May 12, 2009

What All the Martial Artists Warned Me About

The gym gods were all aligning against me today. I should have skipped; but instead I got Lil C ready and got on my way. I only had an hour before the Kid Zone was closing so I had to hurry. The first main road I turned onto has a speed limit of 35. Big I's school is located along this road and during certain times of the day, it's a school zone with a 15 mph speed limit.

I was following another car. They were going faster than I was going, but the cop pulled out of the school parking lot pointing meanly at me with his lights flashing. Fantastic.

Meanwhile I'm sure all my neighbors are driving by. The only people who use that street are people who live in my neighborhood. The officer approaches the car and he's an older man. I take off my sunglasses, turn the radio off and hope that Lil C is pouting. He lets me off with a warning for going 25 on a road where the speed limit is usually 35, but the school zone lights had just turned on. I did not see them flashing and swear they had turned on right after I entered the school zone. As I'm getting finished up, a police SUV pulls up behind the cop car with his lights on too. What? He thought he needed back-up or something? Maybe they planned on busting me for not registering my hands as deadly weapons or something.

I directly attribute the warning without a ticket to Lil C looking adorable in the backseat with her little lamb stuffed animal sitting on her lap, and to me wisely deciding to turn off the T.I. I was listening to when he approached.

I should have known right then and there that my workout was doomed.

I arrived at the gym with about 40 minutes to squeeze my workout into and got started. I did higher reps and less sets and tried to blow through the sets as quickly as possible. I kept noticing one of the new trainers sort of following me around. He seemed to be trying to get my attention but I had my headphones in and I was doing my best to appear invisible.

It was when I got on the dip machine that he came over and started talking right in my face, ignoring my headphones. I couldn't just ignore him so I pulled one out. He was critiquing my form. Apparently, I needed to adjust the machine a little better. Normally I would have, but I was in a rush. I had 15 minutes left and I still had two arm exercises and abs to do.

I thanked him for his help but he didn't stop there. He wanted to show me how to do it properly. I began thinking about another guy from my dojo who joined the same gym. No one ever bothers him, he says. Why do all the trainers bother me all the time? Why did all the crazy people always want to talk to me on the bus when I lived in Pittsburgh? I'm guessing the answer is one and the same.

Then I was distracted from these thoughts as we got into the conversation that every martial artist dreads, the one I've been warned about, similar to when you say you're an English teacher and people ramble off some Shakespearean quote and ask you to name the exact play, Act, line and character. . .

"I haven't really seen you here before" he said. (My God, I'm thinking, I finally know what super power I would choose if I could have one. I'd be invisible!)

"Yeah, well, I've been on a two week break from the gym and you look brand new. That's probably why. I've been coming since October."

"Oh, well what do you normally do for your fitness routine?"

Here we go, the hard sell for a training contract. Been there-done that.

"Well, I go to karate a couple times a week, and come to the gym mainly to rehab my knee."

"No way, you do karate!" he says excitedly.

"Yeah," I say looking at my watch.

"How long have you been doing karate?"

"About five years now," I said. (I should have said, "I started yesterday.")

"I LOVE the martial arts," he said. "I'm like an 8th degree black belt in wrestling" (I'm assuming there is added emphasis on the "like").

"Really? I didn't know they had black belts in wrestling" I say.

"Wow, that's so cool that you're a girl and you do martial arts," he chatters on.

"Uh-huh."

"So what would you do if I threw a punch at you like this?"

He throws a slow punch that stops about 12 inches from my face.

"Nothing," I said, "that punch is of no threat to me."

"Well what if I would do this," he says, throwing two punches that both land about 12 inches from my face.

"Nothing," I said, "your punch is still like a foot away from me."

I check my watch and tell him how I'm trying to squeeze in a quick workout, but he doesn't get the hint. He walks behind me and grabs me in the middle of the gym in a bear hug from behind. I'm sort of shocked that he would just wrap his arms around some girl he doesn't know, but I just stand there knowing what's coming next.

"What would you do if I did this?"

"Well, you are doing that, so if I thought you were going to hurt me and you weren't just screwing around, I would drop into a solid stance and first distract you by stomping hard on your foot. I'd probably start trying to loosen up your grip by getting my elbows moving. Then, I'd probably use a heel-butt kick to your groin. I'm guessing by then you would probably let go. You're shorter than I am and I have long legs so it would probably work. Then, as you're doubling over in pain, I'd elbow you in the face as hard as I could trying to hit you in the eye, nose, or chin. Or, depending on how you're gripping me, I might just drop down and elbow you in the groin on the way down."

"Well, I'd try to take you down" he said, "before you could do that."

He was inches shorter than I was and he wiggled around a bit, apparently trying to take me down, but I continued to just stand there. He finally let go. I was mentally heel-butt kicking myself for even mentioning karate.

"So you said you were rehabbing your knee. What's wrong with it?"

"I had ACL reconstruction" I said.

"Want to come in on Thursday and I'll show you some good exercises for it?" he asked me.

"As long as you promise you're not going to try to sign me up on a training contract and you're planning on showing me something I don't already know."

"Nah, I won't do that (he is so lying), but hey, can you teach me some karate stuff some time?"

Why an "8th degree black belt in wrestling" would want me to teach him some karate is beyond me.

What I should have said? "Sure, but that will require a $149 enrollment fee, plus $40 per 20-30 minute session. Can I sign you up now? Let's sit down and talk about it. It will change your life, the way you workout. It will change your body."

Instead, I told him I had to get back to my workout.

Invisible spray-someone invent it and send me some pronto.