April 27, 2006

Work on the Worst Part II or Fight Dirty

Sparring. . . gotta love it.  In one 10 minute period of sparring this week, I think I said, "I’m sorry," about 15,000 times.  I also blushed at least twice.  These characteristics. . . apologizing and blushing. . . you wouldn’t think they’d come from someone who fights dirty, but I’m sad to report, they do.  Apparently, Lil C has learned from her mother.  The dirty fighter. . . it’s me. 

It’s not on purpose.  I truly think they are just a woman’s instincts.  But because of these instincts, I told my instructor this week that I am going to buy him something special for Christmas.  I’m sure you can figure out what it is.  If my feet are going to continue to go jewel hunting, then he’s going to need some help.  Not once, but twice my snap kick got way too close to causing some serious damage.  It is not intentional at all.  My instructor is a really nice person, the kind that makes you scratch your head and think, "Who do I know that I could fix him up with?"  I’d like him to be able to have children in the future.  Really, I would. 

My first instinctual kick came up and under the gi jacket so much so that it sent the bottom of his gi jacket flying upwards violently.  The owner of the dojo was in the room at the time, and both instructors let out a collective "Woah!" of protest against my offending foot.  It happened in a flurry of activity.  It wasn’t like I stood there, took aim, and went for it.   It was purely accidental and purely instinct.  I apologized profusely.  My instructor laughed it off; but I think he was sweating a bit. 

With the owner of the dojo, my modus operandi in the past was always to follow him around the floor kicking him in his butt.  I’d aim for his stomach, he’d turn, I’d kick his butt.  Literally.  I guess the good part is that I could leave the dojo and say, "I really kicked butt tonight."  The bad part is that in tournament fighting, I’d have zero points.  Butts don’t count.  Neither do the family jewels.

After the second time that the snap kick came close, my instructor stepped in and said to me, "Any other place but here, that would be a great kick.  It’s o.k."  I think he knew I was feeling pretty badly about it.

So what do I do to make up for it, to thank him for all his encouragement, teaching, and potential sacrifice?  Instead of rolling my block up the outside of his punching arm to back-fist him in the helmet-covered portion of his head, I awkwardly rolled my blocking fist up and over his arm to clock him in the nose.  I didn’t hit him hard; but I hit him hard enough to make him blink it off and I think his nose got a little pink from where my glove nipped him.  Once again, NOT on purpose.  I was trying to practice a technique he taught me about two minutes earlier.  Once again, he stopped to tell me that it would be a killer good hit in a real fight.  I know that it doesn’t take much to make some people’s noses bleed, though.  Just ask my husband.

At a college formal thing, my husband (then boyfriend) and I were having a blast dancing to the 70’s music and were doing that whole spinning while grabbing each others arms thing.  He spun me out and my elbow clipped him in the nose causing a gush of blood.  I finished my spin, turned around dancing and looking for him and he was no where to be found.  A few seconds later, I notice him holding multiple napkins to his bleeding nose.  I had no clue I even hit him.  When I hit my instructor tonight, I held my breath waiting for the blood.  Can you imagine how I would have felt if I had done that?  I am so thankful there was no crimson tide.

And so the sparring continued.  He started by only throwing punches at me, forcing me to block and retaliate.  Then he added kicks.  When I got overwhelmed I would just walk away and laugh at myself.  Nothing makes you feel more stupid than when you stand there and feel like you’re flailing around missing opportunity after opportunity to land a punch or a kick.  It’s almost as bad as walking around with a "Kick Me" sign on your back. 

When I was obviously getting discouraged, my instructor stopped to offer a compliment or two.  "Why are you stopping?" he’d say.  "You’re doing fine; keep going," and I would.  He talked to me tonight about how I’ll eventually develop my own style and my own moves, and then it happened. . . I developed a move.  I am so happy to report that I have my first signature move.  O.k. maybe he sort of suggested it to me and I chose to adopt it and call it my signature move, but still, I have a move, people.  This is progress. 

My move is to place a kick to the solar plexus (stomach area). Then, instead of retreating or bringing that leg completely back, I kick again.  It’s cool, and I feel pretty cool doing it.  A few months ago (with a beach ball sized belly), I never would have even been able to balance to achieve the feat of getting off two decent kicks in a row.  Tonight, I did and I’m feeling a bit proud of myself for that.  Who cares that my hip cracks so loudly in the process that you could hear it next door! I kicked twice, in a row, without putting my foot back on the floor first.  I’m practically Jackie Chan!

I’m also proud of myself for another reason.  Last year during sparring, I only saw one potential area to attack, the butt solar plexus.  Now, I have broadened my horizons and am not afraid to go for the helmet (or an unsuspecting nose apparently).  Last year, I was too intimidated to even attempt a back-fist to the forehead.  This week I rattled off a bunch of them, so I think that can also be considered good progress. 

Another bit of progress just from last week, is that last week I was focusing on my instructors face, trying to read what he was going to do.  He told me to keep my eyes focused on the chest area and keep both legs and arms in view. I did that last night.  I still wasn’t great at it, but at least I’ve trained my eyes to be looking in the right spot.  (Now if only I could get my foot to go to more appropriate places.)

Tonight as I was leaving, I suggested to my husband that he and I get sparring gear so I could practice at home.  Can you imagine that?  Picture a nice day, our daughters playing in the sand box and my husband and I, geared up, sparring in the yard.  Can you imagine how much fun that would be for our neighbors?  I think I’d have an easier time sparring with my husband, especially when he’s on my nerves.  It might actually be good for our relationship too.  You know, take out some aggressions behind the safety of foam padding. 

If and when we get this sparring gear though, one thing is for sure.  I am getting shin guards.  I have a bruise the size of a Ritz cracker on my right shin from where I poorly blocked a kick last week.  This week I learned that you should really turn your leg to the side, blocking with the outer muscular part of your leg.  Muscles make good blockers; bones do not.   I’ve got the shins to prove it.  You’d think after all the years of playing field hockey and getting nailed on a regular basis in the shins, they’d be tough enough; but my 30-something body doesn’t bounce back the way it did when I was in high school.

I think my biggest problem with sparring is that I am lacking the confidence I need to perform.  Being surrounded by many students who are at least half my age doesn’t exactly help things.  I noticed last night that I approach each kick or punch with a bit of skepticism in myself.  I end up psyching myself out, fearing I’ll look silly or stupid, so I don’t attack it the way I should.  I know that this will only get better with more practice.  I’m just hoping my instructor continues to be willing to teach me, what with me threatening his future procreation abilities and all. 

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Posted by on April 27, 2006 in Tales from the dojo | 6 Comments

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