So I stumbled across this video of Frank Mir’s kid training and thought, hell, why not try it myself? Full disclosure: I ain’t no fighter, just a dad bod warrior chasing some intensity. Here’s how it went down minute by minute.
The Wake-Up Call Reality
Rolled outta bed at 5 AM feeling like death warmed over. His routine kicks off before sunrise. Chugged black coffee like medicine while scrolling through his training clips again. Grabbed my notebook and scribbled “DO NOT QUIT” in all caps. Already regretting this.
Warm-Up Or Suffering Prelude?
- Started with shadowboxing in my garage. Felt stupid at first, throwing punches at ghosts. Shoulders burned after 2 minutes.
- Jumped straight into kettlebell swings – 20 kg one, rusty from my garage dust. Lower back whispered threats by rep 15.
- Finished with battle ropes. Made it 45 seconds before gasping. Arms turned to jelly. Mirror was judging me.
The “Conditioning Is King” Hour
Frank’s kid does sprints till he pukes. I compromised:
- 10 rounds of prowler pushes across my driveway. Grass stains on knees by round 3.
- Sledgehammer slams on a tractor tire. Felt like a caveman. Blisters formed instantly.
- Sandbag carries up and down my street. Neighbors stared. Legs became concrete pillars.
Sparring With Ghosts (And Ego)
No training partners here. Drilled takedown defenses against a heavy bag dangling from my oak tree. Wrapped arms around it like a drunk hug. Bag won. Later attempted knee strikes on a pillow duct-taped to the wall. Pillow survived. My ego did not.
When Reality Hits Harder Than Pads
Showered feeling like a truck hit me. Ate six eggs straight from the pan. Fell asleep at my laptop by 9 PM. Biggest takeaway? His routine ain’t for mortals. Respect for fighters went up 300%. My back’s still whining, but weirdly… itching to try round two tomorrow. That 5 AM alarm’s gonna hurt like hell.
