I’ve met my downfall. Literally.
If you’ve been following this series of posts on Stage Combat ( here, here, and here), you’ll know that I prided myself on keeping up with the rest of the class despite being a whole lot older than anyone in the class.
Pride goeth before the fall. Literally.
I know, I used that joke already.
But that’s what it was: Monday was the day for practicing stage falls. All five kinds. With no mats. The theory being that if you are doing it right, you don’t need a mat. The operative words being “if you are doing it right.” I guess I wasn’t doing it right because I was banged up and bruised badly by the end of the class. I could accept the fact that falling down and getting up over and over would be tiring and give me reason to huff and puff, but I was not expecting to be aching all over. I had to excuse myself towards the end of the class and beg off the last few exercises. The next few days did not see much improvement.
Well I think nothing was broken except my pride, but some definite sprains and strains. At least next week, we will be moving on to something else–knife fight!