Buddy Night

It's "Bring a Friend to Martial Arts Class" week. Tuesday night, I brought my buddy Steve, who was more of an athlete than I was in our youth (we met as adults). He's a bit younger than me, though firmly in middle age. I thought he might enjoy punching something for stress relief.

Steve's visit helped me realize how far I've come. He said the class was a lot more physical effort than he expected. In two hours of tennis, he thinks he burns only 75% of the calories he burned in an hour of core karate class.

Starting off (after stretches) with 55 push-ups and a minute of sit-ups was tough. Then the punching and kicking drills, both shadow boxing and hitting mits, began to wear him out.

We were paired up to work together. Halfway through the class, he told me, "You're trying to kill me, I can tell." I told him, "Yeah, your wife put me up to it," and he got a long laugh out of that. (Or else he used it as an excuse to rest a bit.) I kept urging him to slow down, but he mostly wouldn't. Later, he said he was afraid he was going to throw up a few times.

After working on some close-range defensive moves, we finished with more sit-ups, and with those leg drills where you lie on your back, point your legs up to the ceiling, and your partner shoves your legs down to the floor.

When I drove him home, before he got out of the car, he shook my hand and said, "Thanks for inviting me. I'm never going to do this again."

Then after exiting the car with some difficulty, he spotted his teenage son and cried out, "Help me into the house!"