There are three types of bearhugs the way I reckon it.
One is what I call the Painful hug, the next is what I call the Disabling hug, and the third I’d call the Oblivion hug.
My first named example is the most common. You see them in Television wrestling all the time. It involves the victim being grabbed around the waist and crushed. The victim can still breathe and never loses consciousness, but the pressure applied to the abdomen and lower back causes excruciating pain. Usually it’s enough to make the victim beg for mercy, if the bearhugger is good.
The second is when the victim is held around the upper chest and squeezed. The bearhug restricts the chest and, if the bearhugger is strong enough, can result in unconsciousness fairly quickly. The more the victim struggles, the faster the knock-out is achieved.
The third is the most devastating. This is when a bearhug is applied to the middle of the torso. The effectiveness of this hold is usually dependent on the strength of the bearhugger and the weakness of the victim. With a well-executed Oblivion hug, the victim’s ribs are crushed in so as to both suffocate and torture the unfortunate soul.
My analysis is based on personal observations from the summer of 2008.
That year was my Rennaissance year. I had just signed papers on a nasty divorce and had spent three dedicated months with an expensive personal trainer to get in the best shape of my life. After ten years sitting behind a desk and a calculator, my accounting days were over when I quit my job at H&R Block and became the bookeeper for Ultimate Fitness America. The side benefit was free membership and free training with Rocco Benizzio, trainer of champions.
Three long months of training two hours a day, four days a week with a man who took bodybuilding as a lifestyle and not a choice had allowed me to transform from 120-lb weakling to a 160-lb buff 37 year old that sometimes turned heads on the street.
I stood almost 5’-7” so my 160lbs went a long way. Completely unlike my trainer, the man-mountain of Orange, New Jersey. Rocco was a beast of a man, standing as tall as any NBA player at 6’-5” but as wide as any NFL linebacker as he tipped the scales at over 300lbs. At my last weigh-in with him, where I reached the 160-lb milestone, I prodded him to get on the scale as well. Being as how the fancy electronic scale was meant for well-to-do clients and not enormous behemoths, he literally tipped the scale which only went up to 300lbs.
After three months of being forced to train me by the gym owner, Rocco and I had developed a tenuous relationship. At first we were amicable and I took his abruptness as part of the deal since I knew he would not steer me wrong. After all his reputation was at stake if I failed miserably. But I grew weary of his taunts and belittling comments and soon gave it right back to him, tit-for-tat. At the three month mark, when I hit the milestone, I had muscles where no muscles had ever been before. He put me through a rigorous workout that lasted well past closing time at the gym. It was near midnight when the session ended and I hit the showers. I was sore, aching and as exhausted as I had ever been.
Twenty minutes in a hot shower goes a long way towards easing overworked muscles, and by the time I stood in front of my locker drying off, I felt almost rejuvenated. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and hit some poses. I looked damn good! I hit a double-bi and admired the softball-sized bulges on my arms. My once-rounded shoulders were now squared off and capped my delts the size of melons. My abs were, well… you could definitely wash clothes on them.
I was impressive. I was happy. I was positive. I was positively unprepared for the attack from behind as two enormous arms wrapped themselves around my chest and lifted me off the ground.
“I think you owe me three months of service, little man.” Rocco’s gruff voice whispered in my ear before he squeezed. Although, I doubt that “squeeze” is an appropriate term. You can squeeze a lemon or squeeze a stuffed animal. The two arms wrapped around my chest simply and effectively crushed me. That was my first Disabling hug. I flailed and struggled but it was as effective as a mouse in a python’s grip. This was why some bearhuggers used the term “python” so much. With every exhaling breath, Rocco’s squeeze got tighter and tighter, and in no time I felt my breath grow cold and my vision began to darken. My last thoughts were of snow in Manhattan and the taste of Dr. Pepper. These were the effects of oxygen deprivation that soon disappeared and blended into the nothingness of sleep.
I awoke with a dull headache and…cold. Soon I came fully awake and realized that I was still nearly naked. Nearly because I was now wearing a pair of shorts, the kind that the gym sells to its clients. I also soon recognized where I was. The gym’s Yoga room. It was padded generously and additional pads from the stretching room. I got to my feet and the room exploded with light. My burning eyes finally adjusted to the new brightness and I saw the other man in the room.
“Are you ready for payback?” Rocco smirked as he walked toward me. He was wearing a tight black tanktop and black board shorts that were snug against his pillar-like legs. He stood five feet from where I was standing and tensed his muscles for show.
“What the fuck are you doing asshole?” I steadied my voice and feigned bravery. “You’re not just going to get fired for this. You’ll never work for another gym in the Western Hemisphere if you don’t stop whatever bullshit you’re thinking of doing.”
Rocco laughed. Not really laughed, more like bellowed a deep grumble. “You’re assuming that you’re going to walk out of here in one piece, twirp.”
I laughed. “Alright, alright man. Enough’s enough. I’ll pay you for the training. I get it.” I made towards the door as I spoke, walking right past him. “You didn’t need all the theatrics.”
Barely ten feet from the door I was violently yanked by my hair to the floor, where I landed with a thump. I rolled out of the way seconds before Rocco’s bare foot slammed down where my chest had been. I rolled into a ball and crouched menacingly. Don’t ask, I’ve watched every Bourne Identity movie at least a dozen times each.
“Oh shit! Look at that…the twirp has got some moves.” Rocco widened his stance and motioned with his outstretched hands. “Come on. Get past me.”
I grabbed a towel that was on a hook within arms’ reach and threw it at Rocco’s face. The three seconds that it took for him to swat it away gave me enough time to close the distance between us and land the hardest punch I’ve ever landed squarely against his jaw. Not giving him time to react, I followed up with a volley of punches to his gut and sides. I stepped back to see where he’d fall and my heart dropped when I saw him smiling back at me, completely unaffected.
“Not bad,” he laughed as he placed his arms behind his back and closed his eyes, “I’ll give you sixty seconds to try that again…for real this time.”
I looked past him at the door. I ran up and started punching him with everything I had, but it was like hitting a punching bag stuffed with concrete. My knuckles began to bleed when I finally made a break for it. I reached the doorway and pulled on the glass door, but it didn’t budge. There was no lock on the door itself so I was confused for a second, and by the time I noticed the wooden wedge on the floor, I was flying backwards with a clamp wrapped around my neck. The room spun a bit before I landed against a mirrored wall and bounced right off onto the floor. The room was still spinning when I felt another clamp on my throat and soon I was off my feet in the air.
“You should’ve tried knocking me out. At least it would’ve made sense.” He choked me until tears swelled in my eyes and I felt my face get red. When I felt the room begin to grow cold, he threw me to the ground and I gasped for air.
“Kumala!!!!” he yelled as he threw himself atop me with a splash. Every bone in my body rattled as the immense bulk of muscle landed atop me. I’m sure I felt some bones snap. I tried to scream, but with Rocco’s full weight bearing down on me, I could not take a breath in. I gurgled and gasped until he got up on knees and elbows hovering over me.
“This is fun.” Rocco laughed as he threw himself atop me again. Then he repeated the process twice, three times, four, five…I lost count when I could barely stand to keep my eyes open and bile filled my mouth.
Then he straddled me and I wheezed as all that weight settled on my lower abdomen. I automatically pounded at his legs with my fists, but I might as well have been pounding on the concrete floor beneath the pads. Unfortunately this prompted the beast into action as he squeezed his tree-trunk thighs together and crushed my already-battered torso. I screamed this time, pounding harder with my fists against his massive legs as breathing became a labored effort. When my arms began going limp Rocco eased the pressure and I gasped for air. I opened my eyes and saw his blue, sinister eyes staring back at me above a lopsided grin.
“You took three months out of my life, twirp. I trained you harder than I had anyone in the past few years. Look what I have to show for it.” He rolled his eyes.
“I did…did ev-v-veything t-t-that you told me to….everything…”
“You spent three months doing everything I told you to look like you have muscles. But you ignored everything I told you to get STRONG.”
“No…man…I-I-I’m strong man…I’m n…..AAARGH!!!!!!” I screamed as Rocco squeezed his thighs and crushed my torso once again.
“You’re pathetic you skinny little twirp. You look bigger than before, but you’re just as weak as you ever were. I know Mike, because I was there every step of the way.”
He let go and I gasped for air again. “I…I can bench three plates man…three fucking plates.” I pleaded.
“You should be pressing FIVE! I set you up to be benching at least 400lbs by now.” Rocco got up but still remained straddling me. “If you had followed my journal correctly, you would be able to lift me off of you right now.” With that, he lunged forward and landed completely atop me, burying my face in his massive chest right between his enormous pecs.
“Lift man…lift!” Rocco growled down to me, making sure to shift his bodyweight so that it was resting wholly & completely on top of me.
I buried my hands under his wide lats and pushed. I pushed with all my might and for a second I felt some relief from the pressure crushing down on me. But my strength gave out and soon I merely lay there, feeling the life slowly drain out of me as I was flattened into a human pancake.
Rocco finally decided that I’d had enough and did a pushup off of me and stood over me.
If this had been a WWE match, I would’ve been frantically tapping out. I was done. Ready for the three count. But there was no referee, no crowd, no cameras. It was just me and 300lbs of sadistic muscle. He bent down, took me by the arm and yanked me upright, then with his enormous paw slapped me in the middle of the chest and sent me tumbling to the floor again. A red mark covered almost my entire throbbing chest.
“I helped you grow that chest little man.” Rocco snorted, “I can help you lose it.” He pulled me back up and slapped me across the chest again. I could not breathe for a full minute.
Soon the beast was dragging my limp body upright with a chokehold. He waited for me to peel my eyes open enough to see him, before felling me with a vicious head-butt that split my forehead. I hit the floor hard and tasted the blood flowing across my face.
This is when I came to feel the next bearhug…the painful one.