Posted 7:42 PM by spitgirl
DINGS AND OTHER LITTLE DENTS

Boy, that Saturday rest was just what the doctor ordered! I arrived to workout this afternoon refreshed and relaxed, and ready to handle a whole new week's worth of indignities. Today ended our week of sixteen step, and instead of kicks a la Friday, we were working groundwork. So after a brief warm-up and stretch, we started out with this kind of workout: 1. Advanced black belt lectures. 2. We do a round of matwork. Lather, rinse, repeat. I believe we went through six or seven rounds before we stopped.

Let me see... I think the "most dinged up person" award went to Snehal, who ended up with a bloody nose and a nice little scrape on his forearm which was beading up blood like crazy. It was Steve Brown's accident, and he stayed long enough to make sure that Snehal was okay and to wipe off the mat. Second place goes to Dave Currie, who although is a sweet, quirky nut of a black belt, can "still lay down the royal smackdown" (according to my friend and photographer Tina, after seeing our last black belt test) on demand. Having worked matwork with Dave before (though I think the last time I officially worked out with him was back in June), I know that he's quite easily a match for any of our best guys, having been a wrestler in high school and someone who will patiently grind you to a pulp with a quiet smile on his face. (I'm not just saying this because he's occasionally my belay partner OR occasionally my swing dance partner.) Today, he suffered a nick behind the ear - and everyone knows how scalp wounds bleed. He also got a nice T-shaped bruise on his neck, ostensibly from someone choking him with his own dobok.

Somewhere between me and Dave Currie is Paul Twohey, who came in as a deep baritone. "So, Paul, how was dancing last night?" "Great!" "Do you have a cold?" "Yes." He was wiped all workout, but I really respect that he went on the mat. Except for the fact, of course, that he worked with me on Friday and gave me a nice little purple bruise on my outer thigh. It just looks impressive - he was so chagrined and kept on apologizing. So before he does it again, here's a pre-emptive strike. Paul, it's okay. It's kinda cool. Get better soon. Drink some tea. Get some sleep.

And then there's me, who suffered nothing more major than my gas-permeable contacts sliding off my cornea (prompting a "hold on, ow ow," courtesy of Chris Peterson), a few strands of hair pulled out when my ponytail got squished between an elbow and a mat (courtesy of Chris Peterson... sense a pattern?), an elbow to the nose (courtesy Kenny), a heel to the back of the head (courtesy Kenny... pattern?), and the occasional wrist and armbar. I think Steve Brown thinks I'm made out of tofu, since I kept on repeating, "Ow!" whenever something happened - someone banged my bruised shin, kicked me in the head, put a pressure point on my knee... he commented that the only thing he'd heard from me today was "Ow!" Maybe it would have been more useful had I bled.

But the day overall was very much of an ego boost, since I managed to grab an arm bar on Kent... and the aforementioned Chris Peterson was nice enough to give me an arm bar via my leg. I have no preconceptions, though - I know that Chris can probably make me hurt in five hundred different ways even if he were paraplegic. You just have to have respect for someone who's as good as he is.

Afterwards, we worked on 16-step for a little while, and I got Steve Brown to teach our little group (Gaidi, Kent, Paul and I) the carpet roll. (See last week for the failed attempt at the carpet roll on Snehal.) Steve was smart enough to partner me with Kent, who is taller than I am but about my weight, and we worked on it for a solid fifteen minutes, with both Steve and Susan Link (since we already have a Dr. Link, and she's also a Dr. Link) helping us out. The carpet roll is a neat little throw - after doing a balance break almost straight into them, you reach between your opponent's legs and over their shoulder, haul up, and let them roll out of your arms like a carpet. It's also called a rice thresher, for reasons I still haven't figured out.

I came to the realization that I am, indeed, the only female brown belt actively training. What does this mean? Well, I originally thought, "Cool, I'm the only female brown belt." But that also means that I'm also the shortest brown belt... and one of two female upper rank colored belts. Lucille and I are about the same weight, so whenever Dr. Link says, "Find a partner of about the same size and sanity!" we kind of glance at each other... we grab at each other's dobok sleeves, and soon it's fairly obvious we're partners, since we're side to side, desperately grabbing onto each other's doboks and basically challenging someone to break us up. Working with Luce is really quite nice, since she's the thoughtful type. "So let's see what happens when we do this..." and then she takes the motion really slowly. I've worked with people who have said, "Oooh, neat" and then cranked on my arm until I've practically popped a ligament. We missed you today, Lucille!

After bow-out, I decided I had enough energy to be masochistic, so I went out and ran a set of stairs. Remember, it's 11 sets of running up and down the stairs, and 10 sets of 10 pushups. I felt great afterwards. It might have to do with the fact that I ran without my dobok on - just in Spandex shorts and top. Oh, and I counted the stairs. (Lucille was trying to say that it's two flights of stairs, but it is exactly 44 stairs up and 44 stairs down, with four paces for the landing in between.)

And to top of the evening, after being pulled back into the office to sell a uniform (George, show up to your office hours or Email me so I don't leave early!), I was walking down one of the side streets in my jacket and Spandex shorts, having forgotten my jeans at home in my hurry to leave this morning. (Before you ask, I was wearing a dress for church this morning and didn't feel like getting so dressed up just to walk to my car.) On my way back, these two guys with cornrows in a parked Jetta started waving at me, and one rolled down his window and said - I kid you not - "Hey, baby, how's it going?" I simply kept on walking. "Wait, don't walk away so fast!" Why is it that the guys I want to pick up on me (like my crushes) don't, and the guys I don't want to pick up on me (like the guys in cornrows in the Jetta)... do?