Did you ever have one of those days when you just wanted to
punch someone? When you truly needed to punch someone? Or something?
I had one of those days today at work. Don't panic; I didn't need nor want to punch a
student. I kept getting ridiculous,
belittling emails from someone in the district administration. Now, I have tried dealing with this Yoga
style; I have tried the enlightened approach. After all, I am better than he, this I know
and believe. I tried visualizing him
into a gelatinous pile of goo and corking him into a ceramic urn. I tired ignoring his incessant emails. I tried deep breathing techniques…. Here…. Now …. Here …. Now ….
Nothing worked. Nothing
will work, at least nothing
reasonable.
I know this because I drove home intermittently gripping the
wheel with white knuckled rage and pumping a fisted hand madly through the
air. My hands were so tightly fisted, as
a matter of fact, that I could feel the searing pain of my fingertips digging
into my palms through my leather driving gloves.
Something needed to
hurt other than me.
Years ago I decided sitting on my ass wasn't working for me.
I liked taking cardio-kickboxing classes
but not for the air-punches; I thrived when we brought out the bags, especially
the one that looked like a human. I graduated
from that to adult judo classes. I was
probably the smallest adult in the class, but there were times when I just
needed to try choking someone, or throwing someone, or letting someone throw me
because sometimes it just felt damn good to hit the mat and know I'd been
trained how to fall and how to get back up.
No one is ever going to keep me on the mat again. No one.
So today I decided that I needed to punch something.
Lacking something to actually punch, I changed into workout
clothes, went to the gym, and ran a mile on the treadmill. Unfortunately, I was right back where I
started from when the tread finally stopped, and I was still pissed off.
I moved to the machines and pumped the steam clear out of my
legs. I moved from my legs to my
arms. When the moron little kids tried
to jump onto the bicep machine, I damn near tore their heads off. They (and their trainer) gave me wide berth
until I had exhausted myself and the machine about twenty reps later.
I was still ticked off.
I went into the weight room, a place that used to intimidate
me until I played judo. I'll never be as
strong as the men, but I'm damn strong enough. I've lifted 45-pound weights (that assholes
left behind) off bars so I could replace them with weights I wanted. I've had chivalrous men of all ages come
running over to "help" me. I
smile and tell them I can do it, and I truly can. If I can carry a 165-pound man on my back one
way across the dojo and carry him in my arms back the other way, I can lift a
damn 45-pound weight off a bar. If I can
drag someone who outweighs me by 70+ pounds across the tatami while he holds my
obi, I can go into the weight room at a gym.
But today … today I was pissed. I was a walking shit-storm today. The truck driver who pulled out in front of me
then drove 20 mph felt my wrath. The idiot
kids in the gym with their "trainer" (babysitter) felt my wrath
today. The weights and the treadmill and
the machines felt my wrath today.
My body felt my wrath today.
I have the gloves. I
have the full boxing gloves and I have the fingerless gloves. All I need is the bag. I'm going to order the bag that looks like a
man, the Bob Bag, and not the cheap-ass one. I want the one that includes the bottom half
so on days like today, I can give him a name and kick him in the cajones the
same way I got kicked in mine today at work.
You see, today is just one of those days, a day when I
truly need to punch something, and
no amount of pain, sweat, or muscular torture is going to resolve that. I just hope to order that punching bag soon
because the computer, whose only sin is being the bearer of the email exchange that started this whole bullshit,
is going to be next, and I've got two gloved fists just raring to go.
