What do I need to throw into a volcano?

Message to my Jiu-Jitsu instructor:

So here’s what happened NOW.

On Wednesday afternoons, a buddy and I co-teach a self defense class at our kids’ school. He works with the guys; I work with the girls. I was teaching the Elevator Sweep (originally mentioned here, though I had the name wrong), when the girl stuck her arm out last second and rolled me over onto it. I got up, paused, breathed, and this should tell you how much it hurt: I used a CLICHE!!

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” I said.

I’m so ashamed.

Her arm was fine, but by side hurt worse than my gnarly ugly foot.

One week after “The Incident.”

So far I have been to class twice this month. Twice!

Every 20 classes, you get a white stripe on your belt. (Anyone else hearing Seven Nation Army in your head all of a sudden? M?) In my last class, Sweaty/Indifferent Man earned his fourth stripe, and we all clapped. Instructor then pointed at me with a broad smile and said, “You’re next.”

I’ve been careful not to count my classes because I know I’m close, but I want to be surprised when I hit 20. It kinda feels like a big deal. Sometimes you get your picture taken with Instructor, and it ends up on Facebook. I would be so honored.

But that’s not going to happen if I keep getting hurt.

I took Monday off to give my side time to heal. When I returned Wednesday, Instructor asked how it was doing.

“Eh, it’s fine. I took an ibuprofen [because a blog buddy scolded me. 😉 ]. I’ll be okay.”

We did the first move.

“Is your side okay?”

“It’s fine.”

It was not fine. It hurt, but I decided to grit my teeth and bear it. We had only just begun. If I told him the truth, he might tell me to go home. Not an option. I missed this too much to leave.

Plus, it was my first class wearing my new gi.

Doesn’t this thing look awesome? What’s not awesome is the spot on the mirror that’s now on my forehead. Just pretend you don’t see it. Move along. Move along…

When I came to my initial trial class, I wore my Taekwondo gi. When I officially signed up as a student, Instructor told me: “Get a Jiu-Jitsu gi… I just had to say that. You can wear your own gi. That’s fine.”

Maybe now he wants to make the class look more… uniform (had to do it), so when I walked into my previous class, he handed me an official Gracie Jiu-Jitsu gi.

“You’re giving me a gi?” I asked in a hushed tone.

“This will be yours to take care of for the duration,” he said.

“Wow. Thanks.”

This had also been my first class post-foot injury, so he came closer to have a look.

“Huh. Still bruised. Does it feel okay?”

“The pain in my foot is not as bad as the pain of not coming to class.”

He smiled, nodded, and gave me a fist bump.

Back to this past Wednesday: I didn’t leave feeling like my side was any worse for wear. So come Thursday night, I headed to Taekwondo, which, fortunately, had been canceled for two weeks.

Maybe I just didn’t think things through, or perhaps I had forgotten what this class entailed since it had been a while. But jumping jacks, running drills, jump front kicks, and round kicks–which involve swiveling at the hips and pivoting on the opposite foot (my injured foot loved that)–weren’t doing me any favors. I came out of the bedroom this morning holding my side.

Am I just getting old here, or what? If only I had done martial arts in my 20s instead of making human beings. But that occasion did give birth to this blog. Now all major life decisions are based on my answer to the question: “Will this be good for my blog?”

Things were getting a little sleepy around here which was why I had my son. You should’ve seen the look on the nurse’s face when, birth certificate form in hand, she asked his name, and I responded, “Blog Fodder #4.”

Remember this guy?

If I have to quit martial arts, and this kid doesn’t step up and do something entertaining, I might have to buy more roosters. Sorry. Meant to write “hens.”

I hope you all have an injury-free weekend! I’ll be staying safely (boringly) at home.