Tonight’s gym torture session was Body Combat, an “empowering” workout that “combines powerhouse moves and stances developed from a range of self-defence disciplines including Karate, kickboxing, Tai Chi and Tae Kwondo, into a ‘take no prisoners’, adrenaline-pumping routine.” Sounds exciting, right? I was pumped. I thought I was gonna be Jean-Claude Van Damme. Instead, as usual, I found myself huffing, puffing, and struggling just to stay on my feet. The combinations weren’t that hard to master and the instructor was really nice, but the relentless pace was just too much. The punching and kicking were actually pretty cool; it was the constant bouncing and shuffling that killed me. Plus I made the mistake of looking in the mirror while I was jabbing away, which revealed the unhappy truth that though I was Jean-Claude in my head, in reality I was a red-faced chunker who punches like a girl. Needless to say, I will not be sending in my entry to the Ultimate Fighting Championships anytime soon.

Oh, and it didn’t help that Satomi Tiger was in the class. (That’s my nickname for her. Anybody get the reference?) She’s this weird little Asian girl with no rhythm who just bops away in the corner the whole time. She’s crazy, but she’s also got ten times the energy I have. She’s like a cartoon character. I hate Satomi Tiger.

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