I did not beat my run time Saturday--it was hot, so darn hot. I clocked 15 seconds slower, 26:57. Oy. But I'll back the truck up. Friday night we trained and reviewed our weapons self defense. I'm ashamed to admit that when my partner slapped the rubber gun out of my hand, it actually flew up, bounced off my forehead and banged into the wall. My feeble attempts at disarming LI were laughable. I keep forgetting you grab with the same side for guns and do a wrist lock. Yikes. Our forms look okay, though and LI and I do a phenomenal escrima form. It's wrong, apparently. We forget to reset our feet between the first and second half and have ended up practicing and perfecting it all wrong. No matter, Mr. O says keep it like it is because we look great.
So, Saturday we started with the run. It was brutal in the heat--the only really hot day we've run and even with Team Testosterone cheering me on I couldn't get my wind. I thought my head would melt off and breathing was awful--no one ran well, it wasn't just me. Cut to the dojo--on Extreme Day you do all the forms, a lot of mitt/pad work and combos. Our combos looked rotten. My pants were so damp with sweat, sticking to me, that I struggled to get my legs up for kicks. I held the body shield exactly twice for LI before passing it off to someone bigger to take his kicks. Both times he kicked me I flew back a good six feet--a concussion waiting to happen. Extreme Day ends with combat sparring, which means a no-holds-barred style. It's really hard to switch off the mental rules that accompany regular sparring: control your power and only hit target areas on your opponent's body. I had a rough time remembering I could hit anywhere as strong as I wanted. I began to remember after getting punched in the head (I wear gear--don't worry!) a few times--when my neck snapped back I took courage and hit harder. I went four rounds and trust me, after about 30 seconds of full-out brawling, your arms and legs feel like Jell-o. It's hard to calm down after an experience like combat sparring. The adrenaline shakes everything from fingertips to brain cells--not unlike giving birth. Watching the sparring is entertainment in itself. I saw LI choke out his opponent in at least two of his rounds and one of the 3rd degree candidates and his opponent rammed into the heat register along the front of the room and tore it off the wall. Ouch.
I didn't get injured (yay!) and afterwards Chez Green Girl hosted a Kids Night Out for the dojo--a bonfire in my back yard. Literally a school bus pulled into our driveway at 7:15 and out poured 70 kids plus another 8 instructors for hot dogs, pudgie pies, s'mores and games in the dark. The moon was full, the weather unbelievably mild. Everyone had a good time and I went to bed extraordinarily tired but wired.
At one o'clock I woke up with such a horrible ache in my left ankle. Icing helped, but something is definitely wrong down there--Mr. D's speculating it could be somehow fractured. I'm fine when it's taped, but the minute I cut the tape off things feel pretty tender. Because I am a responsible adult I will wait until I'm officially a 2nd degree black belt and the testing is done--then I'll make a doctor's appointment to get things checked out. Might as well have them explore my elbow, too, right?
So. Sunday I staggered around, trying to keep moving so the blood would keep flowing and things wouldn't cramp up and get more sore. Then I stayed up too late watching the Packers win again.
Three more miles, one more weekend of training and testing ahead.