The Reluctant Kickboxer

I am not an athlete. In fact, I am the opposite of athletic. I can't touch my toes, I have never been able to do a cartwheel, and in high school I actually got a (serious) letter mailed home to my parents warning I was at risk of failing gym. 

Yes, really. 

Those bad experiences—combined with my natural, God-given clumsiness and un-coordination—have instilled in me a great fear of public gyms, communal workout areas and (most of all) work out classes. Especially work out classes that require skill, like a martial arts class. 

So imagine my surprise when I found myself—barefoot in much too much spandex—in the back left corner of a kickboxing class. 

I am 22 years old. Young enough that I am expected to have a certain level of physical fitness. As one of the youngest women in the class, and perhaps somewhere in the middle-to-lower end in terms of figure and weight, I was hands-down the most unskilled and out of shape. 

Imagine my surprise. And horror.

I took this class at Premier Martial Arts in Bedford Hills, a previously unknown- to-me martial arts studio I profiled a couple of weeks back for the Patch. I met the staff through the interview, and once the interview was over I got to talking with them. They asked me to try a class, and of course I politely refused. I had a treadmill in my basement after all, I thought. If I wanted to work out, I could always walk on that. 

But then, manager Chad Weiss called me out.

"Confidence," he said. "You don't have confidence. Martial arts can give you that confidence."

In addition to being extremely nonathletic, I am also very stubborn. So I agreed to the class, only to prove him wrong. 

I don't know any of the terms, so I can't exactly explain to you what happened in there during that hour. But it went something like this: Jumping jacks, punch left, punch right, lunge down, kick left, kick right, jump rope, push up, sit up, stay up, stay down. 

I took more water breaks than women double my age, but I gave it my all and I made it through the class. 

The next morning I was so sore, and I couldn't scratch my own back for the next three days.

But something happened that I expected even less than my terrible physical shape. I liked the class—the whole experience—enough to come back for more. Only this time, it was boxing. 

Real boxing gloves, a punching bag and everything. I had never punched anything before. Yet before I knew it, I was doing jabs and hooks, kicks and combos. And I liked that, too. 

Walking into the martial arts studio that first day, I didn't ever expect to take part in a class. Once I did, I didn't expect to like it. Chad was right about me—even those first couple of classes I took markedly improved my confidence by taking my out of my comfort zone and unveiling the power and strength that I never knew I had. 

I can't imagine what it would do for me if I really dedicated myself to it. 

Like many other women, I am on a quest this summer to slim down, tone up, and become a better, more confident person. In only two trial martial arts classes, I've managed to come that much closer to my goal. 

(And that much further away from the girl who nearly failed gym because she never could do a lay-up).