Following my recent and sustained period of blogging inactivity, I've decided to start writing more regularly because now, ladies and gents......I've been matched for a fight! This means that although I will have plenty to talk about, it will probably all be about bruises, weight, more bruises and my all consuming fear.
Being matched for a fight is an interesting process because there are alot of factors which need to be taken into consideration and which can throw you off course.
Weight, for one. You have to be the same weight as your opponent, so you agree a fighting weight before-hand and then both do whatever you have to do to make sure you're that weight on the day. Now, on the 1st of January I weighed 73.7kgs (which is 11 stone 8.2 for those of you still on imperial, like me), and I'm fighting on the 27th May at 63kg, (which is 9 stone 12.6). Now, whichever way you look at it, that is alot of weight to lose. ALOT.
So this is Issue number one: Being the right weight. If you are not this, you will probably not fight. Today, inexplicably I am 10 stone 8, even though on Friday I was 10 stone 5. Bastards.
Assuming, then, that you're doing OK on the soul-crushing calorie-controlled diet, there's no guarantee that your opponent is as well...
Issue number 2: Pull-outs
Pull-outs happen all the time especially, for some reason, in female fights. I've been matched once before and she pulled out, apparently due to weight, and my friend Ann has now been matched 3 times for the same fight, which has failed to happen twice for various reasons, so there's no point getting too excited until a bit nearer the time.
Of course, not getting excited doesn't mean not training like a crazy-lady, you have to do that anyway, but that's another thing which can go wrong...
Issue number 3: Injury
I get injured alot. Often, even. With monotonous regularity. All over. I've only had to miss training twice because of injury, and only because I physically couldn't train, but nevertheless, a broken hand or foot, a dyslocation, something along those lines would be bad news. So far I've torn the ligaments in my ankle twice, hyperextended my elbow, trapped a nerve in my back, had a sacro-illiac strain and broken a toe, and haven't even fought yet. Also, I bruise like a peach. So much so that I look more like I enjoy baiting Neds on a Friday night before helpfully handing them a baseball bat each than that I practice martial arts in a safe, controlled, consenting environment.
Last, but certainly not least:
Issue number 4: Getting the screaming heebie-jeebies.
This is not a medical term. I've never fought before, so whilst I *think* I want to, I don't *know* that yet, never having done it. Most of the time I'm like "Yeah, bitch, bring it on!" and other, not very Edinburgh-sounding phrases. However, occasionally I get an utter pasting at sparring class, can't lie on my side for a week because of poorly placed bruises and I do wonder to myself if it's really such a good idea. Yesterday being a prime example of this "utter pasting" I mentioned above. I graduated up to the Fighters Class for the first time yesterday (this, as the name suggests is a sparring class for people who are fighting soon, so it's harder work, harder contact, harder in general) and whilst I was pretty apprehensive and pretty much expecting to take a beating, I did somewhat under-estimate the situation. Think "baptism of fire", think going with the chief instructor's incredible brilliant wife for the first round and having her go heavy so they can see what happens.
Well, this is absolutely fair enough, and I'm glad to say I reacted like any hard-as-nails female Thai boxer should....
....that's a complete lie. I cried like a girl.
Nevertheless, I'm glad I went, and I'm glad they did that, because you've got to learn sometime. Nobody had ever hit me that hard before, and it hurt like a motherfucker, and I've got bruises (little ones) on my face and bruises (giant ones) all over my legs and hips, but I'd much rather I got used to that in the privacy of the gym rather than got completely taken my surprise for the first time in the ring and made a total arse out of myself.
At the very least, by May 27th I'll be able to take a punch, even if I do look like Rocky.
Being matched for a fight is an interesting process because there are alot of factors which need to be taken into consideration and which can throw you off course.
Weight, for one. You have to be the same weight as your opponent, so you agree a fighting weight before-hand and then both do whatever you have to do to make sure you're that weight on the day. Now, on the 1st of January I weighed 73.7kgs (which is 11 stone 8.2 for those of you still on imperial, like me), and I'm fighting on the 27th May at 63kg, (which is 9 stone 12.6). Now, whichever way you look at it, that is alot of weight to lose. ALOT.
So this is Issue number one: Being the right weight. If you are not this, you will probably not fight. Today, inexplicably I am 10 stone 8, even though on Friday I was 10 stone 5. Bastards.
Assuming, then, that you're doing OK on the soul-crushing calorie-controlled diet, there's no guarantee that your opponent is as well...
Issue number 2: Pull-outs
Pull-outs happen all the time especially, for some reason, in female fights. I've been matched once before and she pulled out, apparently due to weight, and my friend Ann has now been matched 3 times for the same fight, which has failed to happen twice for various reasons, so there's no point getting too excited until a bit nearer the time.
Of course, not getting excited doesn't mean not training like a crazy-lady, you have to do that anyway, but that's another thing which can go wrong...
Issue number 3: Injury
I get injured alot. Often, even. With monotonous regularity. All over. I've only had to miss training twice because of injury, and only because I physically couldn't train, but nevertheless, a broken hand or foot, a dyslocation, something along those lines would be bad news. So far I've torn the ligaments in my ankle twice, hyperextended my elbow, trapped a nerve in my back, had a sacro-illiac strain and broken a toe, and haven't even fought yet. Also, I bruise like a peach. So much so that I look more like I enjoy baiting Neds on a Friday night before helpfully handing them a baseball bat each than that I practice martial arts in a safe, controlled, consenting environment.
Last, but certainly not least:
Issue number 4: Getting the screaming heebie-jeebies.
This is not a medical term. I've never fought before, so whilst I *think* I want to, I don't *know* that yet, never having done it. Most of the time I'm like "Yeah, bitch, bring it on!" and other, not very Edinburgh-sounding phrases. However, occasionally I get an utter pasting at sparring class, can't lie on my side for a week because of poorly placed bruises and I do wonder to myself if it's really such a good idea. Yesterday being a prime example of this "utter pasting" I mentioned above. I graduated up to the Fighters Class for the first time yesterday (this, as the name suggests is a sparring class for people who are fighting soon, so it's harder work, harder contact, harder in general) and whilst I was pretty apprehensive and pretty much expecting to take a beating, I did somewhat under-estimate the situation. Think "baptism of fire", think going with the chief instructor's incredible brilliant wife for the first round and having her go heavy so they can see what happens.
Well, this is absolutely fair enough, and I'm glad to say I reacted like any hard-as-nails female Thai boxer should....
....that's a complete lie. I cried like a girl.
Nevertheless, I'm glad I went, and I'm glad they did that, because you've got to learn sometime. Nobody had ever hit me that hard before, and it hurt like a motherfucker, and I've got bruises (little ones) on my face and bruises (giant ones) all over my legs and hips, but I'd much rather I got used to that in the privacy of the gym rather than got completely taken my surprise for the first time in the ring and made a total arse out of myself.
At the very least, by May 27th I'll be able to take a punch, even if I do look like Rocky.
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