Don't you make me Ap Chagi you

Our beloved reader, 

You may have noticed that recent posts haven’t exactly been written by us. We decided to share the joy, the delight, nay, the sheer honour of writing on our blog with our friends.  Both of them.

I hope that their high standards haven’t left you with any kind of expectations. In fact, the amateur style will have left you longing for the return of your treasured Vicky and Jasmine. Right? Right!

So, I was racking my brains for a topic that could possibly prove as enthralling as Scotland, or Matt’s irrational love of Nottingham. Obviously, this wasn’t hard, so I didn’t think for long.

I have decided, bloggie, to tell you all about Tae Kwon Do.

Yeah, that’s right. I do sport.
EXERCISE.

(Nearly) every Monday and Friday, ‘Els’ and I drag ourselves out of our respective houses. Our WARM homes. Our HAVENS of comfort. To ‘keep fit’.

We reluctantly change into our sexy doboks.
Look at the beauties:

Yeah, we look like that. 

Without the black belt.
Or masculinity.
Or the cool.

And head to the lesson.

Each one runs like this:

We line up in grade order, facing the backsides of the superior green and blue belts

-          We share a glance of reluctance  and wait for the warm up

-          We jog, do press ups, star jumps, kicks, SQUAT THRUSTS, and other such activities.

-          We share a look of distaste

-          We wander off with a kick pad, and jirugi and chagi to our hearts content.  (Technical terms, right there)

-          We practice our pattern (A kind of...  dance. For jocks.)

-          We partake in some kind of race and receive glares from the higher grades who take offence at our lack of... ability.

-          We do a ‘cool down’, the best part of which is the hip circles. SOME members of  the group tend to take these too seriously and are at risk of injuring those nearby. It’s actually quite surreal sometimes. The instructor starts telling us about competitions and whatnot, and you look up to see the whole class waving their arses around. Well, I find it funny.

We have so far achieved the (incredibly impressive) status of Yellow Belts. BUT THESE ARE NOT JUST YELLOW BELTS, friend. They have a GREEN STRIPE. A green stripe of fear, of terror, a green strip of POWWEEEER.

Just a whisper of this green stripe will bring dread to the hearts of even the bravest of men (OR WOMEN).

We couldn’t have managed this without the wise teachings of our instructor (A.K.A. Mr AMAZING).  It’s all worth it, just for him. When I grow up, I want to be Mr. Amazing.

Vicky OUT xxxxxxx