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When I was in elementary/middle school, I convinced my mom to let me keep some of her old furniture that she was going to throw away in the basement. So, I made a "ring" out of a sofa, a mattress/box spring set, a recliner, and an armchair. Pretty shoddy stuff, but at least it meant I wasn't doing moves onto concrete, I guess.
Usually, it was just me letting off some steam by pounding the hell out of my Hulk Hogan wrestling buddy (poor bastard...). Once in a while, I'd set up elaborate cards that no one would ever see. Good stuff.
But, in middle school, I finally made a friend that enjoyed wrestling, so we'd do the occasional move in the "ring." Nothing spectacular, as we were thirteen or so, but we had fun. Worst injury either of us had was when I sprained my right ring finger when I rolled out of the way of a big splash, but couldn't get my hand all the way clear. Ouchie.
Years later (maybe freshman year of college?), a couple of friends and I were messing around on my trampoline until my huge friend (he was an offensive lineman) hit a chopblock (we planned it out so it looked good, but didn't hurt). Downside was, we were on a trampoline, so when we both hit the "canvas," he bounced back up and caught me in the face with his foot, busting my lower lip open.
And that's the story of my first hardway juice.
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