Bec's Happybox

Eleventh Hour Thoughts on Sparring

First, a retraction.  I said I was throwing in the towel.  Well, I picked it up again.  Inspired by my instructors and teammates and helped by a large number of training sessions that I didn't expect, I am once again in fighting form.  I am ready to "bring it" tomorrow, as the young people say. 

Now, a few things I've been thinking about sparring lately.  (Warning: this is long and tangential.  I've got a tournament tomorrow and need to process a few things.  But there are two more photos, so click through for those, if nothing else.)

Throwing in the Towel (Figuratively and possibly Literally)

A fact that must be faced:  I have not been sparring much since September.  This was not how I envisioned the fall and winter going.  After the tournament, I knew I was going to be off for four weeks while we were travelling, and then I suspected that I wouldn't be going whole-hog during NaNoWriMo, but thought that in December I would start training pretty seriously for the next tournament, which is now just 24 days away.  And it just hasn't happened.

You see, my training it totally dependent on the availability of my babysitters.  My club offers four sparring nights a month and if I miss one, woe is me, and if I miss two, well, I doubt that I am going to be "bringing it", as they say, at the next tournament.  Especially if my opponents have been training hard for the five months since the last one. 

This was really bothering me until I decided that since there was nothing at all that I could do about it, I might as well stop worrying.  And by stop worrying I mean that I have accepted the fact that I probably won't perform well at the tournament.  I probably won't place.  Curses!  Curses!  I hate that.  I hate that I know that I'm not going to be at my best.  But there you have it.  And I'll still fight.  Of course I'll still fight.  Fighting is life!  I may be a lousy sparrer, but I'm not crazy. 

Pre-tournament confession

Friends, this weekend, a very exciting thing will happen:  I will participate in my first Tae Kwon-Do tournament.  I am nervous and thrilled in a ratio of about 3:5.  Mostly I am really, really excited to get in the ring with some people outside of my own club.  I am competing in both point sparring and forms.  Forms, I don't really care about, but I'm doing it to be a good sport and to try to challenge myself to improve my pattern (a beginner's pattern called Dan Gun for those who care) but sparring...ah, sparring is my true love.  We'll see if I can still claim that after Saturday. 

I want to say that this is my first tournament and as such, I will be satisfied if I do my best and get oh, a couple of points on each opponent I spar, and all I'm really doing is competing against myself and trying to show good sportswomanship and blah blah blah blah blah, and all of this is true, BUT I'm doing the Artist's Way and Julia would say that you should SAY WHAT YOU REALLY WANT and TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR OWN DESIRES.  So, I admit it:  I want a fucking gold medal!  Sorry, but I do.  I just do.  If I don't get it, I will not cry, but I want it.  Yup. 

Back in the Saddle

Hmmm, I think I almost feel that yesterday's trauma was worth it.  Last night I rode my bike out to the Haqshaq for a book club meeting and man, it was good. 

It's been a long time since I've done any riding, despite the fact that I used to be a daily bike commuter, and used to haul Sahsez all around Waterloo in a bike trailer during her toddlerhood.  See what happened was, about a year ago, my bike got damaged while parked and was unrideable.  I was pregnant and lazy and didn't get it fixed. 

A couple of months ago, we finally took Django into the shop and got her in rideable condition again.  But very soon after that, Tobias rode her to work and got a flat.  So she's been sitting in the shed for about six weeks, waiting for someone to fix that. 

Which brings us to yesterday, and the less said about yesterday, the better. 

But!  Last night! Was great!  I loved riding her, I didn't have any difficulty with the balance (recumbents are slightly trickier than uprights for balance), I didn't find it difficult physically, and, most exciting, I didn't feel nervous in traffic.  I thought I might after so much time off.  Also, the last riding I did was in Amsterdam, and in Amsterdam it's such a totally different experience, there's really no call for nervousness re: cars.  So I didn't know if I would revert to my old nervous Nellie ways.  I'm glad to say I didn't, even when we rode through the middle of the tourist district last night, doding hapless pedestrians, hansom cabs, regular cabs, and tour busses all the way. 

Today, I have no soreness at all, which I thought I might, given that my cycling muscles have been laying dormant, or so I thought.  I guess jogging and Tae Kwon-Do have kept me in good enough shape so that it doesn't matter that I haven't been doing those exact motions. 

The only sour note was yesterday afternoon, when Sahsez, M'hijo and I took another trip together, up the hill to get a slice of pizza and a root beer for Sahsez.  M'hijo cried the entire time.  It really sucked.  I hope that trip, and not the earlier one, was a fluke.  I'm planning on doing a lot of riding this weekend, so I guess we'll find out. 

Things I Will Never Do Again, Part II: Change my back tire

I thought I was going to either a) die, b) kill someone, or c) explode this morning while trying to replace the tube in my back bike tire.  Ever changed a bike tire?  Yeah?  Easy?  Yeah?  Well, ever changed a tube on a recumbent?  No?  It's nigh impossible, people.  I will never fucking do that again.  Ever.  I will happily pay the exorbitant labour fees at the bike shop, and suffer the blow to my ego that will surely accompany having to ask some bike shop punk to do this supposedly easy job in order to never have to go through that ordeal again. 

Afterward, my finger bleeding, my hands covered in grease, and all wound up in fury and frustration, I needed a cup of Earl Grey to calm me down.  Then I thought I might knit a few rows to further chill out but I couldn't do it with my index finger bandaged, and I didn't want to get blood on M'hijo's fisherman sweater so I had to give up.  It took a half hour to feel normal again.

The good part of the process was M'hijo's seeming indifference to being in the bike trailer.  Today was his maiden voyage as part of the cycling world, and he didn't mind his helmet too much and was happy in the trailer provided it was moving.  When we stopped, he wanted to get out immediately. 

Incidentally, Part I of Things I WIll Never Do Again is fix the refrigerator, a task I suffered over for about two weeks last fall.  There's a reason people hire professionals for this work, I have discovered.  I did feel tough ripping out the back wall of the freezer and removing bits and pieces, though.  It was fun to go to the appliance shop and convince them that I wanted to buy a part, not hire them to come and install it for me, just buy it. 

But is that little thrill worth the emotional toil of this type of work?  A resounding no.  No, in future I will embrace both on-site appliance repairpeople and bike shop mechanics.  I'm not afraid of breaking a nail, but I am afraid of flying into a fury and smashing everything in sight, something that seemed not far off at about ten this morning. 

I suck at sparring

Used to be, after sparring class, I would be so full of adrenaline and good feelings that I would always have a really great evening at home, get a good night's sleep, and still be pleased with myself the next day.  Not so much lately.  I have been getting my ass kicked, and last night was no exception.  I have several very small injuries today and I don't think I scored more than a handful of points last night, despite having about eight matches.  Boo.

In my Tae Kwon-Do club, there is a sort of elite sparring club-within-the-club.  It consists of  the people who consistently show up to sparring classes, and prioritize attending these classes over the other ones where we focus on forms and techniques.  They're pretty good fighters, and many of them have won medals for sparring.   If the club-within-the-club was Frankie's Gym from Million Dollar Baby, I would not be Maggie Fitzgerald (Hillary Swank's character).  I would be Danger Barch, the kid with a mental disability and delusions of grandeur. 

Lucky for me, Tae Kwon-Do has a really different philosophy from boxing, so it's unlikely that the other club members will do unto me as the boxers at Frankie's Gym did unto Danger (if you haven't seen the film, they beat the crap out of him).  In fact, the other sparrers are quite encouraging and helpful, sometimes annoyingly so.  You can only hear "Now, the mistake you made there was..." so many times before you start resenting the good advice.

I should say, the other adult sparrers are quite encouraging and helpful.  The kids just want to beat you down.  They're ruthless, and don't care (much) if they hurt you.  This is why I get nervous when it's five minutes till classtime and no other adults have shown up yet.  I don't want to get in the ring with an under-16!  They tear you apart! 

Certain members of my family seem to enjoy my defeat, if the smiles that greet me when I come home downtrodden are any indication.  "Get yer ass kicked?", certain members ask with barely concealed glee.  Apparently,  certain members believe that I could use a little more humility.  "I think Tae Kwon-Do is very good for you!", Tobias certain members have been heard to say.  And he wasn't talking about the physical benefits. 

Anyway, I've decided to adopt a new motto for life: "fail harder".  So far, I'm doing well at this. 

Fear me!

I'm not as vain as I once was (hard to be when your "beauty regimen" consists of sometimes washing your face with soap and usually brushing your teeth) but I've been resisting wearing a mouthguard during sparring for about eighteen months now, simply because I didn't want to look like an idiot. 

Well, recently, my club has cracked down on non-mouthguard-wearers, banning them from receiving and executing shots to the head.  And dude, without head shots, my whole sparring scenario sucks!  My signature move is the back fist to the side of the head.  Fakey front kick, then back fist.  That's all I can do, really.  So I was forced to get a mouthguard. 

And yes, I now look like an idiot.  But on the upside, last night's sparring class was tonnes of fun. 

To yog or not to yog? Not to yog

I've been hemming and hawing all week about whether I would return to my postnatal yoga class this week.  My initial fee covered eight classes over 11 weeks, and now that those are used up, I have the option to continue for another four classes over six weeks before my instructor packs it up for the summer.  (At right, M'hijo practices his reclining frog pose)

I have another 45 minutes to decide, but I'm 95% positive I won't be returning.  Which is not to say that I didn't love the class.  It was, in many ways, the best yoga class I've taken.  But I think it's outlived it's usefulness for me. At least, it's not so useful that I'm willing to give up most of my Tuesdays and ten bucks a shot for it. 

If you've never been to a postnatal yoga class, it can be a shock.   Imagine 20 postpartum women in a room, all bursting with chatter about their new experiences, many red-eyed from lack of sleep, but jittery from nonlack of coffee, most aching in at least three parts of their bodies.  Now picture their 20 babies with them, ranging in age from two weeks to eight months, some sitting up, playing with their toys and shrieking with laughter, others lying down and shrieking with hunger and rage.  Now picture about a hundred pounds of baby paraphrenalia (diaper bags, soothers, toys, blankets, stuffed animals, rattles) spread all over.  Now picture forty huge-with-milk breasts flashing about at all times.  Put it all together, add the calmest and most serene yoga instructor in the universe, and you've got my postnatal yoga class.  It can be a crazy environment to try to find some peace, but somehow it works.

I've been practicing yoga, on and off, for about ten years, and I really like the mind-body connection stuff.  But the really key part of this class for me was completely physical.  The poses and exercises we did were specifically geared toward the needs of a woman who has been pregnant for nine months, has laboured and given birth, and, perhaps most importantly, is now spending all her time carrying around a very heavy, sometimes squirming sack of sugar, and not always lifting with her legs.  I've had sore hip joints since last summer, and a sore back since February, and Tuesdays were the only days these pains went away, because of yoga.

But now, those aches and pains have abated somewhat, and I'm stretching at Tae-Kwon Do, which is helping, and mostly it's just really sunny out and I would rather plant my new hostas and weed and cut the grass than pack up M'hijo and ride the bus for 15 minutes then walk for another 15 to get to the yoga studio.

Yoga classes usually end with savasana, and relaxation, and sometimes a reading or a meditation.  Helga, my postnatal instructor, recognizes that new moms have neither the focussing power, nor the inclination, to listen to a long reading.  So she keeps it short and sweet.  My favourite one is something even the most frazzled and fatigued mama can grasp: "Life, for all its imperfections, is good."

Times-Colonist 10k Tomorrow!

So, I registered for this a few weeks ago, mostly just because my sister's hotel was putting together a corporate team, and I thought it would be fun to run it with them.  Well, since then, Randal has sprained her ankle twice and burned her leg in an electric fire!  She's fine, but not really in the best shape for running a 10k.  Also she hasn't trained at all.  So she's ditching. 

But she offered Tobias her spot and so he's going to do it with me.  He'll be running as Randal Twizzleton.  Randal's stoked because he'll probably get a better time than she would have, despite his not having trained either.  Then, when the race results are published, she'll be able to take credit for his time. 

To make it up to me for ditching at the last minute, Randal's looking after the kids for us during the race.  This is a relief, because I'm not terrible comfortable asking anyone to babysit for us  starting at 7am on a Sunday morning.  We have to walk up to the university to catch the 7:22 bus downtown.

I haven't done the TC 10k before, and I suspect (and fear) that it's going to be quite a scene.  A friend whose baby shower I'm attending tomorrow afternoon called today and when I mentioned that I was doing the race in the morning, she said she'd see me there.  Then, when I went to pick up my race pack this afternoon, I saw several people I knew, including Tobias' high school girlfriend!  Yikes.  With 12,000 people running, and my having lived in this city for about 25 years....doing a few calculations....yep, I expect to see about 498 people I know tomorrow morning.

I guess I'd better shave my legs.

What gets me going

Kathleen Hanna might kill herself if she knew that Le Tigre is simply the most perfect music for

* writing a feminist manifesto?

* starting a revolution?

* exploring bi-curious tendencies?

No, sorry, it's actually the perfect music for JOGGING.  It has exactly the right beats per minute to get this yuppie scum housewife, with all her yuppie scum accoutrements (YSAs), moving.  YSAs for jogging include

* jogging stroller

* iPod

* huge, incognito celebrity sunglasses

* Lululemon trousers

* some sort of fancy running socks that Tobias bought me yesterday.  I dunno, they sort of seem like SOCKS to me, but apparently they have some high technology built in which makes them SUPERSOCKS.

And while we're talking about jogging music, let me confess something. 

Everyone's read Audra's old essay called "Guilty (Dis)Pleasures" right?  If you haven't, it's a funny essay from back in the day where she confesses that she sometimes doesn't like the right things.  For example, she doesn't like Ani DeFranco.  A real embarrassment in the feminist socialist secularist knitting addict crowd. 

I kind of like Ani DeFranco.  Anyway, I don't hate her.  But you know who I really don't like, can't like, practically DISlike?  M.I.A.  It's true!  I'm sorry, I just don't get it.  I wonder if part of the problem is that I saw her video before I heard her music on it's own.  Since then, I can't help thinking "T&A" every time I hear "M.I.A." 

So that's my guilty (dis)pleasures confession.  But still, "Galang" remains on my On-the-Go playlist for jogging, because sometimes listening to something I don't like makes me run faster. 

I also really like to hear music that makes me laugh while I'm running.  So, I have "I Could Eat a Knob At Night" by DJ Reacharound, from Episode 6 of the Ricky Gervais Show and "Gold digger" by Kanye West.  There's just something about

She was s'posed to buy your shortie Tyco wit' yo money
She went to the doctor and got lipo wit' yo monAY

that cracks me up and makes my jog more enjoyable. 

So, in the requirements for a good jogging soundtrack, we've covered music with a good bpm, music that annoys me, and funny music. M'hijo is not going to let me sit here and type for much longer so I will just quickly say that I also require music that makes me feel tough and music that makes me rock out. For these, I have Nellie McKay and Franz Ferdinand, respectively.

With all of these things in place, my little 5k jogs go by in a flash.