I’m in loooooooove with the kickboxing. It’s all I can think about lately. And it’s only Friday today, why must Monday be so far away? That’s when I’ll wake up smiling, knowing there’sonly ten hours til I can kick and punch once more.
It usually takes me ages to get in the mood for exercise; I start out praying for power failures, earthquakes or similar catastrophes so I can go home. But at kickboxing class I’m hyper right away, smashing my glove into my fist with gleeful anticipation. The delirium lasts the whole hour, even when we do six kinds of push ups and torturous abdominal exercises. When I’m waiting my turn to mock-clobber somebody, I bounce on the spot impatiently. I look at the clock and ache to slow down time, so it never has to end. Afterwards, I go home and corner Gareth in the kitchen, then slap him around a bit to show him what I’ve learned.
All that said, I’m pretty rubbish at it. I have trouble interpreting instructions, even when the dude demonstrates the moves. We tried spin kicks last week, and I couldn’t grasp the concept AT ALL. Instead of one simple swivel-then-kick, I wheeled around and around like a discus thrower, not knowing when to let go.
There’s an advanced class after our wee beginner’s one, and those chicks look pretty hardcore. They’ve won proper medals and everything. I don’t really fancy getting that serious, but I’m determined to reach a higher level of bumbling incompetence. So please Santa, bring me a punching bag for Christmas!!)
I don’t know why I’m so hooked; I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly aggressive person. Perhaps, subconsciously, I yearned to be a playground scrag fighter and now I’m fulfilling my destiny. Maybe I can persuade the instructor to hold a class on a football field at the local high school. Someone will yell out “SCRAG FIGHT!”, then a big cloud of students will descend, forming a circle around me and a scrawny opponent. Fight fight fight! I’ll draw some tattoos on my arm with a pen; maybe paint my fingernails with Tippex, so I look extra tough.
(I don’t know what you call fighting chicks in your part of the world, but where I come from they were known as Scrag Fighters, which is just a delicious pair of words don’t you think.)
I was gushing about kickboxing to my friend Gillian at the pub the other night and she said how important it is to find the exercise that really floats your boat (she the QUEEN of cycling), then it doesn’t feel like such a chore. It does take a lot of trial and error – some activities are brief and heated flings (running), some become solid and trustworthy (weight training), some you tolerate even though they can bug the shit out of you (hillwalking) and then there’s the ones that make you feel like a silly teenager drowning in hormones. But persist, persist, persist, there’s something out there for everyone!
. . .
Thanks for your kind tolerance of the public panic attack in the last entry. Of course I felt sheepish the minute I hit “Publish”, but I never get to that point unless I do the crazy writing first!
Stayed tuned next week when I shall be announcing a Highly Exciting Contest which contains PRIZES that might happen to be 397 pages in length. Woohoo!