I turned 30 on Saturday – International Women’s Day. The Excellent Missus was in Sydney for work, so I was at bit of an end.
So to celebrate 30 awesome years of contribution to humankind, I attended a gym circuit / boxing circuit / wrestling session run by a guy from my footy club. No better way to see in my 30th birthday than by being reminded of my own mortality by a guy who crushes melons in his armpits just for the practice.
The weights session and the boxing circuit I coped with (barely), but the wrestling was something else. Asides from the fact they are latently homosexual, I have discovered that Greco-Roman wrestlers are also very, very fit. Trying not to get smashed to a pulp really takes it out of you, and is very good training for footy.
Fighting my teammate reminded me of a boa constrictor eating a pig. You know it’s going to take the snake a while, but the result is inevitable. Spending two minutes grimly trying to keep my feet, before getting my arse kicked in less than 10 seconds, was a truly humbling experience.
I tried to console myself that my strengths lay in other areas, but to be honest when I was in a headlock so tight that the veins in my temples were about to burst, the knowledge that I write a pretty handy media release was very little consolation indeed.