Almost twenty years ago I was in a fight in Honduras. At the time I was in my late 20s, and about 250 lbs or so, beefy and strong but overweight. I wrestled in high school (and wasn’t very good) and boxed in college (and I was a little better). Late at night, 3 youths accosted me. They were skinny teenagers, perhaps about 130 lbs each at most, and they attacked me with rocks and beer bottles.
They were very hesitant to get close to me (we were sort of in a “running battle” through the streets of the small town of Copan as I was heading home) and mostly threw the rocks and bottles at me. With my adrenaline pumping, I didn’t feel any of it and laughed it off while cursing them. Finally, at some point, one of them got close and I grabbed him. It was like wrestling with a child, or a rag doll, it felt like at the time, and I got him in a headlock and punched him until he collapsed. He was absolutely no threat and the struggle was almost comical – I recall thinking at the time that the guy almost felt like he went limp or something. Shortly after the other guys ran off (and picked up their prone compatriot, I think) and I got home.