Butterfly Fray

Sparring

I received a swift kick to the head today.

No, that's not a metaphor.

Chief kicked me in the head during our third round of sparring.

I was so surprised that I just stood there processing until he punched me in the ribs and snapped me out of it. Then I grinned as much as I could around my mouthguard and proceeded to surprise him with a right low kick to the thigh.

You see, being on the receiving end of a head kick (even one at less than half speed) is a mark of some accomplishment.

I started full speed, full contact sparring a few months ago and it's been an eye opening experience. There's really nothing that can prepare you for the first time someone clocks you one; it's a completely unique experience. Even with the headgear and the mouthguard, when the boxing coach caught me with a left hook I was completely dazed. I spent most of my first round standing there like a deer in headlights, just trying to absorb or deflect his shots rather than trying to land any of my own.

It continued like that for quite some time: I'd get in the ring, make a few feeble attempts to jab or kick my opponent, and then spend the rest of my time doing my best impression of a punching bag. I just... froze.

As anyone who knows me can attest, I've never been one to back down from a worthy fight or shy away from a challenge. Being unable to perform when faced with an opponent was frustrating and disheartening to say the least.  Chief didn't know how to shake me loose from myself and I didn't know how to break the bonds holding me back. So I just continued to accept my opponent's strikes.

To accept defeat.

Eventually I began to shy away from sparring, choosing instead to do extra rounds on the heavy bag or to exhaust myself on the elliptical... anything to look "too busy" to get back in the ring. I'm not proud to say it, but probably would have continued for quite some time had Chief not forced a major shake-up in my training routine.

Which is why last Saturday I found myself standing in the ring facing Chief, who was not wearing any protective gear whatsoever on his legs.

Please understand that this man could probably take out a brick wall with his shins and barely flinch; he wears double shin guards AND knee pads when he spars his students to avoid doing too much damage.

"We're only going to done one round like this" he said "and I'm not going to go full speed, but I want you to know what it feels like to get hit, to really get hit, which it what will happen if you don't stay on the offensive when you're in here."

A week later, the bruises are still fading. My left knee, my right hip, and my right elbow took the brunt of the blows as he tried to force me into action.

But I still stood there like a fucking punching bag.

For three rounds.

I was so frustrated and angry at myself by the time the final bell rang that I launched my gloves to one end of the gym and my mouthguard to the other, fighting back tears. He calmly retrieved everything and leaned on the ropes next to me "You're letting the fear win. You're turning all of your frustration inward and it's crippling you. Let it go. Just do it. Next week, just kick my ass."

I mulled over what he'd said all week and decided that today, no matter what, I was going to come out of my corner fighting. Even if I didn't land one goddamn thing, I was going to try.

And that is exactly what I did.

For eight rounds, I came out swinging. It wasn't pretty, I still absorbed way more kicks and punches than I landed, but the only thing that matters is that I was in the fight. I didn't stand there like an statue, I didn't strike lamely while I waited for the bell, I didn't find myself keeping tears of frustration at bay. I was just there, in the moment, and I have never felt so alive.

As I was lying on the floor panting after our last round, he looked down at my with a grin "It's more fun to be on the offensive, yes?"

Yes.

Yes it most certainly is.

Progress

Chief doesn't ask me about my weight very often. As long as I'm losing it steadily and gaining both strength and balance the numbers aren't very important to him, but about a month ago he stopped as we were stepping into the ring and asked me how much I'd lost. He had that impish glint in his eye that invariably spells trouble an interesting new challenge for me, so I answered "about 30 pounds" with some trepidation. He nodded and produced what looked like a boating life vest. When he strapped me into it, I realized that it was a weight vest.

A 30lb weight vest.

Holy crap.

We did two rounds of pad work while I was wearing it and I thought I was going to die. I moved so slowly and my shoulders ached from having to throw punches while weighed down. I could not believe that I was carrying that much extra weight around just a few months ago. When he finally took the vest off me, I felt as lithe and graceful as a ballerina and I was astounded at how much more quickly I could move.

Chief has always said that he doesn't care how much I weigh, only that I can move well and strike with force. This, then, was an object lesson in both how far I've come, and how far I have left to go.

Ever so slowly, every so surely, I'm making progress.

Best Compliment Ever

My gym is just off a busy street in a popular section of town; it's surrounded by bars, restaurants, and stores so there are always a lot of people out and about. Tonight as I was walking from the parking structure, I came across two douchebags guys who had clearly been enjoying a pint or twelve at the pub on the corner. I was about three steps from the entrance to the gym when the bandanna on my head inexplicably set them off. They stumbled in front of me and blocked my path.

Guy 1: Dude, she looks like a farmer.
Guy 2: Hehehehehehehehehehe. Yeah.
Guy 1: (A lot of words that essentially amounted to: Smack talk, smack talk, smack talk, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, blah, blah, blah)
Me: Waiting patiently for them to stumble on so I can go work out.
Guy 2: Noticing the sign above the doorway while his buddy yammers away Dude, dude, dude! DUDE! She's going into the BOXING gym!

And with that they both shut their mouths and walked away like shoplifters dodging a cop.

Yeah, I was just as confused as you are.

I relayed the story to one of the pro fighters while I was warming up and he looked very vexed. If that ever happens again he said just yell and you know thirty guys will be up those stairs in a heartbeat. I must have looked a little confused because he continued with a wink Girl, don't you know you're one of us now?

Best. Compliment. Ever.

Take It To The Limit

My quads are so sore that I'm walking like a robot and hanging on to the railing for dear life every time I go down a flight of stairs. I've been crawling out of my chair every 30 minutes or so to stretch (my officemates are a little puzzled) but it has done very little to unlock the rocks that have taken up residence where my nice, supple muscles used to be. This could make training slightly difficult, especially since tonight I'm in for 90 minutes of one-on-one time with Chief.

We've hit our crazy season at work and my boss had a minor meltdown about my leaving in time to get to class, so for the time being I've switched to twice-weekly private sessions with Chief. Ultimately this is a good thing, but his sessions are far more difficult than his classes.

Chief: I always feel like my classes are harder because we do a lot of jumpsquats and burpees. I don't usually make anyone do those in session.
Me: True, but I still think the sessions are harder because they're tailored to my weak points. At least in class, there are some things that come a *little* more easily.
Chief: Heh. Guess I never thought about it that way. Put your gloves on.

Anyone who knows me will not be surprised to learn that, in a lot of ways, the mental aspect of Muay Thai is far more challenging to me than the physical; Chief is after me constantly to get out of my head, to stop thinking and analyzing and just do. The thing I struggle with the most is pressing myself to work not only to my limit, but also just a smidgeon beyond until the limit itself has moved.

Left to my own devices, I'll see my limit coming up ahead and stop a nice safe distance from it. I don't know when I learned to do that and I don't know what I'm afraid will happen if I get there, but some deep-seated instinct stomps on the brakes as soon as that line comes into view. It's like I'm willing to give up 95%, but for some reason I'm clinging desperately to that last 5%. Looking back, I see that this has been a pattern repeated in every area of my life for some time now.

Chief realized this about me roughly 10 minutes into our very first session (before I realized it about myself, truthfully) and has been trying to coax me a little bit closer to my limit ever since; I've fought him every step of the way. Because the man has the kindness and patience of a saint, he just keeps pushing me forward while completely ignoring whatever protestations I've offered. His standard response, delivered invariably with an impish grin, is Do I care? No, I don't care. Begin.

I've now been studying long enough that my session on Monday night was much more of a "standard" session - alternate rounds of strike drills and conditioning drills rather than short drills interspersed with basic technique explanations. Let me tell you: 90 minutes of striking and conditioning is no joke, especially when the holidays have kept you away from the gym for a couple of weeks - I was "done" less than 45 minutes in.

Here's the thing: During a private session, there's nowhere to hide. Even though the classes at our gym are usually less than ten people and Chief has eyes in the back of his head, I can still slow down or pause for a brief minute here and there. Not so when it's just the two of us, and doubly not so when we're the only two people in the entire gym. I have to keep going until I'm physically incapable of doing so; there are no other options.

Monday night was the first night that I cried at the gym.

About halfway through an exercise designed to strengthen both my balance and the muscles in the back of my legs, my legs felt like they were on fire and my arms were shaking from holding myself up. I dropped my leg in defeat and Chief simply asked me Did you hear the bell? Of course, I hadn't. But I'd seen that limit coming and I was doing everything in my power not to get any closer to it. When Chief came over to adjust my position so that I could begin again, to get my knee just a fraction of an inch higher, I simply dissolved into tears. Tears of anger at him for making me do it, tears of frustration at myself for not being able to do it "perfectly", tears of exhaustion, tears of pain, tears of fear. So I cried, and I clenched my fists around the bag, and I kept going until that stupid bell rang, goddamnit.

I have seen the limit. I have surpassed it. And I have survived! (Apart from the quad muscles, anyway.)

Onward, then, because that line just keeps moving farther and farther out.

Poster Girl

There was a photographer at the gym yesterday, taking pictures of some of the boxers and mixed martial artists. I was about twenty minutes into my session with Chief when we had this conversation:

Chief: You know, we've trained a lot of people here, helped a lot of people change their bodies and lives, but I've never had the presence of mind to document any of their journeys from beginning to end.
Me: Oh?
Chief: Would you mind if we documented you? You've made so much progress just in the last month, I'd like to keep a visual record as you continue training.
Me: Um... sure.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I became my gym's poster girl for change. Clearly, I'll do pretty much anything Chief tells me to do.

It's rare that I let anyone photograph me below the waist, but yesterday I stood smiling for full-body shots while I was sweaty, in workout clothes, and wearing no make-up. I declined to look at the pictures, I just didn't want to set myself up for that mental battle, but we'll take new photos periodically so I'm curious to see what story they tell in a few months.

Hurts So Good

One of the advantages to Chief taking a personal interest in each of his students is that he spends extra time with each of us whenever possible. A quiet afternoon or a lag between classes always translates into one more sparring drill, or a few minutes of posture work, or a discussion about theory and technique.

The gym was almost empty this afternoon because of the holiday, so my 90-minute session with Chief lasted for 135. We spent a lot of time working with the thai pads - today was the first day that I was allowed to add kicks into the pad work (I'd only ever kicked the heavy bag before), which means that it was also the first day that he kicked me. Ow. I have a lovely bruise on the outside of my left thigh, and I'm a lot quicker to get my legs up to guard now than I was this morning.

Since I need a little time to recover from the two minute rounds with Chief, they were interspersed with the following:

• 5 sets of crunches, 100 of each of 5 types of crunches per set. Yes people, I did 2500 crunches. And that's not including the ones he made me do when I missed a strike, or forgot a combination.
• 50 "girl" push-ups. Hey, at least I didn't have to do any of these.
• Approximately 150 squats. I lost count when I had to do a drill that involved 4 squats, 4 guards / kicks with my right leg, 4 more squats, and then 4 guards / kicks with my left leg. I was too busy trying not to fall over to count.
• 4 1-minute rounds of tricep isolation with the cable weight set to 30lbs.
• 100-ish bridge exercises.
• 1 round of this evil exercise that involves lying on your back at the base of a heavy bag and reaching your legs up to touch the right side, left side, and center of the bag. I have to admit, there was a moment at the end when I thought I was going to puke.

I was absolutely wrecked by the end of the session. My arms and hands were so tired that I could barely grip the pen to sign his book. Since I couldn't see the clock during most of my drills, I didn't know the time and was disappointed in myself for being so tired after only 90 minutes. I felt much better when I realized that I'd been going for 45 extra minutes! Apparently Chief wanted to test the limits of my stamina because he's never seen someone "as big as [I am] with such incredible endurance." I reminded him that the only advantage of being one hundred pounds overweight is that just walking down the hall is resistance training - I have to cart these hundred extra pounds with me wherever I go. Plus, there's that whole marathon thing that I did last year.

Tonight, though, I feel every single one of those extra pounds because holy crap am I sore. It was sort of a blessing when my dinner plans got canceled at the last minute because I'm not entirely sure that I would have been able to walk after sitting at a table for more than an hour. 

Still, I wouldn't trade this feeling for anything in the world.

I love that I am using all of my muscles and working my body to its limits; I feel connected both to myself and to some strength beyond myself - the strength that keeps me striking when my arms and legs are shaking with exhaustion. I love the satisfying THOCK sound that the pads make when I strike well, and the sound of Chief yelling when I've landed something perfectly. I love the people at the gym, and the camaraderie of which I already feel a part. I love the challenge, and the constant drive to be better, faster, stronger, to find those limits and kick my way right through them.

I love this sport, and that's what keeps me going back for more.

Blind

A lot of people seem to be under the impression that since I'm so enthusiastic about Muay Thai, it must come easily to me.

Ahahahahahahahahahaha! Ahem.

Um, no.

Trust me people, this is the most mentally and physically challenging thing that I have ever done.

Yesterday it was all I could do not to cry as I watched myself shadowboxing in the mirror. Not because I was physically exhausted, but because I was fighting so hard against my own brain. I was supposed to be checking my form and making adjustments, but I couldn't see past my shaking legs and the sweat-soaked t-shirt clinging to my torso. Normally I'd take those things as signs of hard work, but yesterday they seemed to scream "WEAK! PATHETIC! UNWORTHY!" with every strike. I looked at the mat for as long as I could before Chief reminded me again that the answers aren't there.

As much as I hate to admit it, re-injuring my knee did at least as much damage to my psyche as it did to my lateral ligaments. It was a horrible, brutal reminder that my body is nowhere near as strong as I imagine it to be. I'm 30, I'm roughly 100lbs overweight, and although I've been active I haven't been athletic in 15 years or so. What the hell am I doing, training to compete in 18 months? What was I thinking, joining a private kickboxing gym?

You can probably guess how things spiraled downward after that.

I've dutifully continued to show up and work my ass off because I'm stubborn as all hell and because I refuse to continue to be my own worst enemy, but it's been difficult. Frustrating, and difficult.

My super-awesome chiropractor / physical therapist cleared me to jump and kick again as of Saturday, but I kept to my (comparatively) safe modifications.

Because I let my fear win.

I was afraid of hurting myself again, afraid that I wouldn't be able to execute the strikes, afraid of looking foolish (my roundhouses look a lot more like this than like this at the moment), afraid of proving that I can't do this, afraid of proving that I can. And the worst part is that I didn't even REALIZE it until  today when I found myself half-assing my way through the "Chopping Down The Tree" exercise. And that made me really angry. I am so goddamned tired of this cyclical battle with myself.

I wish I could say that I suddenly started roundhousing like a pro, or that I landed a series of flawless knee strikes that made my bag partner gasp in admiration, but what actually happened is a lot less spectacular. I hissed and panted my way through the rest of the class with a lot of determination and not quite as much balance. My legs burned, my arms shook, and sweat dripped off every part of my body. I can't say that what happened was pretty, but it was at least resolute.

I sprawled on the mat for awhile after class, not really looking at much of anything, trying to take some measure of pride in the fact that I'd at least given it my all. I wasn't having much success, honestly, when Chief came over to talk to me.

Chief: You're moving better.
Me: What?
Chief: I said - you're moving better. Especially today. You've been working hard and it's starting to pay off. You're getting more comfortable, your body is adapting, and the movements are becoming more natural.
Me: Oh, thanks.
Chief: I know you can't see it, but I can. Good job Amanda. Keep it up.

So apparently I am making progress, but I've been so wrapped up in my own drama that I've been completely blind to it. All that frustration, and anger, and mental anguish... what a waste of fucking time and energy.

Just one more reminder to look up, look out.

Muy Tired

This evening, after getting our asses kicked by the Boxing instructor:

Me: I am going home to to take a shower, and go to bed.
She: I am going home to eat dinner; I'm SO hungry.
Me: Oh my god, last night I was starving after class but I had no food at home so I had to stop at Ralph's. I was wandering around the market in such a daze, I just wanted someone to hand me something so I could buy it and get home.
She: Oh yeah, I know those nights. Those are the nights when you don't even have the energy to microwave something - you just look at the label and think "I have to stir and recover? Now way, that's way too much work."

Detour

The week before my sophomore year of high school, my class went on an adventure / bonding / team building retreat. It was, to quote Eddie Izzard, ...an activity center, where you climb a tree and eat a sausage and it's kind of… It builds your character so you know about sausages.

Though I'd been at the same school since age 5, I'd been well entrenched as an outcast for the past two years. (Ah 13, the magic age when girls turn on each other and boys turn into knuckle-dragging pack animals) When we were divided up into teams, I was paired up with the Most Hated Girl in School and her three henchmen - all in the name of making us "bond," of course. They were doing an excellent job of ignoring me and I was doing my best not to smack them all senseless until we got to the adventure wall portion of the day.

You know the one... 8' tall wall with no ropes or ladders... get your whole team to the top and revel in your newfound sisterhood.

Or, in my case, listen to the girls who hated me the most count to "3" and then drop me when I was almost to the top. I landed heavily on my left knee and felt the simultaneously strange and revolting sensation of my knee bending to the left, rather than to the front as is normal.  The only thing I could hear as rolled around in pain was the muffled sound of them snickering into their hands.

I learned some unpleasant lessons that day.

The diagnosis was a severe lateral ligament sprain with a little anterior cruciate ligament  stretching thrown in for good measure. I spent the next 8 weeks with my knee immobilized, hobbling from class to class and trying not to think about the fact that my volleyball, field hockey, and horseback riding careers had all come to a screeching halt.

I healed, eventually, but that knee has always been weak. Anyone's who's known me for a good amount of time has seen it go out when I've spent too many hours dancing, or been hiking too long without a break. It's always a reminder of that day.

I tell you this story now so that you may all appreciate my gut-wrenching frustration after my knee gave out again on Friday, in the first 5 minutes of my training session.

It was bound to happen. I've been working myself very hard and the joint is not yet as strong as my mind wants it to be. But as I lay on the mat, looking up at the skylight and waiting for the pain to subside enough for me to straighten my leg and assess the damage, I just wanted to cry; it was such a bitter pill. For a split second, I wanted to wave the white flag. For a split second, I wanted to just limp home and give up. For a split second, I was utterly defeated.

I sat up eventually, and Chief came over to see what had happened. When I explained, he told me in no uncertain terms that I would not be jumping or kicking anymore - I was so afraid that he was going to boot me from the class. Nope, instead he told me that we could use this "opportunity" to build strength in my upper body, my abs, and eventually my weak knee and that then I can jump and kick.

Never before have I been so glad to hear the words more sit-ups for you!

I'm still a little gimpy, but after three days off I was back at the gym tonight working on all of the things that don't involve my knee - trust me, that's plenty. Abs! Biceps! Triceps! More Abs! At least I finally got to break in my new gloves (which were waiting on my doorstep when I limped home Friday night, of course) with a few rounds on the heavy bag.

I'm trying to think of this as a detour, rather than a roadblock. I'm not so much a kickboxer right now as I am a boxer, but I'm working my way back up to the kicking one day at a time.

More Muay Thai

I am so sore. Breathing hurts. Typing hurts. Hell, I think blinking hurts. And yet, I just can't stay away.

I have not spent less than two hours at the gym any day this week and yesterday I had a private lesson with Chief wherein he kicked my ass up and down the gym. Repeatedly. Right after he told me that I hit like a girl.

Since Chief is the first person ever to describe me as "too girly," I re-doubled my efforts and struck with full strength and speed for the first time since I started this adventure. It felt amazing. Granted, my hands and wrists are killing me today from doing that for 45 minutes straight, but there's something both empowering and freeing about unleashing the entirety of your strength in one well-placed strike. When I'd finally done it correctly once, Chief started to chase me around the room calling out combination numbers for me. I dropped my head, touched my gloves to my cheekbones, and for three 15-minute stretches I didn't focus on anything other than the pads he was holding and the numbers that he was calling.

I don't hit like a girl anymore.

I do, however, walk like an old lady because he also made me do evil leg strikes in which I hold one leg up behind me, femur parallel to the floor, and kick at the heavy bag behind me a couple of hundred times (No, seriously. We do things in sets of 50 or 100). Oh, my poor ass.

Are you guys bored hearing about this yet?

I can't help it - studying Muay Thai is such a strange and wonderful new experience for me that it's all I want to talk about. It's been a long, long time since I found something like this, something that I really love doing even though it's physically and mentally exhausting. I work my body to its limits every day and the first thing I think the next morning is "As soon as I figure out how to sit up without using my ab muscles, I'm totally going back!"

And it's not just about the physical exertion; there's something very spiritual about my training too. Maybe it's the fact that I've been in a bit of an introspective phase since my birthday, maybe it's just the nature of martial arts, but every time I leave the gym I take with me guidance for both my Muay Thai technique and my life as a whole. I always thought the "wise martial arts master veiling life lessons as training advice " was just a movie cliche... until Chief started saying things like this:

• Don't look down; the answers aren't there. If you look down you get blindsided. Look up. Look out. That's where the answers are.
• Hit it, hit it, hit it. You're stopping yourself short at the last second. Don't. Follow through. No mater what, follow through.
• Stop thinking. You're in your head too much and it's messing you up. Feel it. Just let go, and let yourself feel.

Hard to believe the man's only known me a week.