Zuckerberg has recently shared pictures of himself in a hospital bed, causing concern among fans and showing that he underwent quite a serious surgery. The Instagram post doesn’t provide details about the cause and timing of the surgery, but the billionaire did reveal that he had to give up something significant because of this medical procedure.
He really made jiu-jitsu a big part of his life, just like his business “stuff”.
Mark Zuckerberg’s unexpected foray into Brazilian jiu-jitsu has sparked widespread interest, shedding light on a facet of the tech magnate that extends beyond the digital realm. The co-founder of Facebook, set to reach the milestone of 40 years in May 2024, unveiled his newfound passion for martial arts that took root in August 2022.
Beyond the confines of Silicon Valley and the tech domain, Zuckerberg seems to have discovered an alternative arena where he can challenge himself and partake in a mode of self-expression that transcends the world of code.
The choice of Brazilian jiu-jitsu, a martial art known for its emphasis on technique and leverage, reflects Zuckerberg’s inclination towards a discipline that demands not only physical prowess but also strategic thinking. It’s a departure from the stereotypical image of a tech titan, underscoring the multifaceted nature of individuals and their pursuits.
“To some degree, MMA is the perfect thing because if you stop paying attention for one second you’re going to end up on the bottom,” the CEO of Meta said.
He is also a champion.
In a surprising turn of events at his inaugural Brazilian jiu-jitsu tournament in Redwood City, California, Zuckerberg achieved remarkable success by clinching gold and silver medals. This unexpected triumph sent ripples through the martial arts community, garnering attention and admiration from a broader audience.
Zuckerberg took to social media, particularly Instagram, to share the exhilarating news with his vast following of 11.3 million. Accompanying the announcement were captivating photos capturing moments of victory, as he posed alongside his coaches and engaged in ground battles with formidable opponents.
In his Instagram post, Zuckerberg humbly captioned the achievement, stating, “Competed in my first jiu-jitsu tournament and won some medals,” accompanied by emojis depicting a gold and silver medal. He graciously acknowledged the crucial role of his three trainers, tagging them in the post and expressing gratitude for their guidance.
Mark even put an octagon in his garden, and his wife was not very happy about it.
Mark Zuckerberg has taken his martial arts training to the next level, and it seems like it’s causing a bit of a stir at home. The Facebook and Meta founder recently revealed on social media that he installed a fighting cage, a UFC octagon, in his backyard. His excitement was evident as he shared a screenshot of his conversation with his wife, Priscilla Chan, asking if she had seen the new addition and commenting on how awesome it looked.
However, Chan’s response was less enthusiastic. She mentioned that she had been working on the grass in the backyard for two years, indicating that the sudden appearance of a fighting cage wasn’t exactly part of her landscaping plans.
Not one to shy away from public opinion, Zuckerberg decided to let his followers have a say in the matter. He posted a poll, asking whether he should keep the cage or prioritize preserving the grass.
This unconventional backyard setup is not just a personal whim but seems to be connected to the ongoing banter between Zuckerberg and Tesla founder Elon Musk. The two tech titans have been playfully challenging each other to a cage match, with Musk even suggesting that their fight could be live-streamed on X, with all proceeds going to charity for veterans.
In the midst of this lighthearted exchange, Musk shared that he’s preparing for the showdown by lifting weights throughout the day, showcasing a commitment to the bout that goes beyond mere words.
As the anticipation for this unconventional clash between tech giants builds, it’s clear that for Zuckerberg and Musk, this fight is more than just a physical contest, combining competition with a charitable cause.
An unexpected injury resulted in him missing a crucial competition.
Zuckerberg has recently undergone surgery following an ACL injury that occurred during mixed martial arts (MMA) training. The co-founder of Facebook shared this information through an Instagram post, where he mentioned, “I tore my ACL (anterior cruciate ligament) sparring and just got out of surgery to replace it.”
In the post, Zuckerberg also disclosed that he had been training for a competitive MMA fight scheduled for early next year but acknowledged the delay caused by the injury. Despite this setback, he expressed optimism, stating, “Still looking forward to doing it after I recover.” The Instagram post included several photos taken at an undisclosed hospital, capturing moments before and after the surgery, with his wife Priscilla Chan offering support during the recovery process.
Priscilla Chan was there every step of the way, wiping Mark’s forehead and helping him with his slides after his recent surgery. It’s a touching testament to the unwavering support and care she brings to their marriage. Their connection goes beyond the challenges, resonating in their love for their children and their shared commitment, even to tasks as humble as being janitors.
Mark and Priscilla’s promise of an annual honeymoon is a simple yet powerful tradition that underscores their dedication to keeping their relationship strong amid the hustle of their busy lives.
This story isn’t just about Zuckerberg’s surgery or their unique honeymoon ritual. It’s a peek into the personal lives of influential figures, revealing universal themes of love, commitment, and the crucial role of being there for each other through thick and thin. It’s a reminder that even tech giants have personal moments that reflect the fundamental aspects of human connection.
Mark Zuckerberg is a true fighter in real life, just as he battled to win his wife’s heart and make her fall in love with him.
Preview photo credit zuck / Instagram
During my grandfather’s funeral, a stranger gave me a note — I couldn’t help but laugh after reading it because Grandpa had played a trick on us
At Grandpa’s funeral, 18-year-old Dahlia feels isolated as her family fumes over the pitiful $1 inheritance. But when a stranger slips her a secret note, Dahlia is pulled into a mystery only she can solve.
I stood by the graveside, hands clenched in the pockets of my too-small black dress, listening to the priest’s droning voice blend with the rustle of the wind.
This was the saddest day of my life, but everyone else in the family seemed more concerned with glaring at each other than mourning Grandpa.
I could feel their bitterness lingering in the chilly October air, thick like syrup. One dollar each. That’s all Grandpa left us in his will, and they were furious. But me? I wasn’t angry. Just… hollow.
Grandpa wasn’t supposed to be gone. He was the only person who ever saw me, not the mess-up or the spare kid nobody paid attention to, but me. He let me in when no one else cared.
I stared down at the flowers resting on his coffin. I’d brought him a red rose, and it stood out among the white daisies everyone else had placed on the casket.
“One dollar,” Aunt Nancy hissed from behind me. “One damn dollar! That man was loaded, and this is what we get?”
Uncle Vic let out a bitter laugh. “Right? I swear he did it on purpose, the spiteful old man.”
“Typical Dad,” Mom muttered, crossing her arms tight across her chest. “He always played favorites, and Dahlia here was his little pet. Bet she got something we don’t know about.”
Aunt Nancy’s eyes cut toward me, sharp as glass. “What did he leave you, Dahlia? Anything? Don’t act like you didn’t get something.”
I stiffened. “I got the same as all of you.”
Mom’s fingers tightened over my shoulder. “Are you sure?” she asked in a low voice. “You were always with him. Maybe he told you something… think hard, Dahlia. You owe it to your family to share whatever he gave you.”
Memories came rushing back of Grandpa’s goofy stories about long-lost treasure and the butterscotch candies he always kept in his coat pocket.
Sometimes, he’d wink at me and say, “One day, kiddo, I’m leaving you a treasure. Real treasure!” But it was just a game, a joke between us.
I shook my head and turned my gaze back to the coffin. “What Grandpa gave me was his love, his stories, and a place that felt more like home than my actual home. Those things were worth more than money, and there’s no way I can—”
“Nobody cares about any of that!” Mom snapped. “Think, girl! What happened to all of his money?”
I shrugged. I truly didn’t know the answer to her question and didn’t care. Grandpa was gone. He was my confidant, my safe place, my friend. I’d lost the most important person in the world, but all they cared about was slapping a price tag on his death.
“She knows something,” Vic muttered, loud enough for me to hear.
Their voices twisted together, accusing, scheming — like they could squeeze secrets out of me if they tried hard enough. But I had no secrets that could earn them more money.
The second they realized there’d be no fortune, they turned away from the grave and stormed off. I could still hear them bickering as they walked away, lashing out at each other like vultures. It made me sick.
“You must be Dahlia.”
I looked up to see a woman, maybe in her 60s, with kind eyes and a worn leather bag slung over her shoulder. Her smile was soft and secretive, like she knew something the rest of us didn’t.
“I was a friend of your grandpa’s,” she said, leaning in as if we were co-conspirators. “He asked me to give you this.”
Before I could respond, she slipped a folded piece of paper into my hand and whispered, “Don’t let anyone see it, especially your family.”
Her presence felt surreal, almost dreamlike, and before I could say anything, she was gone, swallowed by the crowd of mourners. My heart pounded in my chest as I unfolded the note.
111 locker — Southern Railway Station.
For a second, I stood frozen, the words blurring in front of me. Then it hit me: Grandpa’s “treasure.” A laugh bubbled up from my throat, inappropriate and wild, but I couldn’t help it. He wasn’t joking after all.
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The note was tucked under my pillow like a secret. Grandpa’s voice echoed in my mind, playful yet certain: “Locker number 111… There’s treasure in there, kiddo!”
A weight settled on my chest, something between grief and hope. What if this wasn’t just some wild goose chase? What if Grandpa had really left something for me, hidden away where no one else could reach?
The thought twisted around in my mind until I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know what was in that locker.
I called a cab the next morning. It was the first thing I did after I woke up. As I tiptoed past the kitchen, I could hear Mom muttering on the phone about Grandpa’s will, probably trying to squeeze sympathy or cash out of anyone who would listen.
I clenched my jaw and slipped out the door, the chilly morning air hitting my skin like a slap.
The ride to Southern Railway Station felt like the longest 20 minutes of my life.
My knee bounced with nervous energy as the cab wound through narrow streets, past graffiti-covered walls, and empty coffee shops just starting to open. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror but didn’t say a word.
When we finally pulled up at the station, I stepped out and asked him to wait for me. I clutched the note tightly as I entered the train station.
The station smelled like diesel and stale popcorn. People rushed past me in every direction — commuters, travelers, strangers with places to go.
I hesitated at the entrance, suddenly feeling small and out of place. But then Grandpa’s voice floated back into my mind, steady and reassuring: “Real treasure, kiddo.”
I took a deep breath and headed toward the lockers and I could hear my heart pounding. Rows of metal boxes lined the wall, each one looking identical: gray, dented, and slightly rusty.
My eyes scanned the numbers until I found number 111.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded note. The key was taped to the back. With trembling fingers, I peeled it off and slid it into the lock.
For a second, it jammed, and I panicked. But then — click! The lock turned, and the door swung open.
Inside was a duffel bag. It was old, faded, and heavy. My hands shook as I pulled it out and unzipped it.
The bag was full of cash. Bundles upon bundles of it!
I gasped, my mind reeling. It couldn’t be real, could it? I reached in and pulled out a stack, flipping through crisp hundred-dollar bills. There had to be at least $150,000 in there.
And tucked inside the bag was another note, written in Grandpa’s messy scrawl:
For my beloved granddaughter, everything I saved is now yours. Take it and live free, kiddo. The rest of the family may not see your worth, but I’ve always believed in you.
Tears blurred my vision, and I hugged the note to my chest, a knot forming in my throat. This wasn’t just money. It was freedom — a way out.
Grandpa always knew how badly I needed to escape this family. And now, he’d given me exactly what I needed and tricked everyone else in the process!
I zipped the bag shut, slung it over my shoulder, and walked out of the station, my heart pounding in tune with my footsteps.
The early morning sun was just starting to peek through the clouds, casting everything in a soft, golden light. For the first time in years, I felt… light.
During the cab ride back, I stared out the window, watching the city come to life. I had options now. No more suffocating family dinners, no more being ignored or treated like an afterthought, no more being the family scapegoat.
I could leave. I could build something new.
The thought scared me as much as it excited me, but Grandpa’s voice echoed in the back of my mind: “Live free, kiddo.”
As the cab pulled up to my house, I made my decision. I wasn’t staying. Not another minute!
I didn’t even bother going inside. I pulled out my phone, booked a ticket to anywhere, and told the driver to head straight to the airport.
With the duffel bag in my lap and Grandpa’s note tucked safely in my pocket, I smiled for the first time in days.
I was free. And for the first time in my life, I knew exactly what that meant.
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