Thursday, March 12, 2009

How to (Not) Jumpstart your Monday

I am writing the Monday evening story roughly 2 full weeks after it has happened. Fourteen days, two blow by blow accounts over the phone, about twenty random short stories about the incident, and a hundred scene by scene instant replays after -- this is my processed version of the fateful Monday night hoopla. Okay blow by blow account starts now.

It was a beautiful Monday and I’ve been psyched since the week before about the 2-hour marathon class Monday night. So came 630 and there I was, signing up at the reg booth, getting a free banana, a bottle of vitamin water in color blue, and a pink celphone thingum. I went inside the room and there must have been over a hundred people in the roughly hundred-square meter room. I loved it, I loved the fact that I was there, I loved it that there were all these people who came all the way from wherever to be part of the marathon class, and I loved it that it promises to be a really fun experience. The energy in the room was amazing you can touch it. People were hooting, obviously excited to sweat it out in the next two hours.

The music started playing and everyone was bursting with unbelievable energy. The room was so cramped; my distance from the next person was about less than a ruler’s length. I feel a swish of air on my cheeks every time the guy behind me does air kicks. The room was bursting to seams, and I loved it. The energy was intoxicating, I loved the high. I was having a grand time. Until.

About an hour and a half into the class, a mean thought popped into my head. I remembered this time when I was just about a few months into Combat. I thought I was good, err not really, but at the least better than the awkward newbies who throw weird side kicks. I still am awkward myself, but then again, good and better are always relative. I was at the backmost row and in the row in front of me was a girl in a jacket who was flailing around and looked really tired only a few minutes into the class. A few moments later, she did either a front kick or a side kick, and then next thing I knew she was plopped on the floor. On her butt. And the proud and arrogant me stifled a mean smile. But inside my head, I was laughing like a maniac.

Then I snapped out of the thought. A few moments later, I jumped and just before I landed, it felt like things were on freeze frame, as if someone was play-pause-ing my fall. Just before I hit the ground, my left foot twisted and I landed on the side of my foot. I lost all balance and my right foot wasn’t able to save me. Suddenly, the mean thought flashed back and I just realized that I was going to be ‘that’ girl tonight. After what seemed like a good full minute, I was on the floor. On my butt. And oh, I was wearing a bright red shirt. My adrenaline rush had me jumping back on my feet in 3 seconds flat. Went on to finish the last minute or so of the song.

And the big question was – finish the last 30minutes of the class and pretend like no accident of the falling sort happened OR go out and attempt to save face? I had a grand total of 7 seconds to decide while drinking my blue vitamin water in between songs. Going on with the class like nothing happened is just weird. But going out right after falling is just plain loser. So after giving it ‘much’ thought, I stayed. I was feeling pangs of pain on my left foot but since I don’t have any friends to maybe assist me out of the class or laugh about it with, I went on to finish the last 5 tracks of the marathon class. But no jumping. After what seemed like forever, the class ended.

Before the event, it was announced that there was going to be a raffle at the end, more importantly awards for best combat students. Try as I may not to pine for it, I was really hoping I land a spot in the roster of the best for the night. But then hour and a half into it, the infamous fall happened so I just dropped pining to get awarded altogether. I thought to myself, getting a prize would be a pity thing at worst and appreciated considerable talent but with some pity at best. I didn’t want that. I seriously thought I had good form, and I that I have improved markedly since the day I started. But then again, best is relative.

I limped my way out of the class immediately after. I was starting to feel the pain on my left foot, maybe because the adrenaline rush was slowly waning. I headed to the drinking fountain thinking about the possibility of winning. I felt like I at least had a good fighting chance. I couldn’t resist it so I ended up peeking through the glass door; you know just to see who won. I was standing right outside when a girl approached me to ask if I was the girl in the third row. My immediate response was, “The one that fell?” and I have never felt more of a loser than that instance. The girl just shook her head and said she doesn’t remember. She then ushered me in and told me I won something. And just as I had hoped, finalist for best combat student caps the night. They had an argument whether my shirt was red or fuchsia and then finally settled for red. I was led to the stage, handed a teddy bear (which was really cute btw, and that’s something since I’m not a fan of stuffed toys), given GC’s, and then photographed with the instructors. The whole time my head had the word “pity” and a really large question mark to go with it. I knew I had a good chance of landing a spot but I still seriously doubt whether the fall had anything to do with the winning. Who would’ve thought.

I had to call PV and Friendcess to recount the whole thing before I took my bath. I was limping and shaking during the two conversations. And I quote Friendcess, “I can feel your embarrassment from the gym to my house”. And PV being the super supportive friend that he is sent a text after the conversation and I quote, “OMG. I have thought very hard about what happened and I cannot think of anything you can actively do to go past your social blunder. I guess what you can do is let it pass until people don’t think about it AS MUCH.” It was baaaad.

And that was the story of that fateful Monday night. My only consolation was that R still wasn’t there when the falling on the butt happened. Incidentally, he came about a good 5 minutes after I got back on my feet. Falling was bad enough. If R had seen me, I would’ve died right on.

My ankle was swollen for a good two weeks. I had it bandaged the day after the fall. I don’t know if it helped but it made me feel like an injured athlete in a good way. Heehee. I had to have it removed though, because I got a lot of flak from the boys of the hosting gig, and I was told, no I take that back, I was scolded because they said the bandage doesn’t do the foot any good. So there goes my ruined attempt at looking athlete-y.

More than the swollen foot, I feel really bad for looking weak and not in control of my body. And do I even need to say it, social stigma sucks bigtime. Ohwell. But everyone’s been kind enough to turn a blind eye on the whole thing. I haven’t really seen anyone pointing at me and then laughing, so I guess I’m fine. But really, the next time I went to gym after the incident. I was shaking just right before I went through the door. I don’t know, maybe I have come to expect the worst of people and that I was preparing myself for when in case someone decides to laugh at my face while recounting the falling. Hehe, I really overthink things like that. Oddly, two weeks after and it feels so long ago. I just thought it would haunt me longer. I may be more grownup than I think. Haha!

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