Work

I'm getting a sixth attorney.

Damn, they must think I'm good.

Sparring tonight

Tonight went very well, although I bolluxed up a hip joint at the end of class. I managed to fight through the entire class without hyperventilating, which was excellent progress. I really enjoyed the fighting, mostly because I felt tonight, perhaps for the first time, that I'm actually starting to put it together and getting a bit better at analyzing my opponent.

I'm older than everyone in the class, in most cases by two or three decades. Ian and John are significantly shorter than me, and for the first time tonight (duh, Peg) I started thinking about really using the extra reach I have on them. They're carrying a few too many pounds for their height, and being built like fireplugs means that they have momentum and power in their punches--when they can land them--but they aren't the quickest in the room in mounting a blitz or changing direction abruptly. The word that occasionally flits through my mind when I fight them is "lumbering." John is tentative about following up, too. They're quite a few belts behind me, so they are still getting the basics down. Ian in particular was really telegraphing his moves well in advance, which meant I managed to dominate most of the bout, because I was able to step out of the way when he tried to kick and then step in with a quick counter.

Fighting Connor puzzles me, and I haven't figured out why yet. He hits hard, but--I dunno. I'm not sure if there is something subtly--off about his physicality. Or perhaps his mental processes? He somehow gives me the impression that he's like a marionette with elastic in his joints that doesn't quite work the same way that other people's joints do. When he isn't fighting, he seems big and moves in an shambling way that I can't quite pinpoint. Um--is it just that he's an awkward teenager who's not quite accustomed to his own height after a growth spurt yet, or is it something like Aspergers?

Fighting Jesus is hard work because he's here/he's there/he's everywhere, except where you want him to be. You spend so much damn energy just trying to keep track of where he is. He's not a straight-line fighter, and he can be lightening quick.

As sensei helpfully pointed out, Jimmy tends to drop his front hand a lot. I'm not sure whether it's just that he's bluffing that much or that he really forgets to keep it up to block. He is quite athletic and moves very well. Other than that, I haven't figured him out yet.

Kevin . . . sigh. What reach! What reflexes! What flexibility! Whenever I fight him, what I feel most is envy. And admiration. While I'm getting my ass handed to me on a platter. Oddly enough, I enjoy fighting him the most, simply because I learn so much by watching him. He's a good-humored young man, and he's perfectly willing to pass along fighting tips to me. Sensei uses him a lot when demonstrating technique, because he's so good.

Daphne's only a green belt, but I believe she was actually a senior belt in a different martial discipline, so she has several years of experience. Certainly she's very good, although she was obviously not fighting at her best tonight; apparently she's recovering from some injury.

I don't have much of a sense of what I'm like as a fighter myself--what my opponents think when they're facing me. Except that my hips are so damn inflexible that I can't kick very high. But I'm working on it.

I was fighting Connor during a match tonight and having a great time. I hit him with a fast blitz to the head right after sensei said "Go" to start the fight, and the look of surprise on his face was priceless. That was fun. Then I landed a solid side kick for another two points. But when we started again, he got his leg under mine as I was trying to land a round kick, and his attempt to kick me ended up pulling my leg up sharply, hoicking it up at the hip past the point where it was really meant to go. Down I crashed. Ow. I got up and tried to go again, but three steps convinced me I was done for the night. I hobbled over to the side and watched, regretfully, as John stepped in and finished my round for me. What I felt most was keen disappointment at not being able to finish the bout. It's a sign of how far my attitude about sparring has come.

I did some stretches for the short time left in class and then hobbled to join my classmates as we bowed out. I started chatting with Daphne as I started taking off my kit. I mentioned that I hoped to get my black belt by the time I reached fifty, but that sometimes I wondered whether I'd accomplish it before succumbing to total decrepitude. I particularly feel that way after sparring with the group I'm matched up with now, since they're all so much younger than me. The more advanced adult sparring class (brown belt and above) has several people closer to my age.

"Fifty is the new thirty," observed Mr. Stratton (who is in his fifties, I believe), grinning, as he warmed up for the next class. I thought about that as I got into the car and drove home.

Oh, yeah . . .

So there's this dude somewhere--in Washington, wasn't it? Did a speech or something? Some people are still listening to him? Somewhere?

I'm sure I'll read about it tomorrow. Maybe. Or I'll catch up with it next week. Or next month. Or whenever I have a convenient hour. I suspect, however, that that waxing the cat might seem more important. If I had a cat.

Or maybe I'll catch up with it never. That would probably be better for my blood pressure.

Edited to add: lsanderson has helpfully summarized the speech for me so that I don't have to bother reading it: "We must move forward, not backward, upward not forward, and always twirling, twirling, twirling towards freedom."

*cracks up*