Taking names in the morning, kicking ass in the evening

“Kick me,” he said, not moving, and purposely left his ribs exposed, below the large red gloves on his motionless fists. I aimed a slow kick at the target, stopping just short of his abdomen. “No, kick me!” I had another go, and again he remained stock still. I landed the side of my feet a few inches above the brown belt coiled around his kickboxing garb. But still with no force. He saw that I didn’t really get the principle of full-contact so-near-so-sparring, this being my first time, but he was patient – “No, really kick me!”

I kicked him. It felt good. Very good. Especially as my sparring partner was under strict instructions not to hurt me back, and instead, moved about very slowly, while encouraging me to hit him. Great fun – big ear-to-ear grin type of fun. I can see the attraction of putting fish in a barrel and having a go at them with a shotgun now.

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