. The impact sent a sharp vibration through his knuckles and up his arm.

"It's… solid," Damon muttered under his breath, shaking his hand.

Wichan smirked faintly, watching Damon with an almost amused expression. "For now," he said, his voice carrying a touch of mischief, "work on your elbows."

Damon glanced back at him, confused. "Elbows?"

Wichan turned and began walking away but threw one last remark over his shoulder. "Hit that tree as if it killed your parent."

Damon stared after him, his mouth slightly agape. "What the hell kind of pep talk is that?" he muttered.

Still, he squared up to the bamboo, rolling his shoulders and raising his arms.

The tree was no heavy bag, and every strike would test not only his strength but also his tolerance for pain.

He threw his first elbow, a sharp diagonal strike that connected with a dull thwack. His body jolted from the impact, and he grimaced, shaking out his arm.

"Yeah, this is gonna suck," he muttered before resetting his stance.

.

.

.

An hour later.

Damon could feel it.

Not his elbows growing stronger, no, that was a lie.

They hurt like hell, each strike sending a dull ache radiating up his arms. But it wasn't unbearable anymore.

It was the kind of pain that settled into a strange, almost comforting numbness. Painful, yes, but numb enough that he kept striking without hesitation, without care.

He gritted his teeth, focusing on the repetitive movement, and as he did, he noticed something.

The speed and power of his elbows were growing. Every strike carried more force, sharper precision.

It wasn't just mindless repetition, there was progress hidden beneath the pain.

This was another lesson Wichan had drilled into him: talent didn't make you the best.

Talent was just the potential to become the best if the work was put in.

Wichan had told him one you could have a lot of power in your arms, but if you can't use it, it's useless. Without skill, you can't know what power is. Not without control.

He kept those words in mind as he hit the bamboo again with his elbow, which cut through the air with great accuracy.

BANG!!

The sound kept going around, and his arms felt heavy but good in some way.

Wichan taught him that getting it right was very important, whether it was technique, form, or creativity.

But following a single plan wasn't necessary to get it right.

Wichan taught fighters to find what worked best for them because everyone was different.

One form doesn't work for everyone.

You need to be creative.

Adaptable.

Find what makes you unique.

It was about finding his rhythm, his style, and unleashing his potential in a way no one else could replicate.