On Wednesday afternoon, instead of sleeping or sitting around and playing Madden 2003 with a bag of Lays in my lap, I actually did some exercise. I didn't just hop on the stationary bike, pop Skittles and drink Sunkist. Instead, I spent my afternoon getting poked, prodded and pounded by big, hairy men.
Sounds like a night in the big house. But I didn't get arrested for JWB (Jaywalking While Black). I found myself at Blair wrestling practice, which I now know is much worse than jail.
Now I know what you're thinking: Cal couldn't wrestle a sedated teddy bear. Well that may be true, but that's never stopped me before.
We started practice by running up and down flights of stairs, which has got to be the most pointless exercise in the world. You run up and down, up and down, over and over again. On my third flight of steps, I was already beat and ready to stop, but senior wrestler Jacob Johnston kept yelling at me to "push it," which really meant "move it, fat boy." A bazillion steps later, I came to the conclusion that all staircases should be turned into escalators.
So after I worked off my two burritos and large Pepsi, we started doing push-ups, shaving away at last night's spaghetti with meatballs. Trying to turn my sagging excuse for a chest into attractive pectorals would have taken literally a million push-ups. We came pretty darn close.
I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize to my wrestling buddies for allowing my knees to hit the floor because, as they well know, when anyone touches the floor, everyone must endure the pain and suffering of more push-ups. I really am sorry. Please forgive me.
After the warm-up, we finally hit the mats. Once we got into the actual grappling, I was too tired to blink, but for the love of a good story I persevered.
Somehow, I allowed myself to be paired up with a 245-pound bear-of-a-boy named Big City. My initial thoughts were, "This is a joke; I'm going to pound this fat kid." But after he put one of his large, meaty pecs onto my back and made my knees touch my chin a few times, I quickly reassessed the situation.
By the time City was done with me, I found myself mumbling incoherent statements such as "sorry sir" and "Mommy, make it stop." But before everyone thinks Cal just got pulverized by some puny white boy named Big City, I would like to emphasize that he was a really big wrestler. So that makes it a little easier to swallow.
Cal's Call: I think I'm going to stick with my pen and pad and leave the wrestling to the guys in the singlets. The closest I'll get to wrestling is watching WWE Smackdown on Thursday nights.
Calvin Anderson. Calvin Anderson was born in Washington D.C. on January 3rd 1986. He now lives with his mom in Takoma Park Maryland. Calvin is the man behind the infamous column Cal's Call. In addition to writing his column he enjoys playing sports including lacrosse and basketball … More »