I’ve been house sitting (translation: a couch potato) for my boss with the other intern for the past week. Last night, I’m lounging on the couch, channel surfing, looking for something that both G and I would be interested in watching.

Here’s a bit how that goes:

Home shopping network. Click.
Some cartoon. Click.
Fighting. Click.
A documentary on…
Wait, fighting?!

And we proceed to watch an hour of MMA on Spike TV. Really? Just a few classes of Krav Maga and that’s all it took?

This is my second official class of Krav Maga, but I’m just as nervous as I was the first time I walked in the building. When I see other women are there, I relax a little. I’m not really sure why.

We start warming up by running around the room and stretching our muscles.

I pair up with K, a shorter, petite woman, to practice straight punches. It takes a minute to get back into it.

Left, right.
Punch, punch.
Punch, punch.

My left arm isn’t as strong or as fast as my right. I can feel the power in my right strike.

After a few minutes of this, one of the instructors stops the class. What is the point of Krav Maga, he asks. Self-defense, we answer.

“Look, we can’t pay someone to attack you. This is your time to practice these moves. So practice them at full power. Practice them here so that you will be prepared out there.”

We start throwing punches again. I feel renewed energy. I think about someone attacking me and being forced to defend myself. Anger starts to boil up and I increase the speed of my left punch and put my weight into my right. The instructor walks behind me, yelling “Better! Good!”

I look down at my right hand. My middle knuckle is rubbed raw. I imagine going into work tomorrow all beat up… I can’t wait!

Our trainer adds another two steps to the combination. Left strike, right strike, step to the right of your opponent and punch into their side. When they drop their arm to protect their side, they expose their face and “that’s when you knock their head off,” he tells us. It’s like setting the opponent up for a knockout. He won’t even know what hit him.

I take it slow at first. Training my body to do what my mind is already starting to comprehend. I lightly tap my fist into the focus mitt as I memorize each step, acclimating my body to the feel of the movements. It’s almost like learning a dance.

Now that my body has felt the general movement, I start throwing real punches, putting all my weight into it. Taking a step toward my opponent feels alien, because my initial reaction would be to put space between me and them. But that’s the difference between Krav Maga and anything else I’ve ever seen: once you start defending yourself, you never back down until it’s over.

I go again, putting all my weight behind the final “head removing” punch. The instructor walks behind me again and pats me on the back, “Good! Good!” he says. I glow a little with pride and throw another hard hit. K’s body moves slightly with every throw.

When we switch places, I feel the power of K’s strikes hitting the mitts. I’m glad there is something between me and her fists. She’s a petite woman, but I can tell she could do some damage.

Now we move on to a defensive move. What if someone grabs your hair from the front. I’ve done this before in the previous class. K grabs my hair. My hands slap down on her fist, elbows closing in, and I thrust my body downward. Her wrist audibly pops. Guess it works. I take a few steps backward, her hand still lodged underneath my hands. When I look up she’s on her knees being dragged along the mats. I think I’ve got this defense down.

What if your attacker tries to grab your hair and knee you in the face? The instructors demonstrate the combination. Block their incoming knee with your left hand and simultaneously (or near simultaneously) swing your right hand up into the groin, almost like your bowling. Follow that up with solid punch to the face. Block, swipe, punch. Block, swipe, punch.

After class, I feel different about my surroundings. I’ve always walked with a bit of authority, silently sending out the message that you don’t want to mess with me. The difference is now I know I could actually do something if someone were to really attack me.

My first official class was yesterday. I was a nervous wreck. Would it be mostly guys? Would they all be 6′3″ professional boxers? Would I hold them back?

Walking into class, I was surprised by the numbers. There’s maybe a dozen people in my class, half of them women. I’m instantly more at ease.

We start with some simple warm-ups and then a solid stretch.

The instructor demonstrates a roundhouse kick and directs us to a line of punching bags in the center of the room.

I give it a go, shooting out my leg for my first kick.

Now, I’m a thin girl, blessed with a high metabolism rate, but I’m far from toned. My body fully refuses to cooperate with my already inflated self-image as a bad ass, crime-fighting dominator. The black punching back bag barely moves.

I watch my partner—a shorter, thinner girl—throw her own roundhouse kicks. The bag obligingly scoots across the floor. Holy crap! If she can do it, surely I can too.

Rotate, Hips! Extend, Leg! Put some power behind it.

My mind is totally into it, but my body is completely unprepared to put power behind anything. Reset my stance. Try again. Ugh. My ankle starts to twinge a little. This… is hard.

About a week and a half ago I took a four hour women’s self-defense class at a local Krav Maga Training center. I saw women who, with every punch and kick thrown, have a story. A raw, hot anger boiling up inside of them. Stories that I’d rather not ask about and I’m sure they’d rather not tell. Stories I’d never want to claim as my own.

My boyfriend, Chris, first told me about Krav Maga after watching an episode of How I Met Your Mother. I just moved to a big city without really knowing anyone here. We figured it would make us all a little less paranoid (especially because he’s on the other side of the country) if I knew how to defend myself.

The thing I already love about Krav Maga is the ability for it to be a serious workout that is fun. We played a version of tag. We raced. We dodged, kicked, laughed, grunted, breathed. We sweat.

I left feeling empowered.

I walked all the way home with a sense of calm and excitement. I started looking people in the face as I walked by them, acknowledging their presence. I’m guilty of staring at the sidewalk as I walk by or deadpanning past people. “Acknowledge their presence,” B, our trainer, said. “It will make them think twice about attacking you.”

I can’t wait to start going to real classes.