Earnest Goes to the Combat Academy

"Fine. Whatever. I'll go to whatever you sign me up for.". That is how I ended the gym class argument. She wanted to take boxing classes. I wanted to do something outside. Get ready for the shocking conclusion- we took a boxing class. She said it would just be an introduction class; pointing out the equipment, showing the locker rooms, etc. No big deal.


When we got there, we learned that it was previously an open-air garage that was converted into a combat training facility. Literally. Combat training. Like- dudes kicking the shit out of each other and screaming like goddamn chimpanzees. I wasn't worried because I was just there for the tour. Right? I started to suspect something was amiss when the heavily tattooed guy behind the counter started taping up my hands and smiling at me. This was no tour. We were in with the general population. 


The first thing I learned is that I can no longer skillfully jump rope. Never thought that would come up as an adult. But it did. During the sparring session, the satisfaction of throwing punches at my wife for taking me to this hellhole was quickly replaced by an overwhelming desire to stop moving. I made it through the jumping jacks and a few other drills, but by the time the instructor yelled out "BURPIES!!" I knew I had the following options:


1. Throw up in front of everyone
2. Pass out in front of everyone
3. Both in no particular order 


I made it out the back without doing either and collapsed onto the pavement. I listened to the last 10 minutes of the workout laying on my back in the parking lot, hoping to get run over or struck by lightning. In the end, all was not a complete fail. She signed up for the class. I bought a jump rope.