Where’d That Bruise Come From?

Ally Balcerzak
Aug 23, 2017 · 3 min read

Exactly 21.5 months ago I walked into Spar Self Defense and took my first Krav Maga class.

I thought I was going to die.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I bruised.

Flash forward to now and I am still bruised. But this time in different places, with stories for each mark on my body.

I wear my bruises, scratches, bumps, and hard to define marks with pride. They’re an outward symbol of the hours I spend on the mats, throwing punches and clinching-up with my classmates.

Each new bruise underscores the work that goes into learning a new move. And every scratch represents a hard-fought attack drill.

I love my bumps and bruises — even if at random moments I find myself asking, “Where did that come from?” Because the thing is, I always know where I got it. It’s the how that sometimes takes a little bit to determine.

Where and how.

Since re-starting on my fitness journey two years ago, those are my most-used question words. Not when, not why, not who. Where and how.

You see, it’s easy to answer who, when, and why: me, any time I’m not working, and because there are a lot of cool things I’d like to do that are easier to accomplish when in shape.

But where and how, those took some time to figure out. I tried lifting heavy at a regular gym, forcing myself to run both outside and in, and a slew of classes that came as part of my gym membership. Nothing could hold my attention for long. I’m too competitive to do things without a clearly-defined goal, but competitive weightlifting never called to me, and running races is only fun in my book once or twice a year — and they must include friends.

That’s when I took my own advice and gave martial arts a try. The year prior to my new beginning, I had spent months hounding my brother (who isn’t really my brother, but that’s another story) to get back into wrestling or some other combat sport. He had loved it in high school and desperately needed a social hobby now that college was over. The day he walked into his martial arts gym, it was like someone turned a light on. Suddenly my introvert brother was always at the gym or with his training friends. It was awesome for him, and still is to this day.

So when I started whining about needing a hobby, he quickly locked-on to signing me up for a kickboxing or Tae Kwon Do class — citing a single comment I had made years earlier about always wanting to try martial arts. I procrastinated on signing up for a few weeks, until I stumbled across a Spar promotional table at a shopping event. Two days later, I shoved my anxiety aside and walked into my first Krav Maga belt class.

It was terrifying and exhilarating, and I’ll be forever thankful for my brother’s kind words of support as I considered skipping class. “Suck it up and go in. It’s one hour of your life. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to go back.”

Thanks, bro. Love you too.

But, as much as it pains me to say it, he was right. It was only an hour-long class. The worst that could have happened was I wasted one hour of my life trying something new.

Hundred of hours later, I’m now preparing for my blue belt test and constantly covered in bruises. I’m also 20 pounds lighter, three pant sizes smaller, and frequently charging my phone because my training partners drain my battery with group texts.

At this time two years ago I would have laughed if someone had told me I’d become a fighter and develop a passion for fitness and nutrition. But here I am — “that girl” with a fitness Instagram, multiple drawers of workout clothes, and a slew of health apps on her phone.

This is the new(ish) me, and I love it.

And, I’m never going back.

)

Ally Balcerzak

Written by

Fitness fanatic. Martial artist. Outdoor enthusiast. Dog Mom.

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