And then there are, uh, more direct ways to use bodily functions to your advantage: "A kinda mean way to get an advantage over your opponent," says Dallas, "is to not wash your shorts pre-fight, and train in them too ... Or, if you pooped yourself in the ring and somehow ended in a position where your opponent is on bottom, one quick shift will give them a nice whiff of what's in your shorts. Better than a knockout punch." Oh, you think he's joking? Let us regale you with the story of the infamous Sylvia-Silva match:

"In January 2006, Tim Sylvia had a bad stomach virus and couldn't stop shitting, and sometime during one of the exchanges, he involuntarily squeezed one out," Dallas said, painting us a disgusting word picture. "Assuerio Silva had to endure being in close proximity to another man's poop, and smelling every warm, moist bit of it."

UFC
Assuerio Silva: Officially less badass than new parents neck-deep in soiled nappies.

Sylvia (the one in the brown corner) ended up winning the match. And yet, somehow, we can't bring ourselves to declare him the "winner" in all of this.

Still, the most Terrence lost in that instance were a couple of brain cells -- unlike the few cubic inches of bone mass he said goodbye to after his training partner hit him with a right cross that nearly obliterated his rib. "I'd never experienced a 10-out-of-10 on the pain scale before, but it was undeniable that this was it. I lay on the ground for over 20 minutes before I could even get myself to the side of the gym."

UFC
Doesn't matter how hard you train or how much you lift; breathing is still more important than everything.

Yeah, if you dream of stardom on the MMA circuit, then this is where it starts. A typical MMA match consists of two people beating the hell out of each other for 15 minutes (or 34 seconds if one of them is Ronda Rousey), which is actually the fun/relaxing part after the insane training both fighters probably went through. According to Terrence, "the training camp is an eight-week grind at the gym of being thrown against new, bigger opponents for up to seven hours a day."

UFC
"Fun" in this case meaning "Drive hours to the beach, dip a toe in, and then go home."

If that doesn't scare you off, you next need to consider the sheer cost. MMA doesn't seem like it'd be an expensive sport. A pair of gloves, a tribal tattoo, a gym membership, and you're golden. Right? Yeah, about that last one: "Most gyms charge heavy monthly membership rates -- especially for new recruits," explained Dallas. "At my gym, the rates are usually about $300 for the first month." Want private lessons? That's an additional $50 an hour. Now throw in another couple hundred dollars for the equipment.

Oh, and before you get anywhere near a ring, a doctor will first have to check you out and determine that your MMA career isn't in fact an elaborate suicide attempt. That shit cost Terrence $270 the last time, and it's all mandatory, so you can't exactly skimp out on it. For Terrence, you can throw in chiropractor visits ($340), supplements (up to $300), and healthy organic food (priceless, if it means you didn't do all that peeing for nothing).

Of course, you can take shortcuts, as with everything else in life. That's because ...

This, of course, is bullshit. Anyone who isn't a novice knows that sparring involves holding back enough not to injure the other person, even if they're much bigger/stronger. "He should've known this, and even someone his size should've been able to show what he knows without putting me in danger. His hesitation was a huge red flag for me."

Even the Gracie family, one of the most respected names in MMA, is guilty of McDojo'ing -- or at least aiding and abetting it. The Gracie Academy doles out certifications via pseudo-senseis who take just enough seminars (some freaking online) to get certified, and then run off to relieve marks of their rent money in exchange for teaching them how to grimace menacingly (this is much to the chagrin of other members of the family).

The Gracie Academy
"What's online? Cat GIF, cat GIF, proof I can totally kick Conor McGregor's ass, prank Vine ..."

Some guys cut out the middleman and straight-up lie, because printing out a forged certificate is the easiest thing in the cosmos. Hell, make yourself a Jedi while you're at it. But if you do it the right way and prepare yourself for years of rigorous training, the next thing you should know is ...

Neither Dallas nor Terrence have contacted staph (to this day, Terrence sadly pines over how he "never had the pleasure"), though both know it could happen at any time. Given their working environment, it's practically unavoidable. As Dallas told us, "These contagions usually are spread through body-to-body contact, which is both our main source of training and the whole point of MMA competition in the first place. Knowing that at any point you could get bled on by a complete stranger without knowing if they have something contagious, it's easy to become fairly paranoid."

Zuffa
Sadly, every fighter wrapped head-to-toe in bandages would only bring in ratings from King Tut enthusiasts.

In addition, even the cleanest gyms and fighters can become unwitting germ factories, because Mother Nature is malicious and gives no fucks about our soap and Clorox. Dallas elaborates: "Even at my gym, where the mats get regularly smothered in bleach, so many people are training on them during the day that it's hard to not eventually be in the nasty. Fighters are encouraged to shower after training sessions to avoid it, but most train a good portion of the day and may not be able to disinfect themselves in time."

And that's for clean, professional MMA people. Then there's the dirty, seedy, underground assholes in states like New York, where nothing is regulated, blood flows freely, HIV and Hepatitis C are more readily available than armbars, and anybody with the ability to say "I'm a doctor" can act as one at ringside. As Will says, "[Unregulated doctors] typically do the bare minimum, taking your vitals without doing any blood work, full checkup, or anything else that would ensure you're not infected with a contagious blood disease (as more than a few are). They won't do more than make sure you're alive. This, of course, is provided they even have doctors. Sometimes, the trainers just make them up."

michaeljung/iStock/Getty Images
You can tell they're fake doctors because their handwriting is legible.

Yeah, about that last part. Some doctors and trainers will just plain lie to get people in the ring, even in regulated states like New Jersey, where a trainer spent four years forging medical documents so his students could fight regardless of how closely their insides matched that of Patient Zero. In short: Whatever gym or ring you step into, there's a sizable chance you could come out looking like those hole-ridden athletes whose pictures we're not showing here because oh dear God no.

And once you've run the gauntlet of brutal training sessions, piss marathons, and nasty infections, you'll soon find ...