2008 Woodie Awards
Fight like a girl
Priscilla Bigner
Issue date: 10/11/07 Section: Opinion
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Explaining my busted knuckles and constant state of injury by saying "I'm a fighter" usually will illicit a response of complete disbelief or laughter. Shocking though it may be, females do grapple, box, kickbox and wrestle professionally and not just in mud pits and cat fights.
My addiction began at a party when one of my friends thought it would be a conversation starter to judo-throw and arm bar me. For those that have never seen the UFC, an arm bar is an arm break. Only after he had embarrassed me did he teach me how to do it. and I was hooked. I saved up to pay for training and my first gi (kimono), which was three sizes too big and all but swallowed my 16-year-old, 100-pound body.
The first three days of training consisted of me being sat on by people twice my size, but once I learned a few techniques, using leverage and speed, I was tapped-out a little less.
Getting out from under someone so much larger than me, I found, was impossible. My instructor paired everyone up by belt rankings to 'roll', which is Brazilian Jiu Jitsu jargon for spar or fight, and the only other white belt there happened to be a 300- pound, judo black belt heavyweight fighter named Theo. My old instructor is the type of guy who likes to motivate you by making you mad or breaking you down.
I left that night feeling like lead, no part of my body was without a bruise. Discouraged does not quite describe how I felt then, but I knew I did not want to give up. The issue of my size came to the forefront. If I wanted to continue training I had to put on weight. Thirty pounds later, I feel much more comfortable and capable.
Martial arts are very demanding, and there are many aspects you have to harden yourself for. From the calcifications that were once my shins to the ability to tolerate the stench of 30 people on a high-protein diet that has soaked into every fiber of my clothing and several layers of skin, fighting has made me a stronger person.
The hardest challenge presented to me in this endeavor was an ideological struggle I fought internally. I am a non-violent person and hitting people in the face and breaking their appendages is sort of violent. I struggled with how to reconcile the peace lover and the Viking in me. For the longest time I just could not bring myself to hit anything but pads and bags, but I found a mental loophole: fighting belongs within a cage.
My addiction began at a party when one of my friends thought it would be a conversation starter to judo-throw and arm bar me. For those that have never seen the UFC, an arm bar is an arm break. Only after he had embarrassed me did he teach me how to do it. and I was hooked. I saved up to pay for training and my first gi (kimono), which was three sizes too big and all but swallowed my 16-year-old, 100-pound body.
The first three days of training consisted of me being sat on by people twice my size, but once I learned a few techniques, using leverage and speed, I was tapped-out a little less.
Getting out from under someone so much larger than me, I found, was impossible. My instructor paired everyone up by belt rankings to 'roll', which is Brazilian Jiu Jitsu jargon for spar or fight, and the only other white belt there happened to be a 300- pound, judo black belt heavyweight fighter named Theo. My old instructor is the type of guy who likes to motivate you by making you mad or breaking you down.
I left that night feeling like lead, no part of my body was without a bruise. Discouraged does not quite describe how I felt then, but I knew I did not want to give up. The issue of my size came to the forefront. If I wanted to continue training I had to put on weight. Thirty pounds later, I feel much more comfortable and capable.
Martial arts are very demanding, and there are many aspects you have to harden yourself for. From the calcifications that were once my shins to the ability to tolerate the stench of 30 people on a high-protein diet that has soaked into every fiber of my clothing and several layers of skin, fighting has made me a stronger person.
The hardest challenge presented to me in this endeavor was an ideological struggle I fought internally. I am a non-violent person and hitting people in the face and breaking their appendages is sort of violent. I struggled with how to reconcile the peace lover and the Viking in me. For the longest time I just could not bring myself to hit anything but pads and bags, but I found a mental loophole: fighting belongs within a cage.