A Cautionary Tale of a Date Gone Wrong
I am frequently asked if I've ever had to use my martial arts training in a real life situation. The truth is that since I began training, I haven't had to use my physical training once. I'd like to think though, that my training has steered people away from engaging me in conflict, kind of like the Jedi.
Another common question I'm asked is why I decided to start training in the martial arts. There are many reasons. I had always had an interest from the time that bully punched me in the back when I was in junior high. I always wanted to know how to defend myself, but I was a little intimidated of learning a martial art. Big I wanting to start classes is how I got my start.
But this doesn't mean I've never had to defend myself. There was a date gone wrong a long time ago, and it's one of the things that drives me to continue training; and it's also why I want my daughters to train in some form of self defense. What happened to me was no joke.
It was the summer after my freshman year in college and some friends and I went to a dance club. One of my friends instantly found a guy for the evening and they hit it off. His friend liked me, but I wasn't interested. I was having much more fun hanging out with my guy friend and ignoring him. At the end of the night, my friend and her guy exchanged phone numbers and I got into the car as quickly as possible, wanting to avoid giving my number to his friend.
About two weeks later, my friend called me and told me she was going out on a date with the guy she met. They wanted to make it a double date and asked me to go along with his friend. I didn't want to go. At first, I said "no" but I was talked into it over a series of days. Normally, I probably would have said "yes" earlier to appease my friend. This, after all, is what women do; but I had a funny feeling about this guy and I wasn't at all interested in dating him.
My friend arranged everything and a few nights later, we met the two guys in the parking lot of the hotel where I worked as a lifeguard. I didn't want to leave my car behind and go with them. My gut was telling me not to, but my friend insisted, and so I got in their car and off we went.
When we arrived at the one guy's house, I was uneasy. It was in the middle of nowhere. I thought we were going to go to a movie or miniature golf or something, but instead we were at a house with no one home. My friend and her guy quickly disappeared into the wooded backyard to find the pool. I was not at all interested in swimming. I had spent the entire day life guarding and I wasn't going to approach water with this guy. My friend had also made it clear she wanted to be alone. My date asked me if I wanted to watch a movie. It was either watch a movie, or stand in the driveway waiting for my friend so I reluctantly agreed to go inside.
When I went inside, we were in a small living room. The sofa bed was pulled out. He started the movie and sat down in the middle. I sat on the very edge. I didn't want to give him the wrong idea.
I don't remember what the movie was, probably because I was too paranoid to watch any of it. He kept gradually moving closer to me and he was making me feel uncomfortable. He tried to hold my hand and I fixed my hair with it. I was not interested. I wanted to make it clear.
Apparently, I wasn't clear enough.
It all happened so quickly, but before I knew it he had grabbed me and pulled me down and into the center of the sofa bed. He climbed on top of me quickly. He was kneeling on my thighs and holding my wrists down with my hand while he worked on the button on my shorts. Thank God for button fly jean shorts because they gave me the second or two I needed to realize what was going on.
I immediately told him to stop it, firmly. I started yelling, loudly. I told him to get off of me. I screamed for him to knock it off, but he was not listening. He was in this terrifying zone and I had to do something quick. I squirmed a little bit and was unable to move him.
Then something snapped in me and I got completely FURIOUS that he was trying to do this to me. He WAS NOT going to succeed.
What came after this was fast and furious. I managed to get my legs out from underneath his knees, pulled my knees up to my chest, planted my feet on his chest and launched him. I remember watching him literally fly across the room as he slammed into the wall. This is the adrenalin people talk about when Mom's remove cars from on top of their kids.
He hit the wall and sort of bounced off it. After the initial shock of what I had done to him was realized, he charged me. But I was ready. As soon as I had sent him flying, I was on my feet, crouched down and ready. He charged at me, but was met with fists flying at him. I hit him in the eyes, nose, mouth, neck. I just didn't stop. I went at him without stopping, because I knew I had to. He was going to keep coming at me, and I needed to make him understand that it wasn't going to happen.
After hitting him multiple times in the face, as hard as I could, he staggered backwards and I saw my opportunity to run. I darted out the door as fast as I could and then quickly turned to face the door. I didn't want him surprising me again. I began SCREAMING at the top of my lungs for my friend.
My lovely date appeared at the screen door looking horribly disheveled. He didn't dare venture outside. I told him to stay away from me. I told him he hadn't seen anything yet and if he came anywhere near me, I would wreck him beyond what I had already done. From the safety of the screen door, he yelled "So you don't want to have sex?"
"What do you think, you idiot? I said NO!" I screamed at him. I was shaking something terrible and so was my voice, but my volume was as loud as possible. I wanted anyone within the area to hear what was going on.
It was then that my friend and her date appeared. "What is going on?" she asked as she surveyed the scene.
I told her we needed to leave right away and that my date was not coming with us. The problem was that it was his car. He came outside, and tossed the keys to his friend and asked him to drive. I was absolutely sick about having to get in the car with this guy and his friend again. I don't think my friend understood the severity of the situation, despite the fact that I told her straight out, "He tried to rape me!"
Her date got in the driver seat and she sat in the front passenger seat. At the last second, she allowed my date to climb in behind her and sit in the back beside me. I was furious, but I figured at least in the car, I had witnesses and he wouldn't try anything.
By now though, I think he was afraid of who I would tell and what would happen to him. He kept getting in my personal space and begging me to forgive him. Believe it or not, he was trying to kiss me. Every time he crossed the center line of that car, I grabbed his face and slammed it back against the window on his side of the car. His face was already swollen and bruised in areas where I had pummeled him during the initial incident. I had no problem adding to his injuries and continually told him to back off.
My friend seemed upset that her date was cut short, but I was never so happy to see my car. The car had barely stopped and I was climbing out behind the driver's seat. My date still wouldn't stop. He kept trying to talk to me and grab at me. It was like he thought we had a minor lover's quarrel or something. It had been nothing of the sort.
I got in my car and told my friend she better get in or I would leave without her. She was saying her goodbyes to her date. As I went to close my car door, my date stuck his hand in the frame and told me he wanted to talk. I told him he had two seconds to remove his hand or else I'd be taking it with me as I drove away. He removed his hand and walked away.
On the drive home, I told my friend what had happened and broke down. What if I hadn't reacted the way I did? What if I hadn't been able to move him? It had been the worst date ever and I was so angry at myself for not trusting my gut about this guy. I knew he was bad news and yet I allowed a sense of obligation to my friend to lure me into a date with him. I would never make that mistake again.
When I got home that night, my dad was up and asked me what was wrong. I was still shaking and my hands hurt from punching him as much as I did. I had sore spots that would turn into bruises on my thighs from where his knees had been digging into my legs. My Dad listened to what had happened before retrieving his baseball bat and demanding to know where he lived. I told him I honestly couldn't get him back there. He lived in the middle of nowhere. I also told him that the bat wasn't necessary and that I had given him plenty of abuse with my fists and legs already.
A few weeks later, my friends and I were at a different dance club. My jerk of a date showed up. My best guy friend saw him and started slowly rolling up his sleeves. Another friend alerted a friend of ours who was the bouncer and he was promptly removed from the club. My date backed away from my friend, was grabbed by the bouncer, and that's the very last time I saw him.
I had no martial arts training when I gave him a tie-dyed face. After five years of martial arts training, I can't even imagine what I would have done to that jerk with the training I have now. I hope I never have to find out.
One of the greatest things I've learned during my martial arts training is that you should always trust your gut. If I had done that from the beginning, I never would have ended up in that terrible situation. I was stupid to get into a car with people I didn't know well. I should have said we'd follow them in my car. I was dumb to agree to go out with someone who gave me a bad feeling to begin with. And you know what? I really should have just stayed in the driveway at the house, and paid closer attention to exactly where we were going. However, I was 18 years old, thought I was invincible, and was suffering from a severe case of "it can't ever happen to me." Many teenagers currently have the same attitude and I serve as proof that it can happen to you if you're not careful.
Not everyone reacts the way that I did. Some women completely freeze and are incapable of doing anything to defend themselves. The unfortunate thing is that no woman ever knows how they'll react until truly tested. I'm glad to know that I don't freeze. While working at Sexual Assault Services at the University of Pittsburgh, I know there were many girls being counseled because they had been sexually assaulted. So many of them suffered from troubles related to the fact that they did freeze and bad things happened.
Personally, I think that martial arts training can help to eliminate a lot of that freezing up that can happen in bad situations. As I learned the other night during our class in the dark, muscle memory kicks in, and if practiced enough, your reactions just become second nature. They take over, and they keep you safe and alive.
As this school year comes to a close and many young girls get ready to head off to college for the first time, it would be a great time to check into picking up a self defense class or two before heading off. It's also important to remember that your instincts are usually right and you should always listen to them and trust them.
Help a Girl Out
I never, in a million years, thought that I'd be praying that the only thing my best friend has to go through is a D&C to remove what her body thought was a baby that was never meant to be. This week, I've had a hard time thinking about anything but her.
On Friday, I saw Renovation Girl for the first time in many months. We had a girls night and went to dinner by ourselves. We ate and talked for hours. I sipped wine; she sipped ginger ale because she was newly pregnant and nauseated. Having gone through a miscarriage only months ago, and many years of disappointing failed fertility treatments, she remained cautious in her expectations.
As her HCG numbers continued to rise though, so did my hopes, that this pregnancy was going to work for her. I told her to remain cautious. I told her I would invest in this pregnancy for her and believe that this time, it was for real and meant to be.
When I got her phone call on Tuesday, I was devastated for her. To be told that not only is there no baby, but that there is a possibility that there's something more sinister, to be told that the "c" word is a possibility after everything she's already been through. . .
It's all too much.
I will never understand why such horrible things happen to such good people. Please visit my best friend today and give her some love. And if you're so inclined, please say a prayer that the only thing she's going to have to deal with is getting over yet another miscarriage.
Make Me Invisible Before My 3-year old Gets Us Both Killed
I don't remember Big I ever having embarrassed me the way that Lil C does on a near daily basis. It's getting to the point where public outings are a big risk. I recall one time when Big I said something that made me want to disappear instantly. She commented about a very heavy woman and asked me why she was so fat? I gave her a look and later we discussed that it's not polite to say things like that. That was the very last time she said anything.
Lil C frequently calls people out. One time we were at the hair salon and Big I was getting her hair cut. An older man was putting his coat on by the door and about to leave. He had obviously just had his hair cut. He was smiling at her and saying "hi" when she turned to me and said, "That man has funny hair. Why is his hair so funny mommy?" Needless to say, he went out the door quickly and I was never so happy to see someone leave.
I told Lil C that it's not nice to say things like that and that it can hurt people's feelings. Her comment back to me? "Well his hair was funny though!" almost like "Well, with silly hair like that you're asking for it."
A couple weeks ago, in a clothing store, Lil C told me to "Yook at that yittle old yady. Yook at her Mommy. She's a yittle old yady." She would not stop! I wanted to run out of the store. The lady was indeed old and little, but she wasn't taking too kindly to being called "yittle" and "old." Thank goodness looks don't kill.
Yesterday, we went to the grocery store. The first incident occurred back by the deli. An older woman was looking at the cheeses and Lil C yelled out loudly to her, "What are YOU DOING YADY?" (In case you haven't figured it out yet, "L's are in fact "Y's" in Lil C's world. The woman swung around quickly and I apologized with a "Sorry, she's three." The woman laughed and told me about her grandchildren while Lil C smiled devilishly at her.
The next encounter didn't go quite as smoothly.
Lil C was helping me load the groceries onto the checkout belt when a man pulled into the checkout lane behind us. He was an older black man and he had dreadlocks that just passed his shoulders. He also had a bit of a beard. Always looking for interaction ways to embarrass me, Lil C noticed there was someone behind us so she turned around to see who was there.
Sensing there was definitely going to be some commentary, I tried to get her attention back to the front, but it wasn't happening. She stared at him for a little while and then asked him, in a crystal clear voice, "Are you a girl or a boy?" I wanted to die, right then and there.
I didn't allow him to answer. "Lil C, that is a boy. Sometimes boys have longer hair and that's perfectly ok. Ethan's daddy has long hair. . . " I grasped to find the names of men who have long hair. "Mr. Matt has hair that's a little longer. . . " She stared at me with an irritated look. She had obviously wanted the dread-locked man to answer her question. She finished listening to me and turned back around at the man who was temporarily smiling a bit to himself and said, "Well he looks like a girl with that yong hair." Needless to say, the man stopped smiling and I wanted to disappear on the spot.
In many ways, Lil C reminds me of my grandmother. My grandmother is the type of gal who puts it all out there. She is 92 years old and she's never been afraid of speaking her mind. Once, when I was younger, we were walking into the mall and there was a girl walking in front of us whose butt was hanging out of her jeans (from rips-not the style,as is now). My grandmother pointed at her and exclaimed, "Well, look at that! Her entire a$$ is hanging out of her jeans! Look at that! What is WRONG with her?"
I remember my Mom being horrified, but I actually thought it was kind of funny at the time. I thought there was something seriously wrong with her too. Lil C definitely has a streak of my grandmother in her, which is probably why she cracks my grandmother up so very easily.
The next time I go to the grocery store, I think I'm going to bring some of those chewy granola bars along to shove in her mouth whenever necessary. And if someone could tell me where to buy an internal filter for a 3-year old, I would really appreciate it.
Taking Guilt Off the Table (In at Least One Area)
Guilt is something that all of us feel at one time or another, especially if you're a Mom. Training guilt is something that happens to the best of us too. Ikigai wrote about it this week. I read his post. I felt guilty.
But not for the reasons you would think I'd feel guilty. You see, my time off has been legitimate. As my physical therapist has continued to tell me since my injury, if my knee isn't feeling right, then listen to the knee. I've listened.
What I felt guilty about was the flossing business, or actually the not flossing business. I absolutely hate to floss my teeth too. It's uncomfortable, and my gums bleed. But in an effort to take better care of myself, I started making appointments a few weeks ago. First, I made an appointment to see the allergist. Check. Done. Good.
Next I made a dental appointment. I haven't had one since I had my wisdom teeth taken out when Big I was a baby. Do the math. She just turned eight. I know. It's awful. It's amazing how "I'll call tomorrow" becomes eight years in an instant.
Over the past few years, I have continued to make excuses. I'm too busy. I'll call next week. I'm nursing. I can't manage it. I don't have a babysitter. etc. etc. etc. There's no end to the excuses I've made, and it's not even like dental people and I have a bad relationship.
I have never had a cavity, not one.
So when Ikigai's post came up, I thought it was timely since I had just made an appointment with a new dentist. Yesterday morning I woke up and decided that I really should try to floss before my dental appointment, so that when they ask me, I can at least say "sometimes" instead of "never" which is much closer to the truth.
I started flossing and remembered why I don't. Immediately, the gum between my front two teeth started to bleed. Also, I got a giant piece of floss stuck in between two of my molars. It took tweezers to pull it out and even then, I could tell some of it was stuck in there. I went to teach yesterday morning feeling like a had a piece of corn string stuck in my teeth. It was driving me insane.
I was a nervous wreck. I wanted to be able to leave there saying I've still never had a cavity. When I told the hygenist how long it has been, she looked worried. But when the hygenist took x-rays, examined my teeth, and announced that my teeth were no worse than most people after only a 6-month hiatus, and that I had not a single cavity, relieved doesn't even begin to describe how I felt.
Lil C also had her first appointment today. It only took them telling her that they had a princess toothbrush for her to decide that she liked the dentist just fine. And her teeth? Perfect.
Here's one piece of guilt I can finally let go. I got Lil C there while she is still three and I'm back on the dental wagon with another appointment already scheduled in six months.
(Insert big sigh of relief here.)
A Parking Lot Tantrum
Yesterday, I completely forgot about Big I's hair cut appointment. It's the second time I've done that in the past six months. To say I'm a bit scattered lately would be a huge understatement. I just can't seem to get my act together.
I think part of my problem is a lack of sleep. Lil C has been making nightly appearances in my bedroom to go to the bathroom and then she complains that she can't go back to sleep. Usually Mr. BBM wakes up with her because I am unconscious to the world, but when I'm lacking allergy meds and I have to wake up every 10 minutes or so to scratch my tongue with my teeth, well, not much sleep happens.
Plus, Mr. BBM was completely out of it himself last night, so much so that he was talking in his sleep. He sounded as if someone had shoved a giant wad of cotton in his mouth as he yelled loudly and then even louder, "Hey, hey" and then "hey," brief pause, "HEY!" and then some garbled business that sounded like "So do you wanna bleckity bloger blugen." At first I thought it was funny, and then I looked at the clock and realized I"d been in bed over two hours and hadn't yet slept.
It makes dealing with stuff like this especially challenging. . .
This would be during the middle of Lil C's freak out in the Party City parking lot today.
I only wish I knew how to take video. She was getting some serious air during those temper tantrum induced jumps and fits. Also, she could totally be an Irish dancer. And the tantrum back arch, featured below? Perfect in its form and effectiveness.
At this point, you're probably asking yourself what type of mother pulls out the camera and starts snapping pictures of her daughter having a total fit in a public parking area, and I'll tell you what kind. . . a seriously exhausted, frustrated one. . . with a freaking itchy tongue.
At one point, during the five-minute ordeal, a man noticed me taking pictures of her, pulled his car up beside us, and nodded approvingly in my direction. I could tell he had two carseats in the back of his car. He totally gets me.
As I'm sitting here inserting these pictures, Lil C asked me why I had pictures of "sad 'Lil C'" and I told her I'm collecting them for a dating portfolio in the future. I think she understands, because she completely quit whining, at least for now.
Is it any wonder I forgot Big I's appointment and can't seem to keep my life together right now? Is it any wonder that I'm actually looking forward to getting stuck with a needle at least 30 plus times tomorrow for allergy testing, because I'll be without the little one during those hours of needle pricking hell?
Tantrums kill Mommy brain cells. Spread the word.
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