jab jab, punch!

i started my first kickboxing class last night, and it's actually something i've wanted to try for a long time.

there are four other people in the class. two guys that i know (small world), a girl that actually knows what shes doing (her facial expressions are enough to scare me, sort of like a meishan pig in heat), and a girl that wears tight-ass tna pants, a tank top sans sports bra, a retainer that impares her speech and results in incomprehensible jargon, and skills and coordination worse than a new born fawn.

obviously, i'm no pro at this, but i like to think i'm athletic and somewhat coordinated. my dreams of becoming the next Mike Tyson came crashing down after i came to the realization that doing 10+ pushups aren't in the books for me, as every muscle in my arms said "ha ha ha, i'm not doing that, you stupid girl"

push ups? i thought i get to kick things and flail my arms around  and break shit - what is going on here?

after a more than ambitious warm up, we all took turns punching the giant pad held by our coach which is probably why my wrists kept me up all night aching, telling me "fuck you, we're broken"

i think that maybe i punch wrong.

i think my coaches name is david, but thats a wild stab in the air, because i dont listen when people introduce themselves to me. It's not because i don't care, i just forget to listen during that particular time of the conversation. besides, he looks like a david. he would pull off being a david very well. he is quite cute, although much too old for me, and kind of.. short. i had the fantasy of a big tough guy with a shaved head that stands right behind me showing me how to punch (just like in cute movies when the couple is golfing, or playing baseball and the girl is mildly retarded and can't swing a golf club on her own, so the guy takes full advantage of the situation and snuggles his junk to her backside), but short, old david will do.

i'll be seeing YOU, next tuesday david ;)

xoxo, the damsel