I have never thought about kickboxing. Never even dabbled in the idea. Sounds hard, I've always thought, and it was. But the funny thing was the aerobic intensity of the class wasn't what bothered me the most. What bothered me was the creepy look of rage in the eyes of the other (seemingly mild-mannered) ladies in the class when the instructor told us to "knee him in the groin!" and "punch him in the jaw!" These ladies strolled into the gym with their small coach purses and bouncy ponytails, and then became psychotic killing machines thirty seconds after the spastic techno beat came blaring through the speakers. I looked around me after just a couple of minutes in the sweaty mirror covered room and thought "Have I gone insane? Why am I the only one who doesn't get joy out of jabbing an invisible enemy in the face while he's lying on the floor?" Jab Jab Jab! Left hook! Upper cut! Speed bag! It was like a weird alternate universe of tiny fighting women (and one old dude who didn't look that angry, but was struggling to stay alive).
After pondering it for a bit this afternoon (before my three hour nap and mega dose of ibuprofen), I realized that I had no idea how pissed off so many women are. I guess I just don't have anyone I seriously yearn to punch in the face, and that makes me a bit of a freak in this town. But who are these invisible faces they desire so greatly to sock? Are they husbands, bosses, their parents? Is the invisible face just a metaphor for how society has kept these gals down? Maybe that's too deep, and maybe they're not mad at all, but man, did they sure look it.
All I know is I won't be rolling up to kickboxing class again any time soon. I prefer my gentle Jane Fonda-esque step aerobics with the happy music and peppy instructors cheering me on, encouraging me to let my ponytail keep bopping and to leave my rage face at home.