What happens in Virginia stays with you for life

I recently spent nearly 3 months on a professional adventure in Virginia. What I learned there, earned there, and grew there will never leave me. Even though what I went to experience is now gone.

I was the new guy

Nobody knew anything about me. Good or bad. I wasn’t the kid who the veterans were sour about having as a boss. I wasn’t the gay girl who used to be married to a guy. I wasn’t the once-ruler of a city who had been reduced to one-of-many. But I also wasn’t a one-time CrossFit Regionals competitor. I wasn’t a 2nd degree anything. I was just a girl, showing up at 0600 on a Monday morning with her hood up, ready to teach some classes and hopefully win some hearts.

All at once, I had the challenge of proving myself and the opportunity to reinvent myself. How cool.

It is still about relationships

I was tasked with helping a struggling CrossFit gym pull out of their rut. At first, the way I approached that challenge was numbers and figures. Dollars in versus dollars out. And of course, that was the ultimate factor in the eventual decision to close the gym. In the mean time, however, I made friends. Some very close, very quickly. I don’t care if I’ve coached somewhere for 11 weeks or for 11 years…this business is nothing if it isn’t personal. I didn’t keep the current clients and earn a few new ones because of some dollar figure. It happened because I was a girl who liked music, beer and dogs. Oh, and CrossFit.

It still isn’t easy

I’ve had my share of challenges with my gyms in Ohio. It’s easy to daydream sometimes and think “if I had it to do all over, it could be so much easier with all of these lessons in my purse of experience!” That’s so not the case. Sure, some pitfalls are easier to avoid the second (third, fifth?!) time around. Some challenges are easier to surmount because I’ve seen them before. But it’s still hard work. It’s still devastating some days. And overwhelmingly rewarding every day.

I’m always a student

“Coach, you don’t have a muscle up yet? Let’s get one together!”

A smaller gym, with a smaller schedule and zero staff gave me the chance to get back to my own training. I had a dedicated hour or two every day when my only focus was on becoming a better athlete. And I learned new things from my new athletes. I became a better coach by getting back to learning.

But it’s more than that. I learned new things about running a gym. About organizing a space. About managing a team from afar. About the strengths of the people I’d temporarily left behind. For 11 weeks, I took a step back from being who I was used to being, and gave myself the opportunity to learn some new things, and some old things over again.

I can live with far fewer resources than I’m accustomed to

I lived at the gym. A lot of us joke that we live at our jobs. But I mean it. Bed in an upstairs office. Grill out back. Fridge full of groceries. And a Jeep that never moved from its parking spot. When I had to coach 0600, I rolled down the stairs at 0550, brushed my teeth in the ladies’ room and shook up a Spark.

I didn’t need my 3200 square foot house with quartz counters and a 3-car garage. I prepped food on the front counter. I ate dinner on the floor or sitting on a plyo box. I walked my dog on the fringes of a parking lot every day. I hung out in a camp chair in a parking lot and listened to music every night. Life was simple. It was limited. And it was fulfilling.

I’m 5 parts solitary, 2 parts social

I’ve always been a bit introverted and I love my alone time. I never thought I’d get an alone-time overdose. But it happened.

For 7 days a week, for about 7 weeks, the monk’s lifestyle was a welcome reprieve. And then…I hit a solitude wall. My final month in Virginia, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays were like quiet sad reminders that I’d left a social life behind and hadn’t quite forged a complete one in my new temporary home.

Really, the worst part might’ve been that it was a reminder that my new home was temporary.

I love what I do

Except for the excruciating emotional experience of leaving newly-forged relationships, I could coach at a different facility every month and be beyond happy. Doesn’t matter who, where, how often, or under what circumstances. I’m happiest when I’m helping other people learn what amazing things they’re capable of doing.

Greener grass is about perspective and sunglasses

At least once a week, I was accused of falling in love with my new place and suspected of wanting to never come back to Ohio. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider never coming back. But what I realized was, both sides of the fence had things I wanted in my life. The plan was never to stay in Virginia. But there were parts of my life and professional experience in Virginia that absolutely needed to stay in my life going forward, wherever that is. I sat down one night and made a list called “what I want to keep from my VA experience” and I’m trying every day to find pieces of it in my Ohio life.

The grass wasn’t universally greener in either place. Both lives afforded me different benefits and challenges. When I was struggling to find new members and make ends meet in VA, the stability of a well-established business in OH was appealing. When I was listening to the OH headaches of “this person called out and this other coach has to flip between two locations just to pull off our schedule this weekend,” the quiet simplicity of VA calmed my spirit.

Loving something new doesn’t mean you’re abandoning what you had up till then. And leaving something new behind doesn’t mean you won’t miss it once you’re back home.

11 weeks in Virginia was professionally, emotionally and physically challenging and rewarding. It seemed crazy. Most people probably still don’t get it. Some days, I’m not sure I do. But I would do it again. And much of my experience will live on, whether or not I ever leave Ohio again.

Advertisements

It must be easy…everyone’s doing it

“Nothing in the world is worth having or worth doing unless it means effort, pain, difficulty… I have never in my life envied a human being who led an easy life. I have envied a great many people who led difficult lives and led them well.”

—Theodore Roosevelt

I love IPAs. Which is good, because they seem to be popping up everywhere on the craft beer scene right now. There’s nothing quite like a mouthful of dirt and grapefruit to make me smile on a breezy afternoon. I wondered aloud one day, “why are IPAs so popular?” and a friend who is clearly more brew-ducated than I am said it’s because they’re the easiest type of beer to make.

So let me get this straight…it’s popular because it’s easy? No way, dude. It’s popular because of a ton of marketing money and a bearded hipster culture of lemmings.

(Wait…are we still talking about beer? You know I’m bringing this around to CrossFit somehow!)

Maybe the IPA ingredient list is simpler. Maybe the flavor profile is so aggressive that it’s more forgiving of mis-steps. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.

I’m sure if you ask a brewmaster, he’ll take offense at the implication that his craft is easy. But, from the outside, I bet the perception is there. That perception might even lead some aspiring brewfolk to try their hand at the craft. Some will explode their fermentation tanks before ever yielding beer, some will hold out for that first sip only to discover it is absolutely vile, and some will produce a fantastically delicious IPA.

OK, we get it. Not everyone can brew good beer. What’s this got to do with CrossFit?

Well…on the outside, it appears relatively easy to start a CrossFit gym. Go to a weekend-long training, get a piece of paper and a $1000 t-shirt. Spend another $3000 on a name and maybe another $10,000 on some shiny new stuff, and people will flock to your sprawling warehouse, begging you to make them work out till they throw up.

Easy, right? That’s some real Field of Dreams shit right there.

Um, no.

But that doesn’t stop every bearded, tattooed, stocky-cocky little shit from trying. And some of them end up very successful. Like Dogfish Head 90-minute successful. Far too many others, however, end up with something more like a dirty, bitter, flat pint of “what the hell did I just sip?”

And then, all of a sudden, everyone thinks all IPAs are disgusting and all CrossFit gyms are full of douchebag coaches who hurt people.

Newsflash: it’s not easy. And not everyone will be good at it. But you can’t judge the entire category by your first sip. If you’re a consumer, do research. Shop around. Find the right fit for you. If you’re an aspiring owner-coach, talk to other owners in your area. New ones, long-standing ones, and even some failed ones. Learn everything you can before just dumping a bunch of fungus and fruit into a dirty barrel.

Books and covers and judgment, oh my!

I’ve been accused of being an optimist. Not often, but still. 

More frequently, I’ve been accused of being a pragmatist. A nerd. An over-thinker or an incessant analyst. 

Yea…that sounds more like it. 

So I have this issue with the “optimism” argument: asking me if a glass is half full or half empty, implies that I am happy to assess the glass with no other understanding of its circumstance. 

Was it full and someone has drank half of it? That’s half empty. 

Was it empty and someone stopped pouring halfway through? That’s half full. 

To look at something and claim you know what it is, without being aware of where it came from or how it got that way, is simply shortsighted, and in some cases, offensively over-confident. 

I try not to judge books by their covers. Every glass I encounter will be, at some point in its life, occasionally half full or half empty. 

And if you know me, glasses don’t stay either way for long. 

Get back up.

“It’s not how many times you get knocked down that count, it’s how many times you get back up.”

George A. Custer (1839-1876);
U.S. Military

I’ve been knocked down a bunch. Especially recently.

Last month, I attended a Krav Maga training where I was the only person out of 8 who had any Krav Maga training. As an experienced teacher, I knew as soon as I heard that, it meant I was about to spend a week with a bunch of people who hadn’t yet developed the skill of self control.

I was proven right on the first afternoon, when I was laying on my back on a plywood floor, and got punched in the nose with a bare fist. And then moments later, got solidly elbowed in the temple. By the same person.

Both times, I stood up, wiped blood off with my sleeve, and fist bumped the guy. “Good shot. Let’s go again.” He seemed a bit baffled that, as the smallest person in the room and the only female, I was tolerant of his lack of control. He turned out to be my favorite training partner for the week.

Later that night, I had two conversations…

First, with my girlfriend. She said, “Wow, he hit you that hard? Where’s the pics of the blood?!” And then she continued on with words of encouragement about how it didn’t really matter how tough I was, but that I was willing to be the training partner who could sustain other people’s need for aggression without objecting to their lack of control. (This is a position she and I find ourselves in quite often, even against each other.)

This was in between conversations about what was happening back at the gym, including who was being what kind of asshole and why we would love to scrap it all and start from scratch.

Somewhere in the middle of our conversation, when I wasn’t nursing my broken nose, I sketched a quick note…”get punched and come back ready for more.”

The other conversation I had that night was with my dad. He said “well, give these guys back what they’re dishing out,” and I explained that wasn’t my responsibility here. He said, “wow…you’re better than me.”

Thanks, Dad. Not always.

I’ve had plenty of sparring partners who have tagged me, which has pushed my “kick their f’ing ass” button and I’ve come up from the quick dizzy stagger swinging for the fences. Many coaches and training partners would tell you that I’m a defensive fighter until someone gets that first good shot in. And then I come up growling and putting them on their heels.

And what I sketched in my notebook that night between bloody noses and chats with my girl, was that my experience getting literally punched in the face is not unlike my recent professional experience.

You hit me, either fair and square or cheaply, and I will come at you with a fierceness you may very well have underestimated.

I’ve said this a bunch over the past year…”I don’t need a pat on the back, but I’m tired of getting punched in the gut.”  I took a week away from running my business to advance my own training. And I got blasted in the face a ton. I sat down every night after training, resolved to do better the next day. With each passing day, I realized I was ready to fight the fight for my business when I got back.

I’m done getting figuratively punched in the gut. Somehow it took getting actually punched in the face to figure out what that meant.

The body for ballet

A girl I know–who unrelatedly happens to inspire the next tattoo I want–recently shared this article about Misty Copeland, and the headline resonated deeply with my own personal experience.

Misty Copeland: you have the wrong body for ballet

I read “You have the wrong body for ballet” and I felt a deep, wrenching sadness in my gut that I hadn’t felt in well over a decade.

I was a dedicated ballerina from age 5 to 18. I was told my professional aspirations would go nowhere because I did not fit the traditional aesthetic (I was taller than the boys when I was en pointe). The other girls in my company used to make fun of the muscle definition in my arms and legs.

The article on Misty proved to be an interesting read, and an honest look at the reality of body image in the world of dance.

Demented body image doesn’t just come from Cosmo and Calvin Klein. For every Misty Copeland, there are 100 other girls who simply move on from their dream and try to find something else.

I’m not the professional dancer I once dreamed of being. But I’m a strong woman following a dream, just like Misty. And if you take my Krav Maga classes, you might just sometimes catch me dancing in the corner.

Long, strange trip

Somebody once told me, if you’re going to start a blog, don’t launch it till you’ve got 2 months worth of content already written. Otherwise it goes dead and nobody takes you seriously.

Well, here I am, nearly 4 months since my last post. I’ve got a vacation coming up, and I think I’ll do some writing.

In the mean time, I thought I’d share this. I was asked to write myself a bio for an interview I’ve been asked to give, and I found the experience extremely emotional. It’s easy to get caught up in the day-to-day and not realize how far you’ve come or how cool your story might actually sound, till you sit down and put it all in words. And then, when you see all those words together in one place, you think “hey, that just might be a story worth sharing.”

So here goes:

I started my “athletic” life as a 15-year ballet dancer and casual tennis player. In college (as a graphic design major), I got introduced to weightlifting through a phys ed class, and stuck with a standard “globo-gym” routine off and on for several years after that. In 2006, I moved to Columbus, OH and found myself wondering how to make friends as an adult. I also had been bitten by the competitive bug and was looking for a way to start training for triathlons. And, I was nearing 180 lbs and didn’t know how to fix it. I was convinced to try a Krav Maga intro one Saturday morning in early 2007. I said “Krav Ma-what??” and my friend said, “it’ll be fun. I swear.”

I had no idea what I was in for.

I got to punch, elbow, kick and knee some girl I’d never met before, and she returned the favor. Forcefully. I couldn’t believe how exhausting this was! I signed up on the spot for a yearlong membership. Immediately, I started attending classes 5-6 days a week. Soon after I started, one of the Krav Maga instructors started attending a CrossFit gym down the road, and bringing the evil ideas he learned there, back to our gym. He held a once-a-week class called Crazy Fit, because it was only for people crazy enough to try this bizarre type of workout.

By November 2007, I was enrolled to become a Krav Maga instructor. And in August of 2008, I earned my CFL1. There was no turning back.

I still had my full-time graphic design job, and I remember writing in a journal one night, “I love the gym! I wish I could find a way to make fitness my profession and design my hobby, instead of the other way around.”

In May of 2009, I took that leap. I’d been designing flyers and posters for the gym for a while, as well as teaching classes. The owner was going to be semi-retiring out of state, and he was looking for someone to take over his wife’s position of Marketing Director. I left my full-time, very secure job as an Art Director, and accepted a position making $500 a month base salary plus commission for intros and enrollments. Yikes!

I’d lost 30 lbs, gotten a TON stronger, and was more confident and capable than I could ever remember being. A journey of self-discovery had begun. In October of 2009, I earned my Yoga Alliance 200-hour certification, and I was all-in as a fitness professional.

In the mean time…I found that CrossFit was able to satisfy that competitive bug. I volunteered at the 2009 CrossFit Regionals (which, at the time, was held in the Rogue Fitness parking lot on a Saturday morning) and committed to becoming a competitive CrossFit athlete in 2010. I finished in the top 50% of Sectionals athletes in 2010 and advanced to Regionals that same year. And not to forget my progress in Krav Maga, I earned my Black Belt in January of 2011. I was the second female in the United States Krav Maga Association to earn such a rank, and one of only a handful in the world.

Answering phones and signing members up quickly turned into running the day-to-day operations while the boss was down south. In December of 2010, he approached me about fully retiring and asked if I wanted to buy the business. I crunched every number I could, borrowed some money from family, and in July of 2011, I became the owner of Ohio Krav Maga & Fitness.

I continue to compete on a local level (including the not-so-local Heraean Games in 2013), teach, and advance my own studies. On top of owning a 3-location Krav Maga and CrossFit gym, this is a 24/7 commitment to myself and my community. In October of 2013, I earned my 2nd Degree Black Belt in Krav Maga from Foundation Krav Maga, an organization for whom I am one of the lead instructors. We are a national organization of Krav Maga and CrossFit gym owners, dedicated to helping other business owners grow their gyms and build a community of like-minded people.

And lest any reader out there assume that I’m a type-A, buried-in-my-career, miserable single person who’s going to die alone and rich (isn’t that what we silently assume about all successful women??) I can tell you this: what happens when I step on the floor as a coach, makes all the bad days worth it. Owning a business is not fun. It’s hard work. It’s easy to get run down, taken advantage of, lose money, lose hope, lose friends. But for a few hours a day, I get to help make a difference in people’s lives. The same difference that a select few men and women made in my life since that fateful day in January 2007. And when the day is bad, I still get to come home to my awesome supportive girlfriend (who is also a Krav Maga machine!), my adorable pit bull puppy, and the breath of relief that comes only from being surrounded by the people who love you and know first-hand why you get up every morning and try it all again.

Arbitrary Ideals

If you’re part of the CrossFit community, you’re no doubt inundated by the incessant posting of your social media friends talking about their predictions, opinion and performance on that dreaded thing called 14.1. It’s annoying, right?

Well, here’s one more.

I told myself at the beginning of the Open, that I would do each workout once, and be satisfied with whatever score I managed to get. After all, way back when I started CrossFit, that’s how this stage of competition operated. It was called Sectionals. It was a one-day event, just like Regionals used to be, and you had to bring your A-game.

And then, I did 14.1 yesterday, and didn’t even come close to the score I got on the same exact workout in 2011.

I was pissed. I double-checked the math and considered calling my previous judge and asking if they lied.

So I did it again today around 4 pm. And I still didn’t beat my old score.

So I did it again today about 20 minutes before the score submission deadline, just 3 hours later.

And then, even though I finally beat my 2011 score, I was disappointed that I didn’t break 200 reps.

Gasping for breath, frustrated over 4 missed reps, cursing the CrossFit website that crashed just after I withdrew my afternoon score but before I managed to submit my evening score, I asked myself, “what happened to ‘do it just once’ ?!?”

And I realized, “doing it just once” was an arbitrary ideal. It’s an idea that sounds righteous and committed and purist in my head, but doesn’t actually ring true with what was important to me. Which was seeing improvement over 3 years of training.  And feeling like I could finally string together double-unders. And finally, that happened. I beat my score by a mere 3 reps, and I did my first set of DUs unbroken in about 35 seconds.

But I didn’t realize any of that meant anything to me until it failed to happen twice.

So, now I know, be cautious of my own arbitrary ideals. Don’t try to stick to something because it sounds cool or because I think people will be like, “wow, I couldn’t do that! Better you than me!” Because really, there’s people who would say, “wow, I couldn’t do the workout three times in under 24 hours. Better you than me!” but that wasn’t ever my inspiration. Turns out, being better than the last version of myself is what’s really important to me in this bizarre worldwide experience.

And, it turns out, I am.

Will belt for a dollar

The greatness of a man is not in how much wealth he acquires, but in his integrity and his ability to affect those around him positively. –Bob Marley

Integrity is a word that gets kicked around quite a bit, especially in the martial arts community. In fact, I think it’s one of the four words embroidered on many TKD black belts I’ve seen in my travels. But embroidering it on your belt and living it are two completely different things.

Recently, I’ve begun to wonder if we all start out on a path of integrity and somehow get swallowed up by a life that demands something less. And I’m just young enough to believe I won’t be swallowed.

When I got my black belt in Krav Maga, I belonged to an organization that had awarded just 8 black belts in 3 years. As it should be, we worked our asses off for that belt. Literal blood, sweat and tears got us there. Plus a few broken bones. And we took pride in the fact that we were part of a small community with integrity. It was hard to get to that level because the bar was set high and remained there. For a while.

In the 3 years since I earned that black belt, that same organization has awarded 9 more black belts and has begun 12-months-or-less-to-black-belt training for at least 20 more. Some of these are people who started Krav Maga 12 months prior to their (scheduled) black belt test date.

Why the shift?

Well, it’s simple: $$$. If you developed a plan where someone who wanted to achieve a certain goal, could do so by attending 3 mandatory trainings (for which they pay $300+ per training) and arrive at that goal in 12 months, regardless of their prior experience or current talent, wouldn’t you put as many people through that plan as possible?

Well, yea. If the greed monster had sucked your integrity out your ass.

This is a beef that many people have with youth martial arts programs, and I think we’re seeing it pervade the adult schools as well. Belt tests are seen as a revenue generator, and the “pay to play” mentality overrides any hint of integrity that once existed in the system. School owners would rather advance someone who is not really ready, than miss out on a belt test fee. What they’re left with is inflated numbers of under-qualified members, and eventually, a severely tarnished reputation for their organization.

So now, I feel obligated to explain that I got one of those first 8 black belts, and not one of the new 30.

I recently distributed black belt invitations to 5 people in my school. I think 3 of them have what it takes to make it this year, and I hope the other two will kick it into high gear and surprise me. Probably next year. Do all of them (and more people in my school) understand the technical curriculum requirements of advancing? Yes. Do they all deserve black belts right this minute? No way in hell.

To me, earning a black belt is about more than demonstrating that you’ve learned some specific curriculum. It’s about your character. It’s about what you bring to the table in my community. It’s about the effort you put in, the attitude you bring to your training, and whether or not I watch what you do (both on and off the mat) and say “s/he gets it!”

Pay to play doesn’t fly here.

When I got my black belt, I was young enough (31) to believe that the people who awarded mine believed that was the case. And jaded as I may now be, I am young enough (34) to believe that will always be the case for my organization.

Some people embroider a word on their belt. That’s not me. Some tattoo it on their skin. Yea, that’s me. And some live the very essence of that word, no matter the cost. Check in with me in 10 years…that’ll still be me.

All or nothing

I’ve had a few experiences in the past couple weeks that have prompted me to wonder, when did we become so obsessed with perfection that the only answer to anything is “all or nothing?”

As an ardent type-A, I’ve always been a bit of an all-or-nothinger myself. But really, to me that just meant it was all…all…all. What I never really noticed was that we appear to be developing this culture of all-or-nothing that, in my limited experience, appears to be killing our progress.

A few examples…

CrossFit. Ugh. The mere utterance of the word spurs hotly-contested conversations that rival those of religious and political origins. Maybe it’s bad for you. Maybe it’s the best thing since sliced bread. Maybe it’s just an excuse to see hot people in matchy-matchy outfits doing things you never knew the human body could do. Circumstantially, it’s probably all of those things and more. Regardless, as a CrossFit coach, gym owner and athlete, I find myself at the start of each year, trying to convince my members and friends to sign up for this incredible worldwide experience called The Open. And predictably, the answer I get is “oh, I’m not ready for that…I’ll set a goal for next year.”

So let me explain a bit about The Open. It’s designed to be just that: OPEN. Tens of thousands of people register to participate in it every year (and pay $20 to do so, but that’s a rant for another time) and they are everyone from elite athletes to housewives to dudes working out in their garage. Can they all clean and jerk 265 lbs? No. Do they all even know what the hell a clean and jerk is? NO! But if you see an Open workout with a 265-lb c&j in it, chances are it starts out with something far simpler, like 200 burpees.

A movement nearly EVERYONE can do.

That workout also has some seemingly impossible time cap on it, like 5 minutes. And normal humans, even pretty-damn-fit humans, will get nowhere near the 265-lb c&j part of that workout in just 5 minutes. News flash: the super-human c&j is there as a carrot for the dudes who can probably do 245 lbs and need to challenge themselves, or as a tie-breaking factor for the very small percentage of dudes who will make it through 200 burpees in 5 minutes and will duke it out for single c&j reps at 265 lbs. For the rest of us, the workout may as well have been written: “as many burpees as you can do in 5 minutes” because that’s exactly what our score will reflect.

And that’s the point.

It’s a movement almost everyone can do. So we’ll all do it. And in 5 minutes, we’ll record scores all over the world that range from one to 100+. Who cares. The point is that you came together with a worldwide community of like-minded people. You tried something not knowing how far you’d actually get. And maybe you challenged yourself by seeing a slight glimmer of hope that at least you’d finish the burpees and be able to walk up to the barbell, even if you knew you couldn’t pick it up. The point is, you did SOMETHING.

But instead, I talk to guys and gals every day who can do damn near 100 burpees in 5 minutes, who refuse to sign up for The Open because they think they could never clean and jerk 265lb.

That’s like saying you’re not going to go for a walk because you could never complete an Ironman.

Forget CrossFit. How about the ubiquitous Youth Martial Arts Program. The coming week at my school is a review and stripe test week for all of our students under 18, which will cover material they’ve been learning since the beginning of December. They are responsible for knowing a 9-10 strike Muay Thai combination, 2-3 variations on a Krav Maga defense, and a defense against an attack on the ground. The students span ages 5 to 16. They span experience levels of 1 week to several years. And yet, they’ll all be tested on the same material.

So, does a 10-year-old girl who is confident and athletic set the bar for a 6-year-old boy who is dyslexic and overweight? Absolutely not. Am I running a belt factory where every kid gets a new colored belt based on the length of their commitment or the depth of their parents’ wallets? Absolutely fucking not. (Also a rant for another time.)  But do I understand the difference between what those two kids’ performances will look like on test day? You bet your bootie. (Wow…my mom says that.)

I don’t think kids should get a trophy for everything they half-ass. (There’s a George Carlin bit about this that I wish I could post on our school’s Web site.) But I also don’t think 100% understanding, execution and effort looks the same for every kid that walks in the door.

So when a parent says to me, “you don’t understand…there’s his ADD, and the fact that he’s left-handed, and really he’s only 6. Why do you expect perfection? Why are you threatening to not promote his belt rank?” I want to shake them and say, “he’ll have distractions his whole life, be left handed his whole life. I’m not expecting perfection. I’m expecting improvement over December 1. And I think he could learn something from staying Green when his more-focused, more adaptable 6 year old friend who also has ADD and is left handed advances to Blue.”

“But can’t I just buy some private lessons so he can keep up with his friends?”

NO.

I’m not asking for all or nothing. I’m asking for all you’ve got at any given moment. You might just surprise yourself. And my reaction as a coach or a teacher might just surprise you (or your mom).

It clicked with one guy who I’m proud to say is a friend, a member, and a parent of a child member…he said that there’s a stage of your journey that is learning the alphabet. Then there’s a stage where you understand how to make words, and another where you formulate sentences. If there’s someone in the room who can write books, it’s not a reason to give up on learning the alphabet.

Exactly.

You can’t skip out on learning to ride a bike because the Tour de France looks hard. Just like you can’t skip out on getting up off the couch because the CrossFit Games looks hard.

I won’t ask your kid to understand a 10-strike sequence of left-right-left-right if they haven’t learned their left from their right yet. But I’ll ask them to cover their head when I swing at them. If the kid next to her knows that what your kid just did is a “left cover,” good for the kid next door. It’s not a fail for your kid as long as your kid didn’t get smacked in the face.

Crawl before walk. Alphabet before dissertation. It’s not all or nothing. It’s all-I-have-right-now.

Get home safe.

Get home safe…that’s the endgame. You can come to a class and learn what look like techniques. But if you’re not walking away with the general idea that is “do whatever the hell it takes to get out of that awful situation alive,” then you might not be hearing the right message.

As Krav Maga instructors, we’ve got lists of curriculum line items we’ll teach you and on which we’ll eventually probably test you. But as proponents of personal safety, we’d be lying if at the end of the day, we didn’t just say, “if it comes out of you, and you get home safe, then you did the right thing.”

The classes my colleagues and I teach include techniques that were designed to inform someone with no fighting experience, and take them from zero to hero in the shortest path possible. If someone comes to those classes with a fighting background, or a lifetime of martial arts experience, their mind and their muscles are already prepared to do something if faced with a threat. I’m not here to re-program that response. I’m here to help you develop a response if you’ve never considered you might need one. Hopefully I’m here to help you do that before you’ve discovered you need one.

In any case, the take-home message is the same: get home safe. I don’t care how you do it. Just do.