KICKBOXING

Ever since my separation from my first husband my confidence had taken a major nose dive. Not one of those teeny tiny, oh-I-have-a-zit-gee-I-feel-unattractive-today kind of nose dives but the ones where I would think pretty small of myself, my life, my place in the universe. I think you get the idea. I barely wanted to leave my bed, let alone leave my house and hang out with strangers and SWEAT.

One of my big idiosyncrasies is, I hate to be a complete moron at something. I hate to look stupid. But it'd been 10 years (yes 10 years) since I'd done ANY kind of exercise and I was 35 pounds heavier than I ever had been in my life. I had no motivation, no discipline, and I was sorely lacking in the social skills department. Which is really ironic since I love hanging out and talking with people and being generally silly.

And I decided that ok...enough is enough. I need to grow some GUTS and just GO, see what it's like.

So I went. It just happens that that night, my friend at work didn't go. Which is a good thing, I think, because I would have been even more so nervous and feeling uncoordinated as I already did.

And the class was AWFUL. (For me anyway)

It was an hour and a half of, "Oh Mel, what are you DOING?" And I tried to keep up and I floundered and I sweated and panted and, yes it's true, almost passed out. The sensei, bless his soul, came over to the white-faced girl who had to go sit down for five minutes or she would SERIOUSLY pass out and wouldn't THAT be embarrassing and told her the proper way to breathe.

The other thing I noticed was how supportive the people were. One girl showed me the ropes. She told me how to present myself, what this meant, what that meant. The whole shebang. (Is that a word? Is now.) And probably the only reason I signed up was because I was so desperately needing to fit in, to feel a bunch of people around me and to feel support again.

At first I didn't get it. I couldn't do the splits to save my life. I went home each night and for 2 days I would be a mass of aches and pains. Only to go back 2 days later and start over again. I LIVED in Tiger Balm. Every hour before going to class I would agonize. I'd start the play in my head that managed to talk me out of so many things in my life. And somehow, I shut myself up and just said, "Knock it off. Go."

So each time I desperately did NOT want to go, were the times that I knew I HAD to.

A month, then two went by. I felt more comfortable throwing jabs and punches. I started to FEEL better. (Funny, how when you're out of shape, you think you can't exercise because you're not in enough shape to do it eh?)

And then came sparring.

Whoa, you actually hit people? YES! This isn't Tae Bo, kids!

So ok...I'm merrily struggling through some bag work with my fellow white belts and the sensei calls us all together in groups. Ok, 134 and under, go over there. 135 and over, you go over there. I took my place with the other 135 and overs. (Yeah yeah, I hold my weight well)

Anyway, so Melissa has two things she can't stand. A) being a moron and B) getting up in FRONT of people. So you can see the mental anguish I was going through as I was called to throw on the gloves. By the way, this was entirely up to me, we're allowed to abstain from sparring if we want, but, like some old guy once said, "Do it trembling if you must, but do it!"

So I threw on my gloves and jumped in the "ring".

Apparently I'm a bleeder. <laughs>

There's more, but the point of this little story is... (is there one?) I basically had to re-learn a bunch of ridiculous ideas about not being good enough or fast enough or WHATEVER I had been holding on to for a long time. And I realized that, after a few months, I wasn't a bad little fighter and it's amazing just how strong I really am. And I don't mean throwing punches either.

When I would come home with my requisite bruises and proudly show my roommate, she'd just look at me kind of funny and make sympathy noises. But the thing is...every bruise I EARNED. Every bloody nose I worked for. I was beginning to feel like the gutsy wench that I used to be.  I got to high yellow before I moved to California.

Number of people who think I'm insane for trying it: