Beware Fat Men With Tight Belts

I’ve got karate class tonight, and I can’t stop thinking about a lesson my sensei learned the hard way on Tuesday night.

Sit-ups compress your guts, see. So when poor, hapless Sensei Miller paired up with me for the night’s workout and said we were going to do sit-ups, I felt a small pang of pity for him. He went first, and I held down his ankles and counted for him. Then we switched.

One — two — three… I felt the gurgling.

Four — five — six… I knew clenching just wasn’t going to help.

Seven — eight — *frap!* — nine — *frap!* –ten… I couldn’t help but laugh. Sensei said “don’t worry about it” and kept on counting.

At least it didn’t stink. After some push-ups and a kata we returned for our second set of sit-ups. I hoped the last set had squeezed me empty.

Sadly, no. I made it to about 13, then *frap* Again, I couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m a fat guy with a tight belt!” I explained, referring to my karate belt. At least Sensei laughed rather than deliver an empi (elbow) to my guts. Had it been taco night, I’m sure I’d have been in big trouble.

If you find yourself in a position to help a fat man with his sit-ups, heed this lesson. It may save your life.

About Mike Oliveri

Mike Oliveri is a writer, martial artist, cigar aficionado, motorcyclist, and family man, but not necessarily in that order. He is currently hard at work on the werewolf noir series The Pack for Evileye Books.

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