I didn't make church this morning. Universe City is trying to kill me, what with the spring bursting out and the awful pollen-y flowers everywhere. (I am all the more frustrated because I love the flowers, and the spring, and I would be out in them if they did not make me want to die from the unending headache.) So when I woke up still feeling awful, I went back to sleep.
I woke up marginally refreshed two hours later, blew copious amounts of yellow snot out of my nose, took some ibuprofen, and went to an extremely woo-woo dance/yoga/tai chi class. This is the woo-woo stuff your momma warned you about, people, except maybe not my momma, because she thought it was funny when I told her about it. People talked about things like, "I am pure love. I am pure brilliance," and then we crawled on the floor and danced about throwing our hands in the air.
Pretty much the only part I was good at was the part where we did two kung fu poses and punched the air (kung fu poses to dance class by way of tai chi, I think). The rest of the time I just sort of aimlessly waved my arms about and looked kind of dumb. I am too tall for these sorts of gracefullness-requiring things. Then, too, I was wearing what I wear to fighting class, which is knee-length tight-ish exercise pants and a red racer-back tank with my martial arts school logo on it. Everyone else was wearing flowing things and pretty light colors. I might as well have carried a sign that said, "I beat people up" into a room full of pacifists.
Speaking of which, I went to kung fu sparring on Friday night, after just having done boxing sparring the night before, and nothing is more confusing to one's muscle memory than spending one evening learning combinations involving throwing a hook and then the next night being told that there is no hook in kung fu and how about you try a back fist instead?
There is no back fist in fighting class. My brain was massively confused. I'm still not sure I actually even know what a back fist is.
If I ever get in a real fight on the street, I am using that hook. I might as well practice it every chance I get.
I woke up marginally refreshed two hours later, blew copious amounts of yellow snot out of my nose, took some ibuprofen, and went to an extremely woo-woo dance/yoga/tai chi class. This is the woo-woo stuff your momma warned you about, people, except maybe not my momma, because she thought it was funny when I told her about it. People talked about things like, "I am pure love. I am pure brilliance," and then we crawled on the floor and danced about throwing our hands in the air.
Pretty much the only part I was good at was the part where we did two kung fu poses and punched the air (kung fu poses to dance class by way of tai chi, I think). The rest of the time I just sort of aimlessly waved my arms about and looked kind of dumb. I am too tall for these sorts of gracefullness-requiring things. Then, too, I was wearing what I wear to fighting class, which is knee-length tight-ish exercise pants and a red racer-back tank with my martial arts school logo on it. Everyone else was wearing flowing things and pretty light colors. I might as well have carried a sign that said, "I beat people up" into a room full of pacifists.
Speaking of which, I went to kung fu sparring on Friday night, after just having done boxing sparring the night before, and nothing is more confusing to one's muscle memory than spending one evening learning combinations involving throwing a hook and then the next night being told that there is no hook in kung fu and how about you try a back fist instead?
There is no back fist in fighting class. My brain was massively confused. I'm still not sure I actually even know what a back fist is.
If I ever get in a real fight on the street, I am using that hook. I might as well practice it every chance I get.
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