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Kwando Kwando Kwando?
Apr. 3rd, 2006 11:41 amCross-posted to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
curvychicks
I don't know if I'm gonna do KwandoSTRIKE classes tonight after work.
On the one hand? I freakin' BETTER. I took an hour off work just so I'd get there in time.
On the other? I am a big, walking bundle of Ouch. My back, lil' muscles I didn't know existed and especially my right shoulder. All the way up my shoulder. I need somebody with huge, meaty paws for hands to grab at it for oh, perhaps a WEEK.
But then again, who told me to get all nutsy on Saturday?
(For those who don't know...KwandoSTRIKE is a kick-boxing aerobic class where 2-3 people share a portable, freestanding heavy bag for an hour-long workout)
I wound up near the front of the class since I got there late and couldn't find an uncrowded bag. The only other person on this bag was some 130-pound middle-aged woman...so I tried to position myself so I wouldn't punch the bag in her direction, but NOOOOO she had to keep sliding to the opposite side! Maybe she thought I was trying to check her out. Um, no?
Me: (shouting over music) I'm trying to move to an angle so I don't punch this into you!
Her: It isn't you! I have a wrist injury...
MOVE WOMAN! I'm trying not to sprain your other wrist! GAH!! I tried holding back on my wicked awesome right hook...but that only lasted ten minutes tops.
As the instructor came by, WristLady grumbled something like "Lord get me away from that psychotic Negro" to her and slunk off to the back to work without a bag. So the instructor started counterpunching my bag. Let me tell you, if she swung at me in real life I'd run screaming like a pre-teen girl. She's one of those lil' spunky waif types--spiky dyed-blonde hair, maybe 5'2" 110 soaking wet--but the things she could do with her tiny dukes! Hers were the first punches I could distinctly feel from the other side of the bag--and I usually work opposite other MEN. Wait, that's not all...then she started calling for repetitive hooks! What a total, sweat-soaked, moronically violent, maniacally giggling and grinning at each other PunchGasm. I think I'm in love. HA!
Twenty minutes later during side-kick and roundhouse combinations, I almost slipped and fell because...huh? Was that sand on the floor? She and I actually managed to damage the bag. I glanced at the floor around the other bags...all clean. Whoo! Boy did THAT get the Man-Stoopid juices flowing...
By upper-body cool-down time, I was rolling the bag back and forth from one crashing left hook into my right and forth and back again; but by now Spunky Waif had figured out my weakness. Time to teach me a lesson!
"And now SQUATS!"
Five minutes later, I had retreated to the locker room, sucking wind and staring at the floor as drops of sweat dangled from my brow, then dripped to the floor below. Fine, Spunky. You win this week.
But I'll be back.
*creak* Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!
curvychicksI don't know if I'm gonna do KwandoSTRIKE classes tonight after work.
On the one hand? I freakin' BETTER. I took an hour off work just so I'd get there in time.
On the other? I am a big, walking bundle of Ouch. My back, lil' muscles I didn't know existed and especially my right shoulder. All the way up my shoulder. I need somebody with huge, meaty paws for hands to grab at it for oh, perhaps a WEEK.
But then again, who told me to get all nutsy on Saturday?
(For those who don't know...KwandoSTRIKE is a kick-boxing aerobic class where 2-3 people share a portable, freestanding heavy bag for an hour-long workout)
I wound up near the front of the class since I got there late and couldn't find an uncrowded bag. The only other person on this bag was some 130-pound middle-aged woman...so I tried to position myself so I wouldn't punch the bag in her direction, but NOOOOO she had to keep sliding to the opposite side! Maybe she thought I was trying to check her out. Um, no?
Me: (shouting over music) I'm trying to move to an angle so I don't punch this into you!
Her: It isn't you! I have a wrist injury...
MOVE WOMAN! I'm trying not to sprain your other wrist! GAH!! I tried holding back on my wicked awesome right hook...but that only lasted ten minutes tops.
As the instructor came by, WristLady grumbled something like "Lord get me away from that psychotic Negro" to her and slunk off to the back to work without a bag. So the instructor started counterpunching my bag. Let me tell you, if she swung at me in real life I'd run screaming like a pre-teen girl. She's one of those lil' spunky waif types--spiky dyed-blonde hair, maybe 5'2" 110 soaking wet--but the things she could do with her tiny dukes! Hers were the first punches I could distinctly feel from the other side of the bag--and I usually work opposite other MEN. Wait, that's not all...then she started calling for repetitive hooks! What a total, sweat-soaked, moronically violent, maniacally giggling and grinning at each other PunchGasm. I think I'm in love. HA!
Twenty minutes later during side-kick and roundhouse combinations, I almost slipped and fell because...huh? Was that sand on the floor? She and I actually managed to damage the bag. I glanced at the floor around the other bags...all clean. Whoo! Boy did THAT get the Man-Stoopid juices flowing...
By upper-body cool-down time, I was rolling the bag back and forth from one crashing left hook into my right and forth and back again; but by now Spunky Waif had figured out my weakness. Time to teach me a lesson!
"And now SQUATS!"
Five minutes later, I had retreated to the locker room, sucking wind and staring at the floor as drops of sweat dangled from my brow, then dripped to the floor below. Fine, Spunky. You win this week.
But I'll be back.
*creak* Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!
