Have been attending a Khai Bo class at my local leisure centre run by a laid-back instructor who seems unperturbed by the gaggle of women who turn up every week to kick and punch our way to fitness with varying degrees on accuracy/hilarity.
I studied Ju Jitzu in my youth (we're talking ten years ago, before the baby and the addition of three stone) and this kick boxing aerobic stuff is right up my street.
This week however, two guys turned up for the class, a brave move on their part as this sort of excercise class is rarely frequented by men. There's something very intimidating to a guy, turning up to a gym class to find a gaggle of housewives in lycra (not the attractive, svelt Stepford wives style shite, but lumpy, bumpy wearing husbands rugby shirts and jog pants with a sweaty crotch kinda thing) They were very brave.
They were also a little bit cocky.
There is a certain swagger about a guy who is accostumed to 45mins each way on a football pitch, who can spend two hours flexing and pressing every weight machine in the room (including the ones that I can't figure out how to work) and think they're pretty ripped.
Until they came to Khai Bo.
It is fair to say that Kenny stepped the class up a notch, that we worked through things a little faster, held the planks a little longer and worked that little bit harder. He didn't want them to go away thinking the class was too easy for them, and therefore not come again. Everyone there however, every single housewife, knew exactly what he was doing, and stepped it up too.
It is refreshing to see a six foot two defender humbled by a five foot mother of three who can complete the full set of abs without loosing her smile or ruining her hair.
We'll see if they come next week, shall we?
