Death by Karate

Last night I went to the adults-only karate class.  Because it was the day after testing, the class was very small--only three people.  We had a white belt, an orange belt (me), and a green belt.  The class was taught by what was almost a stereotype of the karate master: a little old man with a soft voice.  Except this little old man was from India, and he tried to kill all of us.

 

"Now we will try fifteen roundhouse kicks," he would say in a heavy Indian accent.  "Begin!"  And when that was over, he would say, "Now with the other leg."

 

At one point we were reviewing outside-inside kicks. For this kick, you straighten your leg, sweep it outward a little, bring it up as high as you can, bring it back toward the middle (so that your leg is now, theoretically, positioned like a chorus-line dancer's), and then bring it down =hard=, connecting the target with your heel.  The object is to slam your opponent's collarbone into his pelvis.

 

"There is no block or defense against this kick," the instructor said in his soft Indian accent.  "If someone uses this kick against you, get the hell out of the way."

 

All three of us were panting and sweating by the end of the class.  The little old man instructor, who was doing all the exercises along with us, didn't even raise an eyebrow.  He paused once to get a drink of water in the hour-long session, but that was it.

 

I need to go this class more often.

Done Whispering

THE GHOST WHISPERER: THE PLAGUE ROOM is done and out the door (via e-mail) to Ye Eddetor.  It's finished, pending editorial and studio comments.

And almost two months early at that.

Go me!