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I learned a lot of new things in knife fighting class this week. For one thing, I discovered that even a very dulled practice blade has bite to it. It was completely my fault. In fact, it was my blade, in my own hand, that cut me. My reaction when the wound happened? I laughed. Laughed my ass off, it happened completely because I was so intent on getting away from my “attacker” and keeping my knife, that I was trying to muscle through, and when I got my hand free it sprang back and hit me. If I’m not careful I push too hard and try to muscle when finesse is what’s called for, I know this, and I relearn that pushing, or pulling, too hard isn’t always the best idea. Me with the bandage.

This is once I got home and unbandaged myself. Me with an ice pack to the wound, as my instructor requested.Yep, that’s my blood. It bled for awhile, but all in all, not much.

This is me yesterday. That’s not eye makeup. It’s a bruise, and as the bruise has blossomed I realize why my instructor had been so worried. I am very, very lucky that I didn’t hit my eye. You can see that the initial impact was right at the corner then it hit so hard that it sort of bounced up and bled me higher up. Today, it’s official I have a black eye. The first one in years. Right now, it looks like eye makeup, and I could easily cover it with makeup, but I’m wearing it proudly. Other trainers at the gym called it, when they said, “Now you’re one of us.” Another said, “You’re in the club now.” I totally get the mentality, and I’ll take it. I’ve shed blood in the dojo, I laughed at myself, was totally unphased by the blood, and I wasn’t a baby about the ouch part, so I’m one of the “guys”. Cool.