And I love kick boxing. It’s a lot of fun. It gives you a lot of confidence when you can kick somebody in the head.
So this week I decided to embrace another class at the gym, mainly because I had nothing to do and it sounded fun. Emma and I headed off to boxercise, and it was interesting.
It began with us gingerly practising the steps and punches (with me constantly getting hollered at to not be shy. I’m not shy. I just felt like a plum!) I guess it didn’t help that I am often found in the gym and have developed a bit of banter with the guy leading the class, hence the shouts of “put some welly in it!” and “stop being such a girl!” err hello, I am one!
Then we got into the punching. One of us had to wear the gloves (rocky style) while the other one had to hold the blocking pads. This is where injury occurred. I was laughing at Emma’s lack of coping with a simple three punch routine, and stopped paying attention. She punched, the pad came flying back and cracked me in the face. Cue loads more girly giggling, and us falling all over the place trying to gain some composure.
Until this point it was sweaty business, but nothing we couldn’t cope with ( we are of course lean, mean, gym machines!). The gloves did get all sweaty inside which led me to crinkle up my nose and protest to putting them on (they were smelly!!) but we were OK. Until he made us do some ‘training’, which was frankly just an ancient torture ritual. You had to sprint to your partner, do a minute of punching, sprint back to your station and then drop and do a press up. This is where the whole class started to unravel for me. I whispered to Em “I can’t do press-ups dude” to which she replied “we have to do a press up? God I really need to start listening to more than the start and end of sentences” (LOL!)
So we ran, we dropped, and I attempted a press up. I got down, and then as I started to come back up, I fell flat on my face. I don’t mean this in a metaphorical sense; my gums made actual contact with the floor (eww, not thinking about the germ contamination right now, needless to say I went home and mouthwashed profusely!!) I’m a smooth operator. The whole class laughed. I don’t really have an embarrassment button so I didn’t care, although I made a mental note to exact retribution….
This continued for five minutes, until Emma had to do it.
All the way through the class we muttered to each other about how we were lovers, not fighters, how the class “wasn’t for us”, and what we needed in the supermarket. Despite this, at the end of the class we decided we might go back next week. After all, when else is it socially acceptable to punch each other about the heads?!