This year, for something completely different (and in a fit of new year delusion), I decided to wanted to train in kickboxing with a national champion. Yes, you read that correctly.
It’s safe to say that when you meet me for the first time, chances are that you won’t immediately think “cage fighting machine” or even “kickboxing demon”. Even I can’t quite explain the attraction to this activity. But possibly the names of my pets provide some hints to my penchant … Kitty Rocky secured his name because he came into my life the year Rocky Balboa (the sixth in the series) was released, and little doggie Rambo was named the year Rambo (fourth in the series) hit the big screens.
Recently, when my partner and I decided to buy XBOX Kinect games, he chose a car racing game. I chose this:
Perhaps the heatwave that was passing through the Yarra Valley around the new year touched my brain (in all the wrong ways) as I’m still not entirely sure what possessed me … But somehow I found myself placing a call with the aforementioned champ and, before I knew it, I was booked into a session with her (yes, her).
I’ve had several one-on-one sessions with the trainer now – set against a visually appropriate backdrop of a well-used fighting ring in a tin shed that sometimes feels like its 30 degrees – and the conversations have gone something like this:
Me: “OMG I think I’m going to chuck.”
Her: “Go chuck. You’ll feel better. Then come back.”
Me (after 50 minutes): “Ok I can’t do anymore.”
Her: “Why not?”
Really, I had to laugh at that one. Such a simple question to which I had no answer!
Me: “Oh well, not quite” (after not achieving the target number of repetitions of a combination at the end of a round).
Her: “That’s ok, We’ll start from the beginning again and keep going till you get there.”
If anything, I’m getting fitter. Although much of the improvement in fitness is being somewhat negated by the effect of the Devonshire teas around these parts.
Will it continue?
So am I going to continue with my quest to become a kickboxing Rambolina? Well, sort of … part-time. You see, this bizarre training schedule is strictly a Yarra Valley pursuit (as that’s where the trainer lives). If you’re ever in this part of Victoria, head on over to the nearest fight gym. There’s a chance that you’ll see a crazy lady having a chuck in between rounds.
Or step in the ring with us. You’ll give me some respite from this unrelenting trainer. Trust me, you’ll love it. And when we’re done, I’ll shout you a Devonshire tea.