My Weapons of Choice

October 26, 2011

In a previous post I wrote about how I am blessed with an inner cheerleader.

Last week that peppy little minx cheered me right into my karate uniform that had lain untouched for three and a half years. First let me say that a karate uniform (a.k.a. gi) would give LuluLemon a run for their money when it comes to comfort. Unlike yoga pants, a gi hides a multitude of doughnuts sins and is therefore my favourite thing to wear. Its comfort however did nothing to alleviate the nausea that accompanied the thought of going to a class. But I went.

I chose a weapons class to go to for a couple of reasons. They are usually a little less intense when it comes to conditioning, and you know what you’re getting, or rather, what you are not getting – no sparring, no self defense, no jump kicks. As much as I was very nervous about taking the class, it was like riding a bike after I actually bowed in and entered. I warmed up, stretched, and prepared myself to eat a huge helping of humble pie. Don’t get me wrong, even when I was training often I would prepare to eat humble pie, it’s part of the sport for me.  And did I eat humble pie? Well, yes, a little. I hit myself with my bo (5′ long stick). Twice. And my shoulders were crying from spinning that stick around. But so what? I was there for me and it felt awesome. My best moment though was at the very end of class.  All the other students performed in front of the class and I had the choice to go up too … or not. I got up there and did my thing. I feel like in that moment of saying “yes” to doing something I was queasy about doing, I said yes to so much more. Now the word “yes” is among my weapons of choice.


2 Responses to “My Weapons of Choice”

  1. Sharon Says:

    You really did say yes to so much more. It’s hard to put yourself out there but what you get back when you finally do it is spectacular.

    • i Says:

      It’s so true. I feel lucky that I spent most of my motherhood years in the “yes” space and only lost my mojo for a few. It must be a lot harder for mothers that are giving themselves permission to follow their passion if it’s the first time or they have gone without doing so for a super extended period.

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