Krav Maga

So, as part of this little experiment in gym-finding, Mere had me go to Krav Maga class last night. (David, I think this would be one you would frown upon. If I enroll, I will be able to beat up, well, almost anyone. Not like I will, I will still wear high heels all the time and an inordinate amount of pink.)
Krav is a martial arts/self-defense technique used by the Israeli defense forces (and US law enforcement agencies, but doesn't that sound less bad-a?) And it is serious.
So, I walk into this gym, and there are just huge, svelte guys everywhere. In the class room, "Fight Club" is on, and these massive guys are just wailing on each other. Immediately, I call Mere, "WHAT have you gotten me into?" I can't do anything that might mess up my pretty face, see.
So, my class, taught by this huge guy with a cut across his nose from where he took an elbow in Fight Club, was really intense. It was like 15 giant guys, a teensy-tiny Asian girl, a teensy-tiny Asian guy, and me. Any of these people, however, could probably dominate most normal people, especially me. It was really aerobic, and I got to work out a lot of stress throwing knees and elbows at pads held by the instructor. It was really fun! I guess I'm fairly good for a beginner, and lots of big dudes came over after class to shake my hand (even though no one ever wanted to be my partner for anything, and the teacher kept having to. I think they were afraid of my hidden strength. Kidding.) I loved the fact that I got a killer workout, but it seemed more like fun than just working out, because that can get boring. And, my entire body hurts today!
Oh, and, sorry, guys, I guess I broke Rule #1: "Don't talk about Fight Club."
And Rule #2: "Don't talk about Fight Club."