You all will never believe what I did on Tuesday night.
Or maybe you will believe it because you don’t fully know who I am yet. So before I start, let me paint you a picture.
I am not athletic. And when I say I am not athletic I don’t mean
“Oh, I played softball in middle school but that’s it.” or “Yeah I loved gym class as a kid, but I’m not an athlete or anything.”
No, people. I am not athletic whatsoever.
You know how everyone’s favorite class in elementary school is gym class? Because you get to play? Nope, hated it.
You know how every 8 year old’s favorite time of day is recess? I skipped it to take an extra violin lesson or go to the art room!
My elementary school had a “track & field” day every year which was basically a full day of recess spent outside playing games and sports. Well, I would “accidentally” wear a skirt every year so they would “make me” sit out. I distinctly remember my gym teacher making me do the mile walk/run anyway but at one point he lost track of how many laps I had actually done so I lied and told him I had one lap to go. I had much more than one lap to go.
In high school I was required to have a Health & Fitness credit to graduate, but I was in the top ten of my class of almost 400 students and I wanted to boost my GPA and not waste time in gym class. So I took the credit hours online over the summer between my sophomore and junior years.
Y’all. I took my high school gym class online.
I’ve never played a sport, not even for recreation. I’ve never been on any kind of team. I’ve never even taken a group fitness class besides one Zumba class when I was 14 and I got there late!
Are you starting to understand?
I am not athletic.
Well on Tuesday night, I took a level one Krav Maga class.
Excuse me, what now?
And this was not an “introductory” class, this was the level one class that had been going on already that I hopped into. I had never punched anything, not even a pillow during an emotional break-up or something. One of the upper level students had to teach me how to make a fist. And I have certainly never been punched or kicked at, that was the weirdest part for me. It was a solid hour of learning and practicing self defense and martial arts drills with strangers.
Overall, I’d say it was terrifying and incredible.
At the halfway break in the class I looked down at my hands and my knuckles were split and bleeding, I had bruises already starting to form, and I was visibly shaking. I teared up and nearly quit. Not because I was in pain or scared of sparring, but because I was surprised at how soft I truly am. I knew I was weak, but I never realized how ill-prepared I was to protect myself from another human being.
But I continued.
If I had to pick one word to describe myself it would be “independent.” I hate feeling like I am at the mercy of my husband’s availability to escort me when I want to walk my dog on a semi-secluded trail, or hang out in a crowded bar, or go to Walmart when it’s dark outside. I hate being dependent on another person to defend me if the need were to arise. That’s what prompted me to look for a self-defense class in the first place!
So I finished out the entire class (except the choking drills, my partner and I modified those; I don’t like people I’m familiar with touching me, let alone a complete stranger choking me) and watched most of the level two class while we talked to one of the instructors. Needless to say we are going back… twice a week.
My husband immediately signed up, but I was a little apprehensive. I think at one point I told both him and the instructor: “I don’t know if I’m cut out to do this.” Then later when I voiced the same concern to the other instructor, she looked at me and said,
“Of course you can do it, you already did it.”
That resonated with me somewhere deep down. I did do it. Little goody-two-shoes, never-even-seen-a-fight, non-athletic, hide-in-a-corner-and-read, anti-social, recess-skipping, weakling Emily did an entire Krav Maga class.
And maybe I’ll still be a weakling in a month, or in 3 months, or in 3 years, but at least now I’m a weakling training to become a bad-ass.
Dabbling Adult 