I had had two short nights of sleep in a row, finally falling into bed late Friday night after this cool candlelight concert of 90s music performed by a string quartet.
So back to crashing into bed Friday night: Hubby asked if he should wake me for 8:30 Jiu-Jitsu class the next morning.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe my body needs sleep. If I don’t wake up in time, leave me be.”
Did I wake up in time?
This was my third year teaching a girls’ self defense summer camp. I wore a boot for my not-quite-healed broken foot, but I made it work.
The last day was a flurry of fast-paced review, interrupted briefly by what the girls called “story time” for which they gathered around me in a semi-circle.
I’d already given a speech about situational awareness and how their level of alertness should go up as the comfort of their surroundings goes down. (And for goodness sake, don’t be looking at your phone.) This time I gave them real talk about danger from non-strangers and what to do if a relative, family friend, or future coworker makes them uncomfortable.
At the end, one of them said, “That wasn’t a very fun story.” So I added, “Then you grab their head and smash your knee in their face!”
They all shouted, “Yay!”
Not even kidding. It always amuses me how stiff and quiet they are the first few days. By the end,
I stood at the end of the hallway as two of my girls wandered out of their room toward me. It was a delight to witness their wide-mouthed excitement as they took in my blue belt.
“You got it!” one said.
I stayed in my gi, waiting for Hubby to get home so I could likewise greet him.
When I did, he said, “I knew it. When you grabbed your belt on the way out, I almost said, ‘Do you think you’ll need that after tonight?’ But I didn’t want you to get inside your own head. Then when I got home and saw your belt missing from its usual place, I knew. You put it away because you no longer need it.” He smiled and nodded. “Somehow, I just knew you were getting the new one tonight.”
I was seriously impressed by his premonition. Then I relayed the events of the night, all of my failures and reprimands and terrible mistakes.
And it happened again.
I am not normally a crier, yet I was an exhausted, emotional wreck, shocked by the irony of the worst night ending in my greatest triumph. I was blubbering like a whale* (I just made that up) and shoving strips of napkin up my nose because we’re out of tissues. (You’re very welcome for the visual.)
“This happened, then this, and this,” all while Oldest Daughter and Hubby watched, mutely marveling at this rare display from a black and now blue–appropriately like a bruise–belt martial artist who can kill a man using just one of her legs.**
After getting all of this out, I began to remember good moments in the night’s class also.
First, I got reprimanded for inadvertently insulting Balloon Man. When I lifted my head to explain, Instructor pushed it back down, silently saying, “Stop talking; do the move.” But at least, from what I glimpsed, Balloon Man did not appear insulted.
Nevertheless, I needed to keep mentally changing the subject afterward because being reprimanded by Instructor, which has happened three times now, makes me want to cry. I hate disappointing him.
Then it was roll time, and Instructor and Balloon Man sat right next to Money and me. I can barely function when I know he’s watching. I even said, “Do you really have to sit right there watching?”
“Just roll,” he said.
Given that our recent focus in Jiu-Jitsu has been all things lower extremities: heel hooks, ankle locks, knee bars, and now toe holds, I’m not surprised by how colorful my skin has become from the knee down. This adds to the near-omnipresent arm bruises.
But one night before class, I considered how cool it would be to have a black eye. I’m all about new experiences; why not this one? I’ve thought this a handful of times, so the only reason it’s unique now, is that I sort of got my wish.
One night for rolls at Jiu-Jitsu, a song by Pierce the Veil called “Bulls in the Bronx” played. During a flamenco interlude, I couldn’t help but stop rolling with Surfer Dude to “dance” while kneeling. Not missing a beat, he pulled on a prim and proper face like a flamenco guitarist and pretended to play. It was priceless.
Back to rolling, which always involves laughter when I’m with SD (and most people, but especially SD), I said, “Maybe we’re just having too much fun,” a second before that line was sung.
He smiled and fist bumped me with our sparring gloves on.
Later, I was rolling with Balloon Man when “Ride the Lightning” by Metallica played. I ALMOST pulled the same stunt by telling Balloon Man (not going to abbreviate that one), “Now it’s time to die,” to align with the song.
I didn’t have the nerve. I told SD about it later. He said,
My Jiu-Jitsu Instructor asked if anyone had a question. I raised my hand and asked if you could sneak a choke in from North/South when someone was turtling. (You follow all that?) “Money” was nearest, so Instructor demonstrated on him.
When he asked if there were any more questions, I asked what to do if the person’s turtle is so tight you can’t slip an arm in.
So, Instructor demonstrated with Money again, break dancing on top of him before ultimately sneaking in the choke. Meanwhile, Money’s getting his rear repeatedly handed to him.
“Any other questions?”
“I’m trying to think of one just so I can see you mess with Money some more,” I said.
He laughed. Money looked at me and laughed too. Then Instructor turned to him and said, “Next time I’ll demo with her and let you watch.”
It was time to roll. Instructor turned on music.
And I started dancing.
Typically, for this to happen, I have to be very comfortable with the people around me. So me dancing at Jiu-Jitsu… What the heck was that?!
For starters, it was, at best, some weird kick thing reminiscent of Elaine from Seinfeld.
The class started, as usual, with Mrs. Instructor and me partnering together. Also, as usual, we struggled to remember the moves. I’m generally inclined to watch other groups and try to figure it out from them, but Mrs. Instructor is, for some strange reason, NOT afraid of the instructor, as though she’s perfectly comfortable with him or something.
“I’m raising my hand,” she said.
Fiiiiinnneee.
Instructor joined us, but then Surfer Dude (SD) arrived, so Instructor helped his wife and assigned SD to me. That was all good.
Then Instructor introduced our next move, a “bear roll.”
You reach one hand through the other person’s knees, the other hand under their back, grab their wrist with both hands, get a strong stance, bend, lift, flip. Voila!
I looked at SD with one eyebrow raised.
I discovered this in my drafts folder from August.
The below is from July 3, and it took about a year to scroll to find it. Apparently Mrs. Instructor and I chat a lot. Mine is the writing in purple.
More recently, I wrote to her, “Uncontrollable loud sustained laughter during a wall drill with Instructor. Super embarrassing.”
Her: What happened?
Me: I don’t know! I just couldn’t stop!
Her: lol
Me another day:
Writing and Martial Arts 