Muay Thai Kicking-My-A**
I’m dying.
And judging by the surrounding heat, sweats, and painful groans that are being ripped out of the women, who have chosen this special kind of sadism, are dying too.
I don’t know what I pictured when first decided to attend Durango Martial Arts Academy’s free Muay Thai Kickboxing class. A simple gym with the classic mirror wall, a few punching bags, and mats to wrestle on are what came to mind. I didn’t imagine an octagon cage or a beaming, petite woman welcoming us, and I didn’t imagine my instructor to look like an extra on the set of Wonder Woman.
This “Amazonian” would turn out to be the torturer of my friends and I. With a smile on her face, she introduces herself and welcomes us…
In movies, there are epic workout montages the major character does; they look badass and time flies. Well, real life is cruel and time is a thing. The mat that was once was your best friend during the torture called burpees, will later slowly drag you into the Earth during the three-minute jumping jacks because the mat is quicksand and it’s taking you and everything you love down.
My arms are screaming at me, my a** is on fire, and my legs have turned to jelly. It’s been cardio from the get-go and the stretching and bunching of my muscles are going to show me tomorrow how much they hate right now, by preventing me from gracefully seating on any chair without the giggle that comes with sore muscles.
I see the sweat rolling down my temple in my peripheral vision and I blame movies for the way everything slows to crawl, and in my mind, I am watching the drip collide with the mat from the seat of a theatre. Until, I’m called back with the word, “again!”
Muhammad Ali once said that he didn’t start counting his sit-ups until he felt pain “because that’s when it really counts.” I felt pain 30 seconds into the two-minute sit-ups and I thought briefly, “I can’t die here…it smells like the gym.” That certain smell that no matter how hard the staff cleans will always have the lurking scent of past sour sweat. S***, a minute to go…
As much pain as I am in, I’m trying to take in everything. How pleased I am with how I’m fairing and the community I feel with these women. I bring my head up during donkey kicks because even my neck is tired and shaking my head shakes away the exhaustion. I look out and make eye contact with someone across the mat and we nod. Both red-faced and wheezing, the nod tells us to keep pushing through. Signals us to anticipate what’s next. What’s next, what’s next, what’s next? The corybantic question chants in my head echoing the loud pounding of my heart. The nod engages what men call beast mode.
Jab, jab, and hook. Jab, jab, and hook.
Stretch.
Collapse with the rest of the class and shake.
(The shake was laughter)
We left class not feeling victorious. We dragged our broken bodies to Wal-Mart for ice packs and ice cream.
I would come again.
