These Feet Are Deadly Weapons!

“What are you doing?” Husband asked.

“I’m soaking my feet.”

“You’re soaking your feet?”

“Yes, I’m soaking my feet,” Shark Girl replied.

“Right now?”

“Is it a problem?”

“Well, no. It just seems a bit weird.”

“That I’m soaking my feet?”

“I’ve never seen you soak your feet before.”

“I’m just full of surprises after 17 years of marriage.”

“But you’re soaking your feet now?” Husband asked.

“What’s wrong with now?”

“It’s first thing in the morning.” This meant Husband was offended that the pull of soaking my feet, which to his eye I had never done before, was stronger than the pull of his warm, supple, enveloping, marital-bed embrace. How insulting that I would choose to soak my feet instead of luxuriating in a few more minutes of un-child-disturbed conjugal bliss!

“When would you like me to do it?” I queried.

“I don’t know . . . never? Because I’ve never seen you do it before.”

He’s right, he hasn’t seen me soak my feet before. The peppermint foot soak I strewed into the tub is about as old as Son #1, perhaps older; I can’t remember when I received it. As a gift when I was pregnant with him 12 years ago? I haven’t needed it before.

In my 43 years, I have tortured my feet more than most people I know. I have run marathons and half marathons and 10ks and 5ks and completed days of aerobics, with step and without. I have done yoga and danced the night away with others and alone in my basement, sometimes wearing tap shoes or high heels, sometimes not. I have spent weeks in chlorine-filled pools. I have been standing on my feet for most of my working life, from waitressing to teaching, taking a break only to be an administrative assistant for three or four years, but still choosing to walk up the six flights of stairs to my office. Let’s face it . . . these tootsies have seen some action. And not once, not once, have I felt the need to soak my feet. 

I have looked at others’ feet and shuddered: what was that on their heels? What was that rough, calloused-looking, cracked white crap on their goddamned heels? How did it get there? I prided myself on my thickened, but still pinkish and soft, feet. I would try to judge whether my feet would ever succumb to that scourge of foot-tractiveness: She’s much younger than me, and she doesn’t exercise nearly as intensely! That means I’m in good shape! I will NEVER get that disturbing foot look, NEVER! Bwa-ha-ha!

Well, call it the poetic justice of the smug, but I recently noticed a white film forming on my beloved heels. Not to worry, I thought. Not to worry, heh heh! I don’t have those feet! Until, my dear friends, until the night before that conversation with Husband.

Lying in bed, settling into a pre-sleep snuggle (my favorite part of the day) I swept my feet along Husband’s downy legs, creating that beautiful, warm friction that defrosts my cold tootsies.

“Ow!” Husband cried out. “Stop it!”

Ow? Ow. Shit just got real.

Why now, after 43 years of foot abuse, are my feet hurting Husband? I’ll tell you why, goddamn it, and I don’t even care if it’s true, it’s what I’m blaming it on. Those goddamned mats. Yes, those mats. Those mats that are cleaned (thank god) with bleach. 43 years of punishment, but it took only 3 years on those g-d mats to turn my feet into scaled dragon talons. WTF?

Does it work on feet, too? I could take a tip from Madge the Manicurist!

When I finally confided in Husband why I was soaking my feet, he said, “That was your feet? I thought it was your toenails.” So, my friends, soak my feet I must. And get out that foot butter. I’ll be using it religiously until my feet are no longer considered a lethal weapon other than for the sick chokes they deal out.

Blue Belt Blues

I am sitting here on a snow day from school, a snow day that should have been worse, that could have had me up and out the door at 7 to teach the children, and I am wondering what I should write about. These days meaningful tidbits come up less often. When I first started BJJ, everything was momentous. Everything was something to write about. I needed help and support and cheerleading for every little thing, from which undergarments to wear to how to wash my gi. I would drive home from a class with ideas for posts sprouting out in all directions. But now, well, my training has become mundane, in the sense that on a daily basis it is nothing special.

I once read some snide poster on some BJJ board write that all female white belts started a blog and then dropped it once they became blue belts. He was belittling our women’s voice in BJJ. I interpret the phenomenon differently. It speaks to how isolated women who start BJJ feel. At the beginning, there are few people, if any, in their gyms that can give them the help and support they need, so they turn to the Internet. That’s what I did. But, if they haven’t dropped out by the time they make blue belt, guess what? They must have found some support and guidance, found a place where they belong. Because really, who, guy or girl, could make it to blue belt without support and guidance? So I get it. Since I’ve become a blue belt I’ve had less to talk about, I’ve needed less day-to-day support.

As I look through my blogging archives, I see that my posts have become less frequent. Either that means I am really supported, or I am uninspired. Perhaps a little of both. Some days I wonder whether it’s time to pack up the blog. Do I really need it any longer? Is it serving a function? If I shut it down, am I just another notch on that douchey poster’s 2-stripe white belt (although he’s probably quit by now)? Am I just another female blogger that stopped after she hit blue belt? I gotta say, I am motivated more than I should be by proving douchebags wrong. That’s part of what appeals to me about BJJ.

I notice that other female blue-belt bloggers who are still in the game sometimes change their focus. I started this blog to make sure I didn’t quit jiu jitsu. It has served its purpose. I’m not sure I have another focus. If I do, it’s not yet clear. If you start to hear less frequently from Shark Girl, don’t panic. I am still here. I may decide to sunset Shark Girl BJJ, but I will never sunset Shark Girl!

Happy 2014!

Post-Christmas Epiphany

What good does it do, Gentle Readers? 

What good is it to make a huge Christmas post and not get one thing on your list? This sucks! (Well, not really. I got some great other, non-jiu jitsu related presents. Like tights, and baking sheets, and thermal underwear.)

            Anyway, I could sit here and complain. But I won’t because I did get a jiu jitsu present not on my list.  I got to roll with Cousin of Shark Girl.

            Cousin and I don't get to practice together very often. We were both visiting our parents who live in the same town. Cousin called up a friend from the local gym who obliged us in an open mat yesterday. It was great. And, best of all, I learned two new sweeps that I believe will work for my game. Well, at least one will. And I’m sore this morning. Or I’m sore from sleeping on my parents’ couch. (The beds in my their spare rooms are the worst. It’s like lying on a thick piece of cardboard on a base of marshmallows. I have decided to boycott these beds. When I informed Mother of Shark Girl of this she said, “But you used to sleep on them all the time!” Yes, 30 years ago when I lived at home.)

So tasty in hot chocolate! So uncomfortable as your mattress!

            I also received a revelation. Although maybe I should save this part of the post for Epiphany, or Three Kings’ Day, if you will. I usually watch jiu jitsu videos and shake my head. Why would anyone watch them? What do they learn from them? I just don’t get it. But I watched one the other night and it clicked. The person in the video had my style of game. Wow! I could see it all clearly. It was making sense. I vowed that I would look up more of this guy’s stuff on YouTube. This could be a breakthrough for me! Cousin also recommended a few other players who have my style. So YouTube, here I come. I think. If I have time.

There you have it: my rambling, after Christmas post. I wish you all a Happy New Year filled with submissions!

Shark Girl's Top Ten: Christmas List 2013

Are you searching for something for that special someone who can choke the Thanksgiving stuffing out of you with her legs? Or maybe you want something really special so that she doesn't choke the stuffing out of you with her legs. Or maybe that's your thing and you want her to choke you out with her legs, but she won't do it unless you get her something really special. Hey, there’s no judging here. Just get her a damn gift, will you?

     If your jiu jitsu lady is like me, any of the following will get you what you want:

1.      A new gi bag. The one Shark Girl has is really spent. It looks like it has been sparring for three years instead of me!

2.      Some good sparring partners. You read my last post and feel sorry for me. Now come and spar with me, damn it! I don't stink or bite . . . too much.

3.      More time. For everything. More time to write, more time to train, more time to sleep. More time for everything in general. Fake things that give me more time not needed. For example, do not give me an afternoon away from my kids because spending time with my kids is my maternal responsibility--I would just have to make that up. I actually want more time than everyone else has. I want everyone to freeze in time except for me for a few hours every day while I become super productive or get more ZZZs. So if you are Dr. Who, or happen to know him, get on it, will you?

4.      New hair ties. Ones that will securely hold my thick, shortish hair, but will not pull it all out when I remove them. Whatever happened to those old Goody elastics? Nothing held my hair like them and I can't find them anywhere, except in my bathroom and these are circa1988. 

5.      Crocs. There I said it. I never, ever thought I would say it. But, yes, I want these  

Crocs. Wait, let me explain: When I go to the gym, I don’t want the hassle of socks. In the summer, I wear flip flops. But in the winter, my feet will freeze without socks. I just want to put my bare feet into something warm and snuggly that I can wear outside in winter and that can handle gym sweat like my summer flippies. These ones come with a removable, washable lining. Remember—I said no judging!

6.      Someone to put my NAGA license plate surround on my car. I'm too lazy to do it myself. And nothing says soccer mom like an “I’d rather be choking you out” license plate.

7.      Healthy snacks. I eat like crap. When I come home from school I am a garbage pit of salty, greasy, corn-syrup injected, nutrient-devoid goodies. I am starving and eat anything in sight. Usually I move from food group to food group, starting with some tortilla chips, then pillaging my kids’ leftover Halloween candy, and ending with some pretzels, throwing in some hummus just to be healthy. For dessert I have cheese and crackers. If I've hit rock bottom, I break out the CheezIts and don't stop until the whole box is consumed. Clearly I need something right there and ready, no prep involved (please don't suggest fruit, that’s insulting). It has to be good and satisfying and warm on my palate because I'm weird like that and it's winter, almost, for God’s sake. Who eats fruit in winter? That's for people living near the Equator or who have enough money to fly in produce from Chile. Now you see why I get so depressed this time of year. It's a freaking carb fest over here.

8.      Ibuprofen, the Big Bottle. Shark Girl’s migraines are back with a vengeance.

9.      A dark navy blue gi for women. I salivate every time I see this color. I have to have it! The only navy gi I’ve seen for women is this Fenom, and it’s out of stock. I like the Tatami even better with its contrast patches, but alas, they have kept the ladies out of their navy party. Is there anyone else who makes that sweet, sweet color I crave so much?

Yummy!

10.  New Gi “Undershirts.” The go-to safeguards of Shark Girl’s modesty (i.e., the tank tops she wears under her gis) have seen better days. They are tattered and torn, ripped and shredded from my crazy mat tumbling and awkward take-downs. (just like SG, lol!) I prefer my tank tops simple and white [If it weren’t offensive, I would insert a joke here about how I like my men.]. Also, don’t give me any of that polyester crap. I had enough of that in the ‘70s.

Old Sharky’s under-gi wear preference is a tank top so she doesn’t overheat.

So, take my list and run with it. Let me know how it goes, and, Ladies, please add your most desired items! Happy Holidays to all!

Same Shit, Different Year

Right about now you are probably wondering what to get me for my anniversary. My jiu jitsu anniversary. This month marks my third year! Don’t worry; I'll give you some gift suggestions in my next post.

I'm gearing up for my holiday list. I’ve been really nice this year!

Yep. Three solid years. I've come so far. I’ve learned so much. I've gotten so much stronger and more confident in my abilities. But one thing still hasn't changed.

I still feel like the consolation prize.

In the three years I have been training, other people (both men and women . . . maybe even more men; take that, Keith Owen!) have come and gone. I am now one of the senior members of my gym. But when it comes time to roll, some nights, depending on who is there, I still sit on the sidelines like a wallflower. When it’s time to partner up, eyes still dart wildly about the room trying to make eye contact with someone else before me. Not the ladies, mind you. The ladies seek me out, they come over with smiles on their faces, happy to train.

There's no one on this whole Internet who could analyze this more than I have. Do I have a stinky gi? I bleach regularly, even if it means my gi won't last as long. Is my breath less than fresh? I brush and use mouthwash before training. I even soak my mouth guard in mouthwash. I wash my feet, and other parts, before class. Am I a spaz? Who isn't from time to time? I admit I have a small person’s game which could throw people off. But in three years I’ve never hurt anyone more than an occasional misplaced knee or head, maybe a bruise here or there, and usually my partner’s had something to do with it, too—a confluence of wrong moves.

I saw Cousin of Shark Girl the other day.

“Hows jiu jitsu going?” he asked. CoSG recently earned his brown belt. Hooray!!!!

I shared with him my frustrations.

“That's too bad.”

We talked about ways an instructor can, and should, guide the class so that this doesn't happen.

Brother of Shark Girl overheard the conversation.

“You know what it is?” He chimed in. “It's that when you roll with my sister, you never win. You can't win. Even if you win, you haven't really won. She’s 100 pounds. And if you lose. . . .”

I laughed. Whether his statement is true or not, this condition stunts my progress, frustrates my training, and just plain makes me feel bad. I have never cried on the mat from pain or fear or humiliation, although I have felt them all. The other night after waiting for a partner to switch in with me, I left the gym, got into my car, and drove home crying.

     “Have you thought about going to another gym?” CoSG asked.

“I have.” But even though I feel passed over, this is the gym I've come up in. I know these guys. I've been working with them for a long time. The next gym will most likely have the same problems and it will take three years to prove myself all over again. Same shit, different gym.

      Sigh. And so it goes. The more things change, the more they stay the same. The more I make headway, the more I am reminded that I am really on the sidelines in this sport.

Jiu Jitsu Therapy

Recently I rolled with one of my favorite training partners (FTP). I love rolling with him because whenever we finish, he compliments me and then points out part of my game that I could work on. Usually he gives a small piece of constructive criticism that might change my game completely. He is a natural teacher, and he rolls with people with an eye to improve their game. How nice of him!

We had a great session and it was only the ticking of the clock and the fear of  Husband's "Where the hell were you, you were supposed to be home a half hour ago," that pulled me off the mat. When we finished, FTP made one of those observations that, well, seem more like therapy than jiu jitsu.

I don't know if anyone else experiences this. But sometimes where I need to go to improve my jiu jitsu game isn't about jiu jitsu at all, but more about my own mental state. Its more about those bad habits that I have to change. More about the comfortable places I retreat to no matter how much I know they aren't working for me. It's about letting go of things that feel so right but are actually not in my favor. It's like therapy.

Sometimes critique isn't like that at all. Sometimes critique is more, "Holy cow! I never saw that before! That's a total game changer. How do I incorporate that into my repertoire?"

But the real, deep observations make me feel like I am talking to a mental health professional. "Yes, I know I shouldn't do that, " I say. "But I can't help myself. I don't know how to stop."

Sometimes when I explore the critique, I realize it is rooted not only in bad jiu jitsu habits, but also in some personal tendency that I have in real life. For example, why do I always stay in guard and not try to escape? Is it because I would rather react to someone in real life than take charge and lead? Because I am more of an introvert? Because I feel that to successfully defend a challenge is better than to make a challenge and have it defeated?

This when jiu jitsu for me becomes very personal, a spiritual journey if you will. One that is best taken with kind, generous, and gentle training partners who are willing to talk, not just about moves and youtube videos, but also about intent and motivation, growth and challenge, success and failure, and all those other things that make jiu jitsu more than just exercise or a sport. Or, we could just smash our way through our day-to-day drills and open mats. But then we miss the real power of jiu jitsu, the one that bring us face to face with who we really are and asks us to decide whether we want to be the same, or whether we want to change, with the help and support of all our FTPs.

Kick-Ass Pumpkin Pie

Tree Frog is celebrating Thanksgiving early, and has requested a pumpkin pie recipe to knock his relatives’ collective socks off. Actually, he demanded it from me in exchange for some very unorthodox advice. You can see that in the comments here.

     And, since I’m kind of in a lull right now, I thought I’d humor him. So here goes.

There is no better pumpkin pie than the one my Zia makes every November. We have an Italian Thanksgiving, which means we start with pasta. But we end with the traditional pumpkin pie. My Zia is the best baker . . . ever. I don’t know what she does, but I can never quite replicate the awesomeness of her confections. She gave me her recipe for pumpkin pie several years ago when I was faced with Thanksgiving at my in-laws, which meant <gasp!> no pasta, and certainly not my Zia’s pumpkin pie.

First of all, don’t even bother making a pumpkin pie from that mash they sell in a can at the supermarket. It’s usually not even pumpkin—it’s some other kind of orange squash. “Would you like some pumpkin pie?” sounds so much more festive than, “Would you like some orange squash pie? I dumped the can out myself.”

Sorry, One Pie. Maybe you are really pumpkin, But I like the look of your label.

I know it’s a pain in the ass to cook pumpkin. I’m not even going to give you hints on how to do it. Search the Internet yourself, because that’s what I did. But you need to get a real sugar pumpkin, split it, maybe even with a chain saw or your bedside machete, and cook it up. Don’t get a carving pumpkin from your local farm stand. GET A REAL SUGAR PUMPKIN!!!!! I can’t say this enough. They are small and cute, and can be hard to find if you are not fast.

Regular pumpkin on the left. Sugar pumpkin on the right.

They appear only in grocery stores right around Thanksgiving, and when they are gone, the store does not order replacements. One year Husband had to go to call every store and stand in town to find the last sugar pumpkin, so buy yours early.

Here’s the recipe.

 Ingredients

1 ½ c. cooked, mashed pumpkin

¾ c. sugar

½ tsp. salt

1 tsp. cinnamon

1 tsp. ginger

½ tsp. nutmeg

¼ tsp. ground cloves

3 eggs, slightly beaten

1 ¼ c. milk

1-6oz. can evaporated milk

1-9” unbaked pastry shell (Zia makes her own, but I’m too lazy. Pillsbury for me!!)

Preheat oven to 400°. Combine pumpkin, sugar, salt, and spices. Blend in eggs, milk, and evaporated milk. Pour into unbaked pastry shell (crimp up edges high; you will have more filling than you need. You may be able to make another smaller pie!) Bake for 50 minutes, or until knife inserted in center comes out clean.

Your pie will come out a lovely yellowish-orangish color never before seen by Mrs. Paul’s. Now, I know Tree Frog hates whipped cream, but we serve this one up completely covered in homemade cream whipped without too much sugar. Perfect with an espresso!

I will post my pictures after I make mine this year. (I’m eating at the in-laws again! I wouldn’t ever dare to compete with my Zia’s pie.) If you make this, post your pictures for us here on the site.