Taking every precaution I can to prepare for the new gig in Alaska (see previous posts) I decided that I needed to be able to defend myself in a violent situation. Not a proposition of hand-to-hand combat to seek revenge on human trafficking perpetrators, (that battle was fought in prayer; vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord - put away your semi-automatic), but enough training to defend myself and others I care about. Not to win the fight but to make dang sure any knucklehead who feels froggy enough to jump knows they were in a fight. You wanna come at me - pack a lunch.
In the spirit of “building a team” why not go for the best recruits? I reached out to the most highly rated trainer for martial arts within reasonable driving distance and located Doug Cuomo of Summit County Jui Jitsu - right here in Dillon Colorado. I told him my story and to my delectation he agreed to train me until I move to Alaska, target date December 1st. Under one condition: I come every day for the 2 hour class and training, no exceptions. All in. My heart for the project usurped my brain and I enthusiastically accepted the challenge. Wax on wax off, Baby! Today was my first day and this is how it went.
I step on to the cushy mats with four other students; young (average age 28?) men suited up in their cute finery, (technical term for the suit; gi - pronounced: ghee). Doug pointed me to a gi in my general size. This thing is made of quilt-thick material (not ideal for hot flashes) and fits like a Clinton pant-suit. I slipped it on over my work-out outfit and joined the stretch-fest going on.
Right out of the gate Doug pairs us up and we start grappling for warm-up! You start with someone on their back and the goal was to use your hands and legs/hooks to keep the aggressor from closing in and attacking. I was paired with a man just younger than my son and he worked me out but treated me with kid gloves - I could tell he was pulling back enough to let me get the hang of it. This is good… I can do this. I even used a ‘shrimp’ move I saw on Youtube. (At least I thought I did - Doug’s facial expression indicated that my shrimp needed some sauce).
Then Doug demonstrated a maneuver that began in mounting your opponent, and ended with their arm in the tap-producing Arm Bar. You can break a man’s arm with this move - I need this in my life. We again paired off and practiced the steps and soon I felt the power of hooking my opponent’s elbow (capturing their leverage) in the crook of my elbow and pulling that limb above their head, getting both of their arms locked behind their head now by using my head on the mat and the ratchet maneuver to pull everything up and soon - their arms were out of commission! Then the moves advanced from there and ended with your full butt weight on their chest, your knee dragging across their face and their arm in a locked up bar… tap out or it will break. Brilliant! All fine and good but then we reversed and they got to do it to me.
I decided to show my opponent what he was up against and I locked my hands at my chest so he couldn’t get that first step executed. With success! He was prying on my fingers with might and I was not budging! Then Mr. Doug had to step in and show him what to do in that situation. He took his knee and used my own ‘fists of fury’ to choke off my own dang’d wind-pipe. Tap! Moving on to a grown man’s weight on my ribs, a knee dragging across my face and the inevitable tap.
All of this training required every ounce of my strength and seemingly every muscle in my body at full spark for a good hour. I was surviving - breathing like an obese Delta-variant patient but surviving! I thought I just glowed when others perspired but swallowed in that coat-suit I was sweltering and melting. I learned why girls do corn-rows when they step into a ring and not the high-pony I started with. My rubber-band got ripped out by someone’s grippy thigh in every bout and I was grateful because it gave me an excuse to stop and do something that didn’t require a muscle explosion.
And then we transitioned from the class training to our physical training, (are you kidding me), which consisted of timed bouts with every man in the room doing their best to either keep you pinned or keep you off of them. I did okay with my nice young-man who recognized that I was somebody’s mother. He kicked my arse but he told me I was strong and did a good job! It was the BIG “advanced” guy who made me rethink my priorities. Soon I had my face buried in an armpit for much longer than pearl divers in the Persian Gulf could survive and my muscles simply had nothing left but lactic acid and microscopic tears. Somehow being bathed in pure, liquid testosterone isn’t as desirable as one would think. At one point I seriously wanted to just yell out my age so he would understand the fragility of the situation but I knew the minute I did they would never treat me the same way again. I even considered what I would do in a real fight in this situation and I thought… poop myself! He would probably say uncle if I just pooped my pants! The timer buzzed and saved us all from distasteful clean-up on aisle three.
I got to finish the class with some sage instruction from Sensei Doug. His advice to practice a breathing technique that engaged every fiber of my core gave me a vision of future strength. Then he wanted US to grapple with my only focus being to feel where we were connecting - where the points of tension and leverage were built. Doug assumed the ‘back to-the-mat’ position and I came at him like an enthusiastic spider monkey. I have to laugh now because it was like that scene in ‘The Matrix’ when we all knew he was ‘the one’... the bullets fell and he fought the three Mr. Smiths literally with one hand behind his back in slow motion while he contemplated his grocery list. It was just like that and then suddenly I was flying through the air and on my back like a truck-struck turtle. I know exactly where his points of leverage are.
I left the academy delirious and shaking. Every muscle exhausted and involuntarily vibrating. My ribs felt like they were disconnected from their supporting membranes, my knuckles, both hand and toe, were rubbed raw, and the bruises were beginning to surface.
In all fairness, I do bruise like a peach which is a condition I nurtured as a child to tease a “poor sweet baby” from my older sisters after any form of physical straining. My body felt like melted clay that needed to be reshaped and re-hardened in the kiln and I think my hair hurt so I headed home for a protein shake, Epsom salts bath, and a healthy dose of vitamin I (Ibuprofen).
That’s the whinging. Now the gratefulness.
Thank you Doug for taking me in and recognizing that hard work will be required to reach my goals. Thank you for treating me with respect and pushing me to go harder, stay longer.
Thank you Jesus for the Down-Dog app and my nearly-daily yoga that has kept me semi-flexible so I didn’t pop like a pretzel.
Thank you Jesus for my daily hour-plus hikes that have chiseled off six of my eight covid pounds and expanded my lung capacity. Had I walked into that place with extra weight and stiff joints I wouldn’t have lasted past warm-up.
Thank you Jesus that I don’t smoke. How does one breathe with their nose and mouth buried in a man’s armpit if they have reduced lung capacity?
Thank you for these men who respected my ‘first day in class and obviously weaker sex’ classification. It could have been much worse and I’m going back tomorrow. Bruce Lee, my fighting fish, is proud. I’M GOING BACK TOMORROW!