I'd like to think that this just adds to my baddass cred
So two days ago I attended sparring class at the dojo. It was going pretty well, like all sparring classes do--I punched people a lot, people punched me a lot, I accidentally cracked one of the dojo mirrors and covered it up with duct tape and hoped no one noticed--when the Bad Thing happened.
See, the Aiki people spar with us karate people sometimes. For those of you not in the know, Aiki is a martial art that specializes in throws, grapples, and the general redirection of the opponent's momentum in directions the opponent had not intended.
One of these Aiki people I was sparring was an old friend of mine (Let's call him Bob, to preserve his anonymity). We'd had countless matches against each other, and the way I usually fought him was leaping in, getting in as many hits as I could, and running away before he could pull out any painful throws/holds/grapples/Aiki hoodoo-juju on me.
It was my fifth and last round against Bob that evening. We were both pretty tired and probably not as controlled as we should have been. Bob made a crack about me jumping around like a squirrel on steroids, so I called him short.
Bob doesn't like being called short.
Even if it's true.
...Especially because it's true.
I see him go in for a takedown and I try to leap out of the way. My uniform pants (because I am also short and the smallest size they have hangs about three inches past my heels) trip me up, so I only end up staggering a few inches away.
I have just enough time to think oh shit, this one's gonna hurt before Bob reaches me and grabs me around the shoulders. He hooks his ankle around my foot and pushes at the same time, knocking me off-balance and throwing me to the floor.
Well, at least that was what was supposed to have happened.
Since I was already off-balance when he started the takedown and the takedown itself was intended to throw me off-balance, several things happened instead.
One was that the leg Bob had hooked his ankle around lurched backwards and twisted to the side.
The second was that the kneecap of said leg popped and made distressing cracking sounds.
The third was that suddenly all coherent thought in my brain was suddenly replaced with a refrain that followed the general variations of Jesus on a ferris wheel OW OW OW OW OW HOLY FUCK OW PAIN MY LEG IS ON FIRE AUUUGGGGGGHHHH Bob as soon as I can move again I am going to punch you in the dick don't think I won't.
The fourth (and last) was that I apparently made a sound akin to a cat being run over and crumpled to the ground with my injured leg twisted under me at inhuman angles.
So, uh, no more sparring for me that night.
Currently I cannot put any weight on my left leg and also cannot bend it at all. My doctor friend checked it and said 'Holy shit, Ash, it's crooked,' so I'm guessing this means I gotta go to the hospital. I got an appointment on Monday, and am crossing my fingers that my kneecap is just dislocated or something and that this will heal quickly.
Bob is very apologetic and appropriately horrified at himself, so I'm thinking I'm gonna make him drive me there. And also buy me food. And carry me up stairs.
I'm still going to punch him in the dick, though.
See, the Aiki people spar with us karate people sometimes. For those of you not in the know, Aiki is a martial art that specializes in throws, grapples, and the general redirection of the opponent's momentum in directions the opponent had not intended.
One of these Aiki people I was sparring was an old friend of mine (Let's call him Bob, to preserve his anonymity). We'd had countless matches against each other, and the way I usually fought him was leaping in, getting in as many hits as I could, and running away before he could pull out any painful throws/holds/grapples/Aiki hoodoo-juju on me.
It was my fifth and last round against Bob that evening. We were both pretty tired and probably not as controlled as we should have been. Bob made a crack about me jumping around like a squirrel on steroids, so I called him short.
Bob doesn't like being called short.
Even if it's true.
...Especially because it's true.
I see him go in for a takedown and I try to leap out of the way. My uniform pants (because I am also short and the smallest size they have hangs about three inches past my heels) trip me up, so I only end up staggering a few inches away.
I have just enough time to think oh shit, this one's gonna hurt before Bob reaches me and grabs me around the shoulders. He hooks his ankle around my foot and pushes at the same time, knocking me off-balance and throwing me to the floor.
Well, at least that was what was supposed to have happened.
Since I was already off-balance when he started the takedown and the takedown itself was intended to throw me off-balance, several things happened instead.
One was that the leg Bob had hooked his ankle around lurched backwards and twisted to the side.
The second was that the kneecap of said leg popped and made distressing cracking sounds.
The third was that suddenly all coherent thought in my brain was suddenly replaced with a refrain that followed the general variations of Jesus on a ferris wheel OW OW OW OW OW HOLY FUCK OW PAIN MY LEG IS ON FIRE AUUUGGGGGGHHHH Bob as soon as I can move again I am going to punch you in the dick don't think I won't.
The fourth (and last) was that I apparently made a sound akin to a cat being run over and crumpled to the ground with my injured leg twisted under me at inhuman angles.
So, uh, no more sparring for me that night.
Currently I cannot put any weight on my left leg and also cannot bend it at all. My doctor friend checked it and said 'Holy shit, Ash, it's crooked,' so I'm guessing this means I gotta go to the hospital. I got an appointment on Monday, and am crossing my fingers that my kneecap is just dislocated or something and that this will heal quickly.
Bob is very apologetic and appropriately horrified at himself, so I'm thinking I'm gonna make him drive me there. And also buy me food. And carry me up stairs.
I'm still going to punch him in the dick, though.