Monday, I got up at 4:45 AM and drove over, first making sure I’ve eaten half a protein bar despite my stomach protesting the early hour. Because I’m always anxious about getting places late, I was there fifteen minutes early and got a chance to chat with the instructor, Carrie, a peppy woman maybe 10-15 years older than I. The gym’s fairly minimal: mats and bags. Four other women arrived, and we got started.
Shock number one. We’re learning self-defense, but this is also a fitness bootcamp with a hearty dose of circuit training included. I find the fact that I walk a lot and do a plank once every few days has totally deluded me to my state of fitness. This is brought painfully home during the jumping rope section. I haven’t done it in decades and simply cannot do more than a couple without hitting my feet. Still, I persevere.
We spend some time hitting and kicking the bags. It’s satisfying. I like it because it’s getting me used to the idea of using my body like that. This part of the drill is kinda killer, though, as we alternate hitting/kicking with things like push-ups, side bridges, and jumping squats.
It’s a long time before an hour is over.
Wednesday I get up at the same time, eat some yogurt, and decide I’ll walk over. Things are dark at 5 am, but not too bad, and I get there in plenty of time. We’ve lost one person and are down to four now. It’s much like the last session, particularly the humiliation of the jumprope session, but this time, somewhere in the middle of sit-ups, I find myself on the point of tears at how unfit I am and how painful all of this is. It’s unpleasant to the point where the thought of just apologizing and walking out flits across my mind. But again I persevere. Towards the end, we learn how to break free if someone grabs your arm, by always moving towards the spot where the resistance is least.
Afterward I walk home. It feels uphill all the way, and actually is, due to West Seattle’s geography. It’s highly unpleasant and I stride along grumpily wishing I’d driven.
Keeping that in mind, I decide to drive over on Friday. I’m surprised by the internal objections to going I’m feeling when I get up that Friday morning. What if it’s as bad as it was on Wednesday? What if it’s worse? I finally talk myself into it with a promise: if it’s that bad, then I will let myself quit after this session. Having managed my yogurt and drunk some water, I head over.
And it’s not as bad as I thought. I actually manage five jumps in rapid succession with the jumprope. (I do follow this triumph up by somehow managing to tangle myself in the rope to the point where I feel absurd and pray that no one is watching.) I’ve ordered my own online and it’ll arrive Saturday, so I can practice a little before Monday’s class. Overall I feel peppier than I have before, to the point where there are moments where I might actually be enjoying myself, such as the warm-up where we’re circling to the sound of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” and the dodgeball session. Make no mistake, though, there’s still plenty of pain.
I leave feeling pretty good about the week. The class is one quarter over, and I think I’d be a bit better equipped if someone came at me. Next week includes the Ladies Basic Gun Training on the 4th so that should come with its own set of revelations, given that I grew up in a household where we were forbidden toy guns.
Buying a notebook for a writer? There’s so many to pick from, and you can opt for the one that best suits your recipient’s writerly type.
4 Responses
That’s a different approach to a self defense class. I’ve never seen one that was built on improving fitness before. I’m very intrigued by the idea that you’re going to look at guns. I’m very skeptical about the use of guns for self defense except in very specific circumstances. I’ll be interested to see what the teacher says and what you make of it.
The gun class is a separate and unconnected thing, not part of this. I figured I would sign up for such a class since I’ve been meaning to for a while.
Hi!
After 63 years, I found myself in discussions where I was told, “I have a gun.” After much soul searching, I bought a Walther PK360. Took the ten hours of mandatory training, and now am licensed. 2x a year, I hit the range to keep responsible. Ammo is stored separately from the gun.
I never have had any issues with guns, and have hunting rifles that I rarely use. But a pistol? Times change.
When Wayne and I first moved in together, I didn’t realize he’d come with several guns for a while. He grew up in the country and learned how to shoot pretty early on.
I figure I’d like to know how they work and how they feel when you shoot one. It’s all grist for the writing mill.