Here’s a friend of mine, feeling rather low due to the cold gloomy weather and feeling trapped inside.
Then she got a therapy lamp! Behold the transformation!
It even took YEARS off her appearance!
Uh-oh. Maybe she spent a little TOO much time in front of her new miracle lamp.
I might as well rename this blog, Jiu Jitsu is funny, huh? I’ve come a long way from writing about the silly antics of my kids, with the occasional foray into Chex Mix and chickens. If you’ll bear with me, one more JJ post. Then I’ll take a break for a while, promise. But gotta get this down before I forget.
Here are some of my Jiu Jitsu instructor’s best funnies, always said with a straight face.
Remember that Instructor is small, making him the perfect poster child for a martial art meant to be used against bigger, stronger opponents. He’ll frequently describe non-JJ moves that someone could try (and likely fail) as a means to defend themselves.
“I could go for a knock-out punch, and if that works, great. I hope someone got it on video. But if it doesn’t work, and he starts swinging, that’s a bad day for me.”
In another lesson he explained the importance of being stacked straight when lying on our side, shoulder over shoulder, hip over hip, straight up and down. “You want a perfect stack of pancakes, not a wobbly one. That’s what you get at Denny’s. When they bring that out to you, you send it back.”
Today he explained how to duck under a “haymaker punch” (your standard wide swing. I didn’t know either), ending with, “But most importantly, it looks cool when you duck under a punch. Someone will ask, ‘Do you box?’ ‘Nah, bro, Jiu Jitsu.'”
“Adrian Brody” and I were the only Jiu Jitsu students one day, so we were partners by default. The dude barely touched me. Either I said something about not needing to take it so easy, or Instructor did, or both.
Adrian said, “I don’t want to hurt [infinitesimal pause] anyone.”
Clearly, “anyone” meant me. He wasn’t in danger of hurting the instructor. Reminder: Instructor is my size, though a smidge taller and with bigger biceps. At my first class, I was distracted by the realization that a man could have legs as skinny as mine.
Adrian is skinnier still.
So, Adrian was taking it easy on me, when maybe it should’ve been the other way around. *I* don’t hold back, however, because I’m a girl.
Wanna know who else doesn’t hold back? The teenage girl I naturally paired with during a rare evening class.
She. Trounced. Me.
Are you reading this, MOM?! That’s right–the men are nice to me. The female beat me up! [My mother gives me a hard time in the comments about training with men.]
Seriously, this girl may have bruised a rib. Or I pulled a muscle trying to get away from her. She’s not even a big girl, by any means, but this chic knows her stuff. I want to be like her when I grow… well, never mind.
The last portion of class was a “practice what you know”/ free for all. She was twisting me this and way that before I knew WHAT was happening. She ended with trapping my arm painfully out from my side.
“Whoa. What was that move?” I asked her.
“The Americana.”
“Isn’t that a type of coffee?” was my first thought, which I wisely kept to myself.
Remember this pic? The one where I told Chicken Lady that the brown one on the right looked far more rooster-like than the other supposedly same age, same breed bird on the left?
She assured me they were both hens. I was skeptical.
The other day, only four of the five chickens were in the chicken run area. Where was the fifth? Wait! It’s in the roost! Hang on. That’s the one that looks like a rooster. Is it possible it’s just hanging out up there, needing a break from all those females? (My husband with three daughters could relate.)
All you with gentle sensibilities, please forgive me, but from the rest of you can I get a “Hell, yeah!”?
Seriously, as much as Jiu Jitsu is fun, it is also flippin’ difficult. I enjoy everything except the frustration of not remembering the various steps involved in each move.
Today we learned the elbow sweep. I think. Even the name I’m not sure on. But I’ve found that saying the steps out loud as I perform them helps. Instructor, witnessing my success, said the words in this post title, adding, “That’s one of the two hardest moves to learn. The other is [insert several words that were nonsense to me], but you haven’t learned that yet. [Enter mental sigh of relief that I wasn’t supposed to have understood whatever the heck he just said.]
“Wow, thanks,” I responded, and tried not to beam too brightly.
For reals.
Validation.
This was Day 5. I don’t normally go on Saturdays, so it was mostly a new cast of characters, and more of them. Most notably, two older gentlemen. One with experience, one fairly new. This one I will call “The Commentator.” When Instructor demonstrated something, it would frequently elicit an “Oooh,” “Ohhh,” and even, you guessed it, “Ahhh,” from The Commentator.
After one of these, Enthusiastic Teen next to me snickered.
He was also enthusiastic in trying to help me out by adding his own instructions in stage whispers while Instructor did his thing. Was it irritating? Oh, yeah, you betcha. “Let me listen, punk!” [More internal monologue.]
The gold hoops failed me.
Remember these bad boys (or should I call them good girls?) that I swapped in for my diamond studs, thinking they’d be “safer” for my first Jiu Jitsu class?
They were not.
In the first class, the backs did indeed get shoved against my head–not really a big deal. Second class, same thing, which elicited a weak “Ow,” from me. Still not a deal breaker.
But in the third class, during a guillotine head lock, I said, “Stop!”
[Brief sidebar: You don’t say “stop” in Jiu Jitsu. You tap, usually your partner, or, as I found out when putting my instructor in a choke hold, you can also tap yourself. “It’s a good thing I heard you,” I said after releasing him. Fortunately, slapping a rash guard is loud. Since I wear a gi, I’ll be sure to always tap my partner before I pass out, to be safe.]
Now let me back up.
On my second class, there were three male students, as in the first, but three entirely new men. One guy announced that he had just turned twenty-eight, was boisterous and talking jovially and familiarly with the other men. He readily introduced himself and shook my hand, which struck me as weird, since this seemed to be a strictly fist bump establishment. This guy was so 2019!
The second guy was maybe thirty and paid me no attention.
I kept a sharp eye on the door for Surfer Dude, but no luck. Instead I was partnered with the third man, “Lopez.” Saying he was merely twice my size would be flattering to him. I may have gulped a little when Lopez faced me.
Forest green plastic covered the small room’s floor and halfway up the walls. I lay on my back. On me sat a small man wearing a full body mauve rash guard.
“Isn’t this precisely the sort of situation I’m trying to avoid?” I thought to myself.
The door opened behind me. “Oh, good, I’m saved!” I thought, only to see a rotund middle-aged man enter, paying me no attention as he walked on by.
“My situation has not improved,” I thought. Nor was it likely to get any better when a third man entered, built the same as the first, who also ignored me.
Soon the two of them were on the floor nearby, grappling with one another, as the man on top of me gave me instructions on how to remove him.
I relayed to Hubby a conversation with a friend about how I wasn’t particularly interested in living to a ripe old age. She responded snippily, “Then I hope you die young.”
Hubby lovingly responded: “Too late for that.”
~~~
I was listening with earbuds to one of my new favorite songs, “Trees” by Twenty One Pilots. (Linked to save you the trouble, M.) The last few seconds pretty much enrapture me. I was thus fully engaged when Hubby came over and said something I didn’t hear. I held up a “just a moment” finger, not wanting to interrupt those last few glorious seconds.
Then I felt like a jerk, so I pulled out an earbud to listen to him. “So we only got one egg today? Bummer,” and he walked away.
We knew it was coming. It was only a matter of time, but since there are now eight little chickens in the coop, isolating the rascals, I mean, roosters, is tough. I heard two different weak crowing attempts, as they’re just stretching their wings, so to speak. But also literally. I saw feathers unfurled on two birds right after the crowing. Next problem: we have three brown and three white, so unless I’m an ornithologist armed with tags, how will I know which birds these were when I’m ready to get rid of them?
But first, I need to back up.
We took the last of the big roosters back to the Chicken Lady. Since it was full-grown, I was hoping for two small birds in exchange, but she only gave us one.
That’s the title of the post by Wynne Leon in which she bares her arm with my face on it!
BTW, when the barista asked for my name, I told her “Birthday Girl.” She sort of smirked/snorted. Smorted? But she went along with it.
Several days after my birthday celebration, I got an email titled, “Sending D to college with a little bit of Betsy on him.”
Writing and Martial Arts 