Suffice to say, there has been a whole more ‘fat’ than there has been ‘furious’ going on in my life currently. Where most people have spent the better part of last year hiding away in quarantine from the rest of the COVID-riddled world and getting all fit and buff as a result of working out – what with all the extra time n all – I instead decided to do absolutely bupkis but stay at home and do diddly-squat.
Go me.
I’ve done other stuff sure, like restoring a few things in the garage (click HERE and HERE), reading more books on polar exploration than anyone should ever endure*, building a few bird feeders and planter boxes, and even dabbled a little in gardening and basic yard maintenance.
Not exactly Ironman worth shit, I assure you.
In short, over the past year of self-isolation and quarantine I’ve basically evolved into being one pair of socks and sandals away from wandering around in my driveway with a garden hose and offering you a ‘tomay-tah’ – sad and pathetic as they will inevitably be. The only planks I hold these days are the ones that I sand and stain, and the only curls I ever do are the ones that will bring cans of craft beer to my lips whilst sanding and staining so yeah, as a result, two years down the road and I’m more or less starting all over again from scratch fitness-wise.
Needless to say, that’s pretty damn embarrassing.
In truth, I am starting to do more these days than simply sponge up stress and drink cans upon cans of delicious, delicious beer, and one of those things also happens to be as completely alien to me as, say, cheese-sculpting is to a spotted bushfish; certainly something I never would have seen me ever being interested in – martial arts.
Judo to be specific.
You see, as luck would have it a few months ago, Ron, a member of our local constabulary …
… invited me to join him for an introduction.
Okay, that’s not actually what happened, there was a lot of begging and pleading on my part but the end result was that Ron was gracious enough to begin showing me the ropes, err … mat. Along the way (as is usually the case with my “shadow”), Hailey has become involved as well and we are now getting a much needed “hand-up” at a time when we – *I* – really needed one. And in light of no pools or gyms being officially open yet, I am very grateful for this opportunity. However, as with most things I end up taking on – I knew absolutely buckus about judo. So after I had made the initial arrangements to meet up with Ron and his wife Kristen, I decided I should Google to see what it was that I had actually gotten myself into.
Sadly, I quickly learned that there would be no “Superfly’s” or “Superplexes”. In fact, in so far as I can tell there was no to be no “super” anything of any sort. Also, there was also to be no “piledrivers”, “running bulldogs”, “flying elbows”, or “Stone Cold Stunners” in my immediate future either. Furthermore, the chances were also poor that I would ever the chance get to roundhouse kick a watermelon off a fence post like I’ve seen in a thousand martial arts movies.
Bummer.
I admit, I also called him back and cancelled altogether.
Instead, Judo is a modern Japanese martial art utilizing the throwing and taking down of your opponent and then pinning them to the floor for twenty seconds, or force them to submit through some sort of joint lock or choke hold. Not exactly Jean-Claude Van Damme stuff truthfully, but I figured I’d give it a shot anyway – disappointed as I was that I was also never going to get to dip my fists into buckets of glue and broken glass a la Kickboxer. In actuality, Judo means “the gentle way” so, yeah … ‘not very hard core sounding’ I thought to myself.
What did I know?
I can be such a dumbass.
With it’s origins based in jujitsu, the now Olympic sport of Judo was created in 1882 by Jigoro Kano as a physical, mental, and moral pedagogy in Japan. But if I’m being honest, the only other previous time I ever remember hearing the “judo” being referenced was while watching the Flinstones escape from the evil Dr. Sinister’s island lair as a kid.
–
So, yeah, I obviously have lots of necessary and important questions then.
1) Is it actually just a bunch of hand chops?
No. What works in the cartoon Hanna-Barbara fantasy world doesn’t necessarily reflect real life.
2) Will there be oil of any kind involved?
This is just an ordinary everyday fear of mine regarding, well, just about anything new to me. If I ever have to either oil myself up in any way, or worse, allow myself to be oiled up by another … then I’m automatically out! Thankfully, there is no oil involved in judo and I can breathe a sigh of relief.
3) Do I have to wear one of those diapers?
No. That’s sumo, so there will be no need to consume 30 cheeseburgers before bed every night, nor will I be required to wear anything “diaper-ish”. In judo, participants wear what’s known as a judogi (or “gi” for short) made of a heavily woven cotton blend. And contrary to what my wife may think, it most certainly does not resemble a “smock”. We’re “gentle warriors”, not medieval serfs – thank you very much.
4) Will I ever have to fight/compete bare-chested?
I mean, I love a good homoerotic martial arts fight scene as much as the next guy, but I’ll need a few months to work on my abs first before I’m ever comfortable taking off my short and putting my flabby “dad bod” out there for all to see.
5) Will I ever be required to kick over a tree?
No. And that’s good too because I happen to like trees.
6) Will I ever need to have my junk stretched open and strung up on poles?”
Thankfully, this was a resounding ‘NO!’ as well.
(Thank Christ!)
So armed with this new knowledge, Hailey and I have more or less committed ourselves twice a week to learning how to throw and be thrown; we have yet to deliver one another any superfly’s or put anyone through a table.
(Here’s hoping though)
As it turns out, throwing someone to the floor is kind of fun. Being thrown however, well, maybe not so much … as I was to learn anyway. I was actually contemplating this uneasiness with being thrown when Hailey, practising her Ippon seoinage (one armed throw), grabbed a hold of my gi, pivoted her hips, loaded me onto her back, and before I knew it my ass was up and airborne before coming to rest squarely on the mat like a beached whale with Hailey lording over me.
Her eyes said it all:
–
It was as if my shy, placid, teenage step-daughter had suddenly morphed into Randy “Macho Man Savage” and, unfortunately, I was the Brooklyn Brawler. It’s true, I had been “Fabulous Moolah-ed” by my own 16-year-old step-daughter right there in the middle of the mat.
The result: four broken ribs.
For the next six weeks then I had to forgo my judo lessons, but we’re currently back it once more and, hopefully, a little wiser and a little tougher. I’m not sure how this ultimately plays into my future fitness plans to be honest, but for the time being I do enjoy tackling something completely new and different from anything I have ever attempted before. Likewise, I am also appreciating having the guidance from both Ron and Kristen – both very positive people – through this transition as it has been a long time since I’ve been “coached”.
And as it turns out, I really miss being coached. Somewhere down the line, I stopped being coachee and instead became the coacher, so this otherwise simple act of simply showing up and doing as I’m shown over and over again is very welcome to me. And sure I might be taking my bumps along the way (as I did with all my other ‘new’ hobbies at the time), but I’m determined and interested to see now where this new chapter leads me.
fatandthefurious 