My kung fu is . . . inadvertently dangerous.

I punched a guy in the nose today. Very gently, thank God. That'll teach him to whack me in the thumb with a stick though. Actually, there's no excuse for popping a training partner in the schnoz, so if you believe in a god (only non-vengeful ones need apply thanks), say a little word of benediction towards John. I think I frightened him a little because it was all camaraderie and funtimes before I grazed his nose, but a little stiffer afterwards. Can't blame him really.

I finally got to check out the local dojo today. I started with the Kali class. Kali, not the Hindu goddess of death, but a Filipino martial art segued later into a Krav Maga class. Krav Maga is what the Israelis teach their special forces and focuses a lot, apparently, on me gasping for breath. However, I know all about getting out of a headlock now. Go ahead, put me in a headlock, I dare you.

I could totally take these guys . . . at like, statistics. Maybe.

I'm definitely going back for the kali. I'm less sure about the Krav Maga.