Today saw the beginning of both my martial arts training and quest to become a femme fatale of international renown.
I arrived at the Gracie Camp (http://www.graciecamp.com/) mid morning, bleary eyed after the discovery that Caipirinha's and I are unlikely to ever be friends. My inability to speak Portugese is also going to be an ongoing problem. Despite the hangover and language barrier, we, (myself, Jussy and the glamorous sister of Mr Royce Gracie himself) managed to communicate that I possess no fighting skills whatsoever. In return we gleaned that I can look forward to a breakfast of toast and fruit - the absence of both bacon and eggs having been highlighted to me at great length.
Feeding formalities out of the way, I was checked into the camp, my bags bundled upstairs into a sparse attic room (think Anne Frank's house meets Edwards Scissor Hand's lofty abode) and Jussy waved me off. He wore a look of pity I've not seen since my Mother left me at the gates of boarding school.
Left to my own devices before the evening's schooling, I discovered the following things:
1) All Brazilian men wear Speedos at the beach - no bad thing given point 2
2) There are an awful lot of very hot men in Brazil
3) One should never go rummaging in the cupboards at any sort of martial arts camp - you never know who's jock strap you might stumble across
4) If you're going running ensure the bottled water you're drinking is sans gas, con gas on top of all that jiggling proves rather unpleasant
5) Some folks really are living the high life in Rio - the local petrol station stocks not one but three different brands of foie gras and Veuve by the magnum
Back from my jaunt with my training was due to start at 6 o'clock. By five to I still had no idea what to wear. This wasn't so much a fashion conundrum, more a practical one as I'd been reliably informed by the other occupants of the camp that I wouldn't be able to fight with a gi, (pronounced ghee - a judo suit to the ill informed). Thankfully Murillo, (one of the chaps who works at the camp) agreed to lend me his, saving me both the embarrassment of being underdressed and around $300.
The rest of the boys at the camp were having a night off, which left me heading to the school alone. I arrived and proceeded straight to the fourth floor of the Gracie School of Ju Jitsu. On climbing the final flight of stairs a ridiculous grin grew across my sunburnt cheeks. In part this was a nervous reaction to how ridiculous I must have looked - the only gringo in town, dressed in a suit clearly meant for a man more than twice my size. However, and I'd like to draw your attention to point 2 on the list of things I learnt today, I was the only woman surrounded by an awful lot of very fit, partially clothed men currently all wrestling with each other. If this wasn't enough to get the pulse racing, the realisation that for the next two hours I was going to be in 'heavy contact' with them all was.
Needless to say 120 minutes of thigh clenching, chest pressing, straddling, rough and tumble later I've found a love for studying Brazilian Ju Jitsu I never imagined possible. Roll on tomorrow morning's class...
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