Use Your Brain(pad)
When it was determined that the family schedule had shifted, that my husband would now be able to attend my first sparring session, the first response was one of relief.
"Oh, good," Greg said. But almost immediately, he corrected himself. "I mean, uh, no. Why don't I let you go handle this first one yourself," he says.
"What does that mean?" I ask.
"I'm just not sure about this whole you getting hit in the head thing."
(He had forgotten I survived this.)
"I'm not going to get hit," I said. "I'm so fast that last night I turned the light switch off in my bedroom, and I was in bed before the room was dark." (I've mistaken myself for Muhammed Ali.)
Greg continues. "I have this vision of you getting punched for the first time, and just sort of stopping and saying, Hey, wait a second! That hurt!"
Apparently, this interest in boxing will be thrown in the corner once I realize it's actually about taking punches, according to Greg.
I'm wondering about this myself, I must admit. Last night, when my instructor walloped the side of my naked head to point out, in her kind way, that my guard was down, I did sort of stop and raise my eyebrows. Whah...?
Next Thursday I'll conduct a clinical experiment: Do I really want to participate in a sport that requires a "brain-pad mouthguard"?