The story of how I ended up hitting a punching bag at a kickboxing gym in the Netherlands when I was supposed to be teaching Japanese

Peter Aerts
Semmy Schilt
Ernesto Hoost
Remy Bonjasky
Alistair Overeem

There probably isn't a man between the ages of 40 and 50 who hasn't heard these names.

Yes, these are the successive champions from the era when K-1 was at its peak, from the mid-1990s to around 2010.

And have you noticed?

That they have something in common.

What is that commonality?

It goes without saying,

that they are all Dutch. ← Well, maybe you wouldn't normally know that.

Back then, when I was a college student, I would gather at a friend's house night after night to watch the NBA and Serie A.

It was a time when Michael Jordan, Pippen, Allen Iverson, and in Europe, Beckham, Zidane, Hidetoshi Nakata, and Shinji Ono were making headlines in sports news every day.

This was years before the advent of internet streaming or YouTube.

K-1 was also one of the best forms of entertainment.
I would watch the TV screen with rapt attention.

My hero at the time was Ernesto Hoost, who possessed both the humility and strength of a samurai.

I was glued to his exceptional punching skills and whip-like kicks.

Therefore, I am the type of person who has been quite passionate about K-1 and martial arts.

It is no exaggeration to say that I possess a fairly good aesthetic eye.

But however!!

But however!!

That is a completely different story.

I never imagined that at 45 years old, I would end up doing kickboxing.

"Why, oh why??"

Now is the time I want to shout it out just like Eikichi Yazawa.

How did it come to this?

I find it completely baffling myself.

Let's organize the story for a moment.

The story up until last time went like this.

Yes.

The student who said he wanted to learn Japanese was the owner of a kickboxing gym, and I had received from him the right to use the gym for free forever.

And today was his Japanese lesson day, but along with that, I was gifted a completely private kickboxing lesson from him.

A message had come in on WhatsApp last night saying, "I'll teach you kickboxing before the Japanese lesson."

At this point, there was no escaping it.

Moreover, when I looked closely, it said he would teach me kickboxing before the Japanese lesson. Wouldn't I be all sticky with sweat?

Hmm, let's see. I played soccer until junior high school. In university, I was in a tennis club and studied commercial law. Since becoming a working adult, I've occasionally done futsal and mountain climbing.

But the last time I kicked a soccer ball or climbed a mountain was about seven years ago.

Since then, I've done some running during my parental leave after my daughter was born, and lately, I've just been riding my bike to drop her off at nursery school every day, so I haven't really been exercising.

If anything, my level as a kitchen drinker has only increased, and I'm starting to worry about the spare tire around my middle and visceral fat that comes with middle age.

In the midst of all that, to think I'd end up doing kickboxing in such an unexpected way...

As soon as I arrived at the gym at 2:00 PM.

My right fist was wrapped in something like a simple bandage, and then further encased in a glove.

My left hand was the same.

I was just going along with it.

And then, an hour of hell began.

The first 15 minutes were relatively easy.

It was what you'd call footwork practice.

I couldn't do it well, but I moved forward, backward, left, and right while controlling my center of gravity. However, even during this, I had to keep both hands up at face level in a guard position.

Even in these 15 minutes, because I was mostly in a half-crouch, the T-shirt I was wearing was soaked with sweat.

It was a pleasant sweat.

"Today is the first day, and it's an introductory trial, so I guess it's over now."

That's what I was thinking.

But,

After the weight shifting, punch practice began.

"Huh?? We're still going?"

For the first time in my life, I found myself facing a punching bag.

Since I'm right-handed, I practiced my left jab and right cross over and over again.

Left, right, left, right, for a total of 100 reps. Do that for 3 sets.

The low temperature in Groningen, northern Netherlands, today is 2 degrees Celsius, and the high is 7 degrees. My iPhone says the 'feels like' temperature is 3 degrees, though.

It's cold enough to make even me, Yametaro, who has lived in Hokkaido and Geneva, want to instinctively put my hands in my pockets.

Even so, sweat is pouring out of me.

At my feet, the sweat dripping from my forehead has formed several droplets, creating a polka-dot pattern.

Next, I do 10 jabs and crosses on each side, followed by 10 sit-ups, repeated 10 times. That means 100 punches and 100 sit-ups. ← My arms won't go up anymore.

From there, another 100 sit-ups.

Then, a plank facing down, a plank on my right side, and a plank on my left side, for 30 seconds each.

And then, one more time, 10 sets of left/right jabs and crosses, followed by rising from a plank position to repeat the jabs and crosses.

That was pretty brutal.

If it had ended 10 minutes, no, even 2 minutes later, I would have thrown up. Or passed out.

I looked up at the clock.

It was 3:00 PM.

For the first time in a while, I'm breathing heavily with my shoulders heaving.

And for the first time in years, the sweat pouring from my forehead is getting into both my eyes, making them sting.

I worked up a good sweat.

No.

Something is wrong.

It's not that refreshing.

A sense of exhaustion that feels like it's draining my life force.

The sweat isn't even clean, a gift from my daily unhealthy habits.

And besides, I was supposed to be teaching Japanese, so how did I end up learning kickboxing?

As I wrote in a previous article, Yametaro gets special treatment and everything is free.

Still, why on earth is Yametaro doing kickboxing??

And as for how much a student who voluntarily signs up for this pays...?

Believe it or not...

Per hour...

65 euros (a little over 10,000 yen).

In Japan, that's about the same level as a lawyer's consultation fee, or even more.

Even so, many students flock to him (the Japanese language student) seeking private or group lessons.

I, barely clinging to life, somehow managed to get through the subsequent Japanese lesson (one hour) and went home.

People say that when you get to be an old guy, muscle pain hits you two days later.

That theory is whispered as if it were true, but it's a lie.

Apparently, there is no scientific evidence for it either.

The only basis for this seems to be that "as you get older, you learn to hold back, so no matter how hard you train, you rarely give it your all, and as a result, muscle soreness doesn't set in until a few days later."

And it is currently 8:00 PM.

My whole body is already completely wrecked.

Yes, if you push yourself hard enough, muscle soreness will definitely hit you on the same day!!

Arms... won't go up
Hips... won't bend left or right
Thighs... feel like they'll cramp if I let my guard down
Calves... feel like they'll cramp and fall off if I let my guard down

I wonder when the last time I felt this much fatigue was.

I haven't pushed myself this hard since maybe the Imperial Palace marathon I did in my seventh year of working as a professional.
Other than that, maybe hiking Mount Hiuchigatake or Mount Myoko, where I walked for about 12 hours a day. But even with hiking, you can set your own pace and manage it yourself.

I have ongoing Japanese lessons booked for the future as well.

Every Friday at 1:00 PM.

And either before or after that, a one-hour kickboxing training session.

"Why, oh why??"

"Why, oh why??"

"Why, oh why??"

A memorandum for a long autumn night where the lyrics to 'Ari yo Saraba' keep repeating in my head.

What should I do, Mr. Yazawa!!

What should I do, Ernesto Hoost!!

Ah, I want to work.

Ah, I want to drink a beer.