Killer Instinct – Happy Halloween!

SabrewulfThe one or two people who actually read this blog will probably not know/remember the video game Killer Instinct. You can read the wiki here.  So either you remember the game or you read the wiki (or you just kept reading because you don’t care and you think that the rest of this post will be just my usual blather) and maybe you even remember some of the characters. If you do remember, you can just call me Sabrewulf. When my godsister and I used to it the arcade, usually after getting our nails done, lol, Killer Instinct was usually on tap, and Sabrewulf was my character of choice.  Not really the toughest of characters, Sabrewulf typically took an ass beating before going bonkers with his attack.  This was then and continues to be now, a bit like me. I will put up with the most shit possible before I just snap out and tell you about yourself.  See me (Sabrewulf) in action here because I can’t embed this m-f-ing video.

Yeah, that’s how I roll. And over the last few months, I’ve felt myself slipping deeper and deeper into some girly, crying at bubble gum commercials, oh my god my feelings, sort of madness.  Seriously. I’ve been tearing up at COMMERCIALS! Who the hell am I and where did regular, tough me go?!?!  I still don’t know where she went, but I sure as shit know where I found her.

You see, this past Saturday, I attended a women’s self-defense workshop held by the Krav Maga gym fairly close to my house.  I spent a good amount of time feeling sorry for my partner(s) as I released all sorts of pent up everything into those little rectangular pads.  We learned quite a bit of useful information in those two hours.  Of course, I would never go purposely putting myself into danger because “I took a self-defense class”, but I do feel better about my overall ability to keep myself safe outside of the house.  You know, cuz inside my house, it’s the Make My Day law.

At the end of the class, we all had the “opportunity” to be “attacked” by big blue, otherwise known as one of the instructors in a lot of padding.  There were three rules:

  1. (As we all stood in a circle around the attackee and attacker) When the attack begins, scream and yell to encourage the attackee. (Look, I know that probably isn’t a word, just go with the flow, ok?  No? Elbow, elbow, elbow, groin kick, 10 hammer punches to the back of your head.)
  2. Do not retaliate until actually attacked.
  3. When the attacker is on all fours on the floor, stop.
As we stood around the circle, I really did great at number 1.  So well, in fact, that I was nearly without voice on Sunday.  When it was my turn inside the circle, I was able to follow the second instruction. (I was going to say I did number 2, but, you know, lol.)  For a moment, let’s recap what happened in step 2.
I stood in the center of the circle, eyes closed.  Now, a man in a padded suit is not necessarily quiet and due to the previous 90 minutes of punching and kicking, let’s just say I was amped up higher than the top of the highest 14-er.  Spring loaded might be a good term there.  As Mr. Pads walked around me, saying things that probably would either scare or disgust most people, my inner Sabrewulf started prepping for the fight.  Mr. Pads caressed the side of my face.  He played with my hair.  It’s so cliche, but seriously, the tension in that room?  Palpable.  Even with my eyes closed, I knew exactly where he was every second.  And just when I thought that this would just go on forever, he came in for the attack.
Perhaps once or twice before, I have had this level of focus.  My hair trigger didn’t even allow him to fully get me into the bear hug before Sabrewulf showed up all claws out, elbows, fists, knees, and legs in full force.  Remember the first rule?  Yeah, I’m sure that was happening, but from the moment I threw the first elbow, there was no sound other than me breathing and pads being pummeled.  I couldn’t hear my classmates cheering me on, only the voice inside my head that said “Fight like you mean it”.
 All of this pent-up rage released on this poor man.  Blinded by rage.  I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase.  I experienced it.  Somewhere in my brain, I could recognize that he was on the floor on all fours, but he was also still moving which meant I was still punching.  I didn’t hear them say “Time!”.  Or “Ok!”.  I felt someone pull me off of him.  It wasn’t until that point that I came back to the room.
Such a strange sensation to be pretty much lost in yourself.  I guess that’s the fight or flight response.  And you know my stubborn ass will likely always pick fight. Much like a teacup pup, I don’t realize my size and think I can take on the Dobies.  I’m probably crazy, but I’m ok with that.  I keep that crazy bottled up and on a shelf, and every now and again, I dust off the bottle, but it stays neatly intact on the shelf.  I think it might even say, “Break in case of emergency”, and in that emergency, Sabrewulf doesn’t just pick the bottle up and open it, Sabrewulf smashes it with a hammer punch and releases the beast.  Funny how we work like that, isn’t it?
I’ve returned to normal.  No more crying at commercials, or anything else silly for that matter.  Back to my normal.  Thank goodness.  I don’t think I could have taken much more of the over-emotions.
Now, for the PSA.  Ladies, go find yourself a self-defense class.  You just never know what might happen.  There are some scary statistics out there that we women are raped and/or killed on the regular.  Please, learn to protect yourself.  Don’t become a statistic!!

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