Craziness, Kickboxing and Caput Ankles

The course of being an adult has tested me greatly this week. I will not go into much detail due to the fact that it involves personal trials and tribulations of others close to me, and to discuss them on a public forum goes against my moral code. In my own perspective, however, the whole situation has left me bewildered, unsure, scared, which has resulted in feelings of anger. Granted the anger is a by-product of the cumulation of the other pretty strong feelings I have been experiencing and is most likely misplaced, it nevertheless took a hold of me tonight and all I wanted to do was really hurt a punching bag. Going to train tonight was ideal when I found out we were going to work on some kick boxing. Punching and punching HARD was in the schedule!!
I need to make a little side note here: I train in Zen Karate. Zen Karate was founded in Canada actually, by a cool guy called Sensei Olaf Simon. Some might recall him in some commercials in the past. Zen Karate is comprimised of three types of martial art styles; Taekwon do, Shotokan Karate and Kickboxing.

Ok, where was I? Right. Kickboxing. I was the lowest belt tonight. The next lowest, a blue belt which is 4 belts higher than me. It was all good of course, did I mention I was going to get to punch REALLY HARD?? The warm up went well. I am pretty happy that I can get through *most* of them and still be able to breathe afterwards. It means I am slowly getting into better shape which is of course totally awesome. Once the drills started, I finally found myself relaxing a little. Breathe in. Focus on the mitts. Jab, cross, hook, exhale with each hit. The rhythm that you get into is wonderful. Soon, the hum drum of the other students hitting the mitts slowly fades into the background and all there is, is you, your gloves and that little red dot that you zone in on while making your hits. Even your thoughts, emotions and , for me, the whole weeks worth of cares slowly slip away, leaving you empty inside with the exception of: Jab. Cross. Hook. It’s a most amazing experience. We then started the kicking drills... switch front, then back leg front. I am terrible with switch kicks. They feel very awkward. I have no rhythm with them. I think I started to try too hard and then found myself tensing up. The next thing I know I hear this “pop” and I am suddenly on my butt on the floor and my ankle is screaming. Did I mention I already wear a brace on my left ankle? I am beginning to wonder if I am going to have to start wearing one on my right as well. I ended up having to leave halfway through the training session. Not fun hobbling out to my car. Even less fun driving home... I had to use my left foot to brake. By the time I got home the darn thing (I believe I was using much more colourful metaphors when I tried to go up the stairs to the deck) was swollen up like a tennis ball.

My hubby, the wonderful man that he is, had ice, tensor bandages, pop and nacho’s waiting for me when I came hobbling in. I am going to feel guilty later for gorging on cheese, greasy hamburger and sour cream, but hell I might as well enjoy something about tonight. Now I sit nourished, with half a bottle of wine demolished writing my weekly blog post. I may or may not finish the bottle. Tomorrow night, sushi and sake. I will hopefully be able to train a little on Sunday but I am not holding my breath.

If all else fails, sit ups and kata visualisation .

Regards,

Anne.