I had never felt more like a couch potato. In front of me, a young man with a broken foot and his leg in plaster did one-legged push-ups, and I mean dozens of the things, not just one or two. A young woman moved across the floor like a machine, kicking at each step, her straight leg thwacking hard against her opponent’s shoulder. All around, there was the vague smell of sweat, and the whistle of effort.
It all looked way more explosive, much more physical, than on Youtube.
I, meanwhile, sat there never breaking a sweat despite the vast mental effort involved in observing. That’s not to say I didn’t burn a calorie or two myself. I did have to lift pen to notebook, after all, but… well… I can’t really pretend it’s quite the same thing. There are times when book research can make one feel very inadequate indeed.
I had already decided that I wanted to write a crime novel for Young Adults in which kickboxing would be an important element. Why? Well yes, indeed, it’s not something I know about. But I was fascinated by the young British boxer Nicola Adams, who won gold in the London Olympics. She was a killer in the ring, but when she took her helmet off and grinned, she looked as human as any other young woman. I was fascinated by the idea of young women taking part in aggressive sports traditionally the preserve of boys and men.
So I did my googling, and I found Massimo Gaetani, who runs the Carisma kickboxing club, and blogs here, and Massimo kindly invited me to observer the class. I should admit at this point that I have to make a big apology to Massimo. We agreed that we would each blog about the visit, and I failed miserably until now, which is months later. I have my excuses…. a website under renovation… a book deadline… but Massimo and his students are disciplined people, and I imagine that excuses like that are rightly screwed up and thrown in the bin. So I am sorry, and I thank you again for letting me observe.
I learned some things about kickboxing: front leg kicks are weaker than back leg kicks, and there’s no point in side-kicking from a front-facing postion, for instance. But what really fascinated me were the dynamics of the group. Here are some of my notes:
…fist punches, affectionate kicks… girl slips hand out of glove to push back hair… killer-kickboxer, male, shakes head, smiling, at younger girl – he won’t spar with her (afraid of hurting her?)… same male spars with partner who is weaker, tired, doesn’t push him… pairing, switching partners constantly, made instantly aware of relative ability – this person is a machine, this one is not – stumbles, hesitations, sudden grins of embarrassment, friendly suggestions about a lazy leg, a slow arm, a loose guard…
Collegiality was the word that sprung to my mind – individuals working not as a team, exactly, but as friendly equals, respectful of each other’s strengths and weaknesses.
Carisma is not any old kickboxing club. This is a university town, and these are not any old kickboxers – in that one gym, there were probably more top flight students – not just undergraduates but PhD candidates as well – kicking the shit out of each other than anywhere else in the UK. If the life of the mind has its frustrations this, then, is perhaps the way to purge them. It is intensely physical, requires deep mental focus (but, one suspects, of an entirely different kind than academia) and walks a tightly-controlled line between aggression and violence.
The other thing I came away with is Massimo’s clear warning. You may learn to kickbox to give yourself more confidence. But the best form of self defence is to run. It’s all very well to be able to kick and punch, but if someone pulls a knife on you, or a gun, then you don’t have a chance. Does the other guy have back-up you can’t see? Does he have a concealed weapon? Will he come back with a weapon later? Forget your pride, it’s much better to live and fight another day.