"Do Something That Scares You" And Other Misguided Pieces of Advice
I was 49 years old the first time I stepped into a wrestling ring. It had started randomly enough. I was setting up to play a show with the man behind the mask of El Flaco Loco (I won't reveal his shoot name because that's the law of the luchas) when he mentioned that he'd be late getting there that night because he had a wrestling match. Now mind you, this was in the infant months of post-pandemic America, and the whole world was buzzing with the electricity of everybody wanting to start sucking the proverbial marrow out of life after basically retreating to our caves for about three years, so consider that in context when I tell you that for whatever reason, my interest was piqued. So I asked a couple of questions, got the obligatory, "you should come by and train with us some time" and put that in my back pocket for a different day. Fast forward a month or two and I'm walking in the door of a professional wrestling training facility. I had no idea what I ...