When last we left Too Hot Mamas, they were in their free trial Krav Maga class, learning that, in fact, nothing in life is free. Carolyn was bleeding happily and Wendy was preparing to kick the stuffing out of the senior lady who had been whomping her butt for the past hour and fifteen minutes. Now you’re up to speed….
So, Ma Barker invited me to hit her first, instructing me to aim for the pad she was holding up by the side of her face and I who cannot squash an ant, I who have held funerals for birds I had no part in killing, I who am incapable of purchasing a pound of ground round without envisioning a cow mooing mournfully for her lost calf, I, dear reader, did not aim for the pad. Oh, no. After being sent flying by Ma’s skinny wrist more times than I could count that day, I discovered the true power of Krav Maga.
See, I think Israeli Street Fighting is designed to get you so pissed off you’d hit your own Bubbie while she was handing you a honey cake.
BAM! I let Ma have it, right between the eyes. She blocked (I knew she would…honest), but she wasn’t happy.
“We hit past each other,” she admonished.
“Really? Sorry.” WHOOSH! I let one fly, right toward her shnoz. “Sorry again!” I lied cheerfully after she slapped me away. “I was trying to find my power as a woman and slipped.”
“That’s not how we do it. Let me show you—“
“We’re almost out of time,” Mini Krav called from the front of the room. Proof of a loving God. “Line up,” Mini Krav instructed, “in the middle of the room.”
I shrugged at Ma and moved to the center of the room.
Cool. This must be like in my daughter’s gymnastics class when the girls get stickers and a small snack after a job well done.
“Close your eyes,” Mini Krav instructed. I thought that was cute. They were going to surprise us. After the single-minded focus on maiming each other, I must admit this bit of after-class whimsy was most welcome.
Eyes closed, I waited, smiling, for my reward. I could sense someone approaching very softly and held out my hand. Ten very strong, very insistent, steel-like fingers curled around my throat. Yeah, that’s right: my throat. And they weren’t exactly massaging.
My eyes shot open. Krav Maga Man, the surly one, the one who beamed at Carolyn once she started bleeding, was “pretending” to be an attacker.
“Break my hold!” he commanded, his dark eyes boring into my by this time bulging blue ones.
“Do what you were shown. Break my hold!”
Were we shown that? Uhhhm…oh yeah. Pulling back the hand I’d been holding out for candy, I grabbed his wrists and twisted. Nothing. Diving both hands in between his arms, I executed a quick hacking maneuver. Nada. I think his hold on my neck tightened. I tried looking around for Carolyn, but couldn’t turn my head. It was getting a little hard to breathe, too, so I rasped out, “I can’t.”
This seemed to disgust him. “Use your strength and punch through my arms from up above!” he shouted like a good drill sergeant.
I did as instructed, wrenching his arms as hard as I possibly could. He did not budge.
“I’m just here for the free trial class,” I gurgled in a high, alien-like voice, the only one I could squeeze out. “I can’t break your hold. Please let go.”
KMM rolled his eyes, but he released me. It was a pity release, I get that. Still, I was free and ready to collect Carolyn and her son and get out oft here.
KMM wasn’t done yet. “Kick me between the legs!”
Standing in attack mode, flashing irritation and challenge in equal measure, he growled, “I let you go, now kick me to make sure I’m incapacitated.”
I shrugged. “Sure.” Balancing on my left foot (I’m really very good at that, thanks to yoga), I kicked toward his chest with my right.
He flicked my foot away like it was a fly. “Not at my chest.”
“Well, where do you– Oh!” I giggled. “I couldn’t possibly. I don’t know you well enough. Shouldn’t you at least buy me dinner first?” Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.
I won’t bother describing his expression; I’d rather not relive it.
I raised my knee and performed the maneuver, adding a hearty “MUH!” for good measure. I’m sure he’s still having nightmares about meeting me in a dark alley somewhere.
Carolyn, her son and I left with sweat rolling down our faces and backs. There wasn’t much talking in the car on the way home. We agreed to try aikido next. I agreed only to get them to go home so I could slather my body in Tiger Balm, slap a few Salon Pas on my lower back, and crawl into bed.
For the record, I would like to reply in advance and in public to my dear friend Carolyn’s next suggestion for a great adventure:
“Nothing doing, Lucy!”