kombat kulcha III

Last night I had my first trip to kickboxing, which in the first instance involved an hour long train journey to Kurayoshi and a 25 minute walk to a strangely-named meeting hall. Here I met a couple of big, boofy Japanese men, and after getting changed did an hour and a half of sporadic kickboxing. The whole situation was stunningly, surprisingly like a kickboxing session in Australia - 5 or 10 minutes of chatting with each other, then straight to business. No bows, no salutations, no bowing at your partner every time you did anything, and no secret rules. Also, even though no-one in the gym spoke a single word of english, I was able to slot straight into the activity as if I had been born there, because all the techniques had english names - jab, straight, hook, kick, etc. Right and left were the only words in Japanese, along with numbers. How terribly easy! I also discovered they have sessions in Tottori on Thursdays and Saturdays, and got a lift back with the Tottori teacher, a nice chap by the name of Saito-san who has three very large tattoos, drives a very big pimped up van, works in a scrap metal yard and lives with his father. Sound like an Australian kickboxer? You bet! It was just like being at home! (Although I think that list of attributes means something very different here in Japan!)

So on my first night I did 4 four-minute rounds of fitness and pad-work (in 2 round groups - I am very unfit at the moment), and 3 three-minute rounds of sparring with a chap called Minamoto-san who was the only man in the gym my size (also like being in Australia!) After 6 weeks without any serious physical fitness activity my timing was off, my technique was scrappy and my fitness was down, but I came out with less than the usual compliment of bruises on my legs, and in a very very good mood. The only hint of kulcha in this kombat experience was at the end, when we gathered in a circle around the instructor and had a brief 5 minute chat, in which I had to introduce my self (suchuarto des, yoroshuku onegaishimasu) and we all bowed once. That was that, we were off!

I am sure it comes as a surprise to everyone to know that the casualness of kickboxing has eclipsed the formalities of Japanese cultural life - against the unifying power of getting really sweaty with a boofy bloke, what can a few bows and speeches mean? Although of course it was just my first class, and I was similarly cheerful about Kenpo until the vice of japanese culture tightened around me ... we shall see what happens.

As a final interesting side note, when I was going to kickboxing I was still wheezing and occasionally coughing. Now, my cough is almost completely gone. Could it be that a return to exercise has knocked my breathing problems for six? And why did I just use a metaphor from cricket, most hated of activities?