Split Knuckles

Home sweet home. Yep, terrible picture, as usual 😅

The main instructor wasn't there, but another guy was. I think his name was Felipe or Julian or something like that, and he'd been training in MMA (mixed martial arts) for 4 years. It was just like a movie. Felipe/Julian beat his chest with a fist and demanded, “Botame al piso" (“throw me to the ground”).

Now, I wasn't very successful, and I had -100 technique points. All I knew was how to charge him into a wall—and gosh was that exhausting. On the other hand, Felipe/Julian was taking it easy on me and yet I STILL ended up getting tossed.

My host-sister, of course, was watching the entire thing from outside the “jaula” (“ring”). First, she laughed in my face and teased me within an inch of my life, but she was serious when she asked why I like martial arts. I just grinned, “Me ENCANTO," (“I LOVE it”).

The next day, we returned and the jaula was empty. After a lot of begging and a bit of dragging, my honorary lil sis was in the ring with me. As far as MMA goes, I only knew what I learned the day before, but two years of Taekwondo wasn’t for nothing. 

So with our big puffy gloves on, we soon were trading 1-2 punches, drawing eyes with the steady thunk of impact, and our loud, exuberant laughter every time we messed up.

I don't have a picture, so here's Sara hiding from a picture.

From that day on, Sara began pushing me to go to the gym earlier and earlier so she could train with me before the rest of the guys came. She went from "no way" to “Yaaaaapo vamos!” (“C'monn, let's go already”) and I swear my lil heart grows twice its size every time.

Addition: A couple of days later, I opened the door to my bedroom, an iced matcha latte in hand, and found my littlest honorary sister, Laura, just 5 years old, throwing punches at Sara's open hands as Sara chanted “1, 2. 1, 2. 1, 2.”

Too good to be true

I’m living da life.

I’m at the gym almost every day.

Yes, I nearly got knocked out last Friday, and yes, my left leg is colorful with bruises, but even just the thought of being in the jaula makes me smile.

First, I spend 2 hours lifting weights and training with the boxing boys, then I spend 2.5 hours with the kickboxing/mma class. 

I’m usually the only girl, yes, but I’m treated more or less like a little brother—equal parts cruelty and care—and it’s perfect. They show me different ways to dodge punches while punching me in the face, demonstrate how to throw them to the floor as they throw me, and explain how to wrap my hands after telling me that mine look terrible.

Da boysssss. There's actually way more of them, but they never all come at the same time.

I’m improving, rapidly, and I can feel myself getting stronger, (like seriously—I ran 20k last saturday). I have every intention of returning to the USA as a certifiable super woman.

I didn't KNOW I was running 20 k. When we started to turn back, I checked our location, and  was like WHATTTTTTTTTT!!!!!

I not only became accustomed to the sharp smell of salt, sweat, and rubber mats—it has become familiar. Homey.

I’m not gonna lie, I still don’t know everyone’s names (there's too manyyyy), but I’m a part of these two groups. They’re the best part of my day. 

Little things:

• We buy each other energy drinks.
• The gym has the BEST oldies rock music.
• Hand wraps are GORGEOUS.
• To start the timer with gloves on, you gotta do a push-up and press the button with your nose.
• Omg these guys love to pose in the mirror.
• In my experience, martial arts here is a lot more… unorthodox (a.k.a. fun) than in the USA.
  • For one exercise, I was bear crawling with a human on my back (those things are freaking HEAVY!!!).
  • To improve reaction time, we smack each other with pool noodles.
  • Sometimes we train on "el cerro", the mountain-like hill of the city, just because :)
• I don't know how it happened, but I’m a gym rat. If I told you how many hours I spend in the gym every day, you’d be concerned.

I present to you, the most aesthetic place to train in the city.