by Aurora Bordeaux

In honor of the New Year and resolution themed living, this week’s posts are all about moving forward and getting in better shape. Happy New Year!

I have some major mega-news. I recently tested into krav maga level 2! I am officially a kravmagirl.

If you have ever taken krav maga, you know what this means and what it took to get there. If you aren’t as familiar with krav maga, I’ll briefly explain. It’s high impact, reality based street fighting designed by Israel (go Israel!). If that doesn’t tell you enough, during the test half the group vomited.  I didn’t, and yes, I’m bragging.

After my test, I was extremely dinged up. Scratches, bruises, injuries, hoarse voice and a sore throat from hours of hard choking, you name it. I had been in desperate need of bras for months, so in the week after the test when I needed to take some time out of class to heal, I decided now was a good time to go shop because I had the time open. I was off to see the Wizard of Bras, a woman with a major gift for bra fittings. I’ve endured a lot of bad/incorrect fittings, and the Wizard is the one woman I’ve found who really knows her business.

I had slimmed down and toned up since my last visit, so I needed to go down a band size. The Wizard, a wizened older African American woman who may be a former Greek seer in retirement, looked me up and down and clucked over her measuring tape, surveying my wounds. “Damn, girl! What happened to you?”

“I fight,” I whispered. “That’s how I got so fit and why I need a new bra sizing.” I had slimmed down and toned up since my last visit and my body wasn’t the same.

Her eyes popped and she was speechless. Sympathy flooded her dark brown irises. “For money?” I sensed she was about to offer me a job, you know, to get me out of “the life.” Surely organizing glitter-and-lace thongs was better than getting the hell beat out of you for bread.

“No no!” I said, waving my hands. “For fun.” This boggled her more than fighting for money. I know that woman has seen and heard some crazy things in that bra fitting room, but I was clearly a first.

She adjusted the back straps with a slight frown and tutted the way only black grandmothers can. “Mmm, mmm, mmm.”

I admire the way she expressed her opinion. The Wizard was making a judgment call about my life, sure, but she did so in a way that somehow came off as based on loving kindness, not rejection. She didn’t want to fight, but the fact that I do didn’t eject me from her fitting room domain. Her humming exclamations made it clear that I was a wonder, but she didn’t think less of me.

I have to end this post with a link to my hero, P!nk’s, new video “Try.” Between the killer choreography, the Mixed Martial Arts elements, and the overall badassedness of it, the thing just about moved me to tears. Good golly, I love that woman! She even has similar rainbow hair to mine, although technically I did mine first. Yes, I’m bragging again. Why? Talking about krav gives me swagga and moxy.