P'nK Books

On Saturday I firemen carried a man twenty pounds heavier than me up a steep incline. After three steps up I was breathing heavily out of my mouth. I tried to control my breathing, but I couldn’t. I was focusing on walking, keeping one foot in front of the other. My feet were cement blocks. I felt like I was walking in mud. I pressed the man’s arm and leg against my chest so he wouldn’t fall over. I looked like I was locked in the stocks while some lead and others followed. My mouth dried up quickly. Breaths grew shorter. My partner was grunting with each step I made. My shoulder kept digging into his groin. Once I reached the top and walked around my coach, I made my descent down the hill. I was huffing and puffing. The man was slowly slipping over my shoulders. I made it to the bottom and my partner and I switched roles.

            This was only a small portion of the Krav Maga level one test. It was five and half hours long.

Another time I recall testing myself was when I competed in my first Tae Kwon Do tournament. I was much, much younger than I am now. I had only been training for a month. The competition was in Windsor, Canada. My first fight was against a girl. I thought I could easily kick her ass. When the referee yelled, “Fight!” she attacked me without mercy. Round kicks to the head, side kicks to the chest. I had no defense. She was fast and accurate and there was nothing I could do. She was clearly the better fighter. Her hand was raised as the winner.

            For the past year I have been training in Krav Maga. It’s a hand-to-hand combat fighting system that originated in Israel. Krav Maga is not used for competitive sports. The techniques are strictly used for street fighting. That means everything is fair game: groin kicks, head butts, and eye gouges.

            One time during a grappling class, I was sparring with someone new to submission wrestling. He wasn’t new to Krav Maga. After we finished sparring, he said all he could think about was biting me when he couldn’t submit me. He chomped up and down and showed off his teeth. The Krav Maga mentality can be frightening at times.

            The test on Saturday wasn’t easy. We had to run down Gilman Street. Cross the intersections of Gilman, Frontage Street, and highway 80, also known as the most dangerous intersection in California. Multiple intersections converge under the highway overpass without the safety of traffic lights. Since March 2009 over 54 vehicle collisions have occurred. Next, we ran to The Eastshore State Park located along the bay. An area of the park has huge mounds of dirt and bulldozers. I’ve heard this area of the park referred to as the “Dirt Motel” due to a construction company leasing the land as a temporary storage for top soil.

            After the fireman carry, sprints, and rolling around in the dirt, we jogged past the industrial buildings along Second Street. We sprinted down a block where a few guys almost got hit by a car. We also stopped at Second and Cedar Street where a building looked abandoned and was covered in graffiti. In the parking lot we did fifty push ups and one hundred sit ups. The palms of my hands had multiple impressions from small tiny rocks stabbing into my flesh. When we returned to the academy, we still had four and half hours left of testing.

            The Krav Maga academy where I train doesn’t promote their students with a colored belt system like most martial arts. When you pass the test, you just begin going to the next level classes. When I was in Tae Kwon Do, I remember the test to receive my yellow belt consisted of breaking wood blocks in half with my feet and hands. For my green belt I had to do a flying side kick over three people and break a board in half. For my blue belt I sparred against two guys at once.

            That period in my life I remember always being injured and walking around with crutches.

            The last part of the test consisted of practicing the techniques I learned since beginning my training. I teamed up with my partner and let him attack me with jabs to the face, choking me from the front and back, and pulling me down to knee me in the face. I sweated so much I could taste salt on my lips. My forearms were bruised from defending the attacks. My knuckles were throbbing red from throwing so many punches. When the test was complete we all went to dinner. I had a bacon cheeseburger and fries and a vanilla milkshake. Nothing had ever tasted so good.

            The next day, I watched a replay of UFC 105 with friends. Randy Couture was returning to compete in the Light Heavyweight division at 46 years old. Michael Bisping was fighting for the first time since being knocked out by Dan Henderson at UFC 100. And Mike Swick was facing Dan Hardy. The victor would get a title shot against George St. Pierre. We also watched the Pacquiao / Cotto fight which was just as exciting as UFC 105.

In the late afternoon when the fights ended and it was time to go home, that’s when my body refused to function. Every muscle was tight. There were pains in my lower back, my shoulders, and thighs. I felt like the first car I owned. It was a Geo Metro. When it was cold and snowing the car wouldn’t start right away. I had to pump the gas a few times before turning the ignition. The car would gurgle and shake from side to side trying to start. When it did I had to continue pumping the accelerator so it wouldn’t stall. That’s what it was like for me as I tried to remove my ass from the comfy cushion. I made multiple attempts to rise, but fell back down into the seat. I had to use the momentum of each attempt to finally get up. When I stood on both feet, it was a test to walk. Every muscle cramped up. The last time I remember feeling that way was the day after Lollapalooza. I was covered in mud from the rain. I had danced for two hours non-stop to Moby and Beck. I was eighteen years old and loved to dance. It was such a great night. My body was reliving that experience. When I returned home my wife and I only spoke in grunts and moans. They weren’t the pleasure kind.

The Krav Maga test was difficult, but I’m glad I took it.

I have realized my body can endure much more than I thought. Plus the scars I have are always great stories to tell during dinner parties.