How USC’s self-defense class turned me into badass

Do you remember grade school P.E.? All those endless laps around the football field and the embarrassing rope climbing in front of our crushes? If that sounds familiar, you probably shared my experience and vowed never return to another P.E. class.

So why’d I sign up for USC’s Self-Defense? Here’s a few possibilities:

1. It was only 1 unit.
2. I had nothing to lose, except maybe some weight.
3. I’d seen students do some shady stuff, and I wanted to feel prepared in a similar situation.
4. Lately, I’d been crushing on The Avenger’s Black Widow.

If you answered any of the above, you’re correct. Enrolling meant exiting my comfort zone, but college was the time to kick ass. Also, there was this new added pressure of being a part of USC’s attractive and fit student body.

I figured if I didn’t start pulling my own weight (literally), the others would pounce on me like voracious sharks.

So on day one, Professor Carl Collins walked in and reminded us we all had three weeks to withdraw.

“Drop down and give me 20 push-ups,” he bellowed. It was happening so fast. I assumed girl-push-up position and heard what would become the first of his long lines of “nu-uh!”

“I said drop down and give me 20 real push-ups,” he clarified.

I’d never done a real push-up. The perks of being a girl, included but are not limited to: doing girl-push-ups, wearing push-up bras and faking menstrual cramps whenever I was lazy. But with no other choice, I copied the muscular guy beside me, attempted the impossible feat and reached six push-ups before collapsing onto the matted floor.

“Grab a partner,” I heard from above.

For the next month, we’d practice choking and kicking one another. It would have been absolute hell if it hadn’t been so damn fun. Professor Carl, the hard-ass from day one, shined in his role of sarcastic and extraordinarily talented instructor. Each day, he pushed us to practice harder, trust ourselves and rip each other apart.

Purple bruises would decorate my skin, my boobs would be punched too often to count and breakfast would almost make a surprise appearances during class, but unsurprisingly, I wouldn’t regret any of it. In fact, I began attending other classes to gain more fighting time.

This was nothing like my grade school P.E. classes. I was learning how to balance a 200 pound man on my hip and flip him on his back. How more Black Widow could that be?

Here’s what I learned.

‘Stop saying you’re sorry. You’re not sorry. You’re doing what you’re supposed to do’

As a girl, I’m used to overusing ‘sorry.’ I’ll even apologize for voicing my opinions. So when I had to push my body’s weight over my partner’s chest, I’d whispered “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” until professor Carl yelled at me and all the other apologizers to “cut it out.”

And at long last, we did. I cut off my “sorry’s” and destroyed my opponents.

‘Hide the pain and fight. If you’ve been hit, you don’t let your opponent know where. If you do, they’ll keep hitting you there’

During my first class, I made a terrible, dying animal noise after I was hit. I’d done exactly what I wasn’t supposed to do. Professor Carl told us if our opponent hit us hard on our left leg, we shouldn’t groan or even hop on our other leg as a way to minimize the pain. If we did, guess what our opponent would do next? Strike that leg again, harder.

Granted it was a really hard habit to kick, it became my motto: stay focused and don’t reveal weakness.

‘Don’t favor a side. You need to know how to do every move, from both sides. If opponent hits your left, you keep fighting from your right’

Sometimes a kick looks cooler from your right side or maybe your left leg just isn’t that flexible, but Professor Carl reminded us that favoring one side led to one thing: losing. The movements we’d learn, we practiced from both sides. While fighting, I learned I was stronger on my left side. Each time I favored it, I’d knock my partners on their backs.

I was kicking ass, until I fought with a guy who was as hard a rock and wouldn’t budge from my left side. When I tried the move from the right, my weaker side, I ended up being the one flipped on her back. It was a painful lesson, but one I learned swiftly after losing my first fight.

‘Respect your partner. If you hurt your partner and they can’t practice anymore, you’ve just lost yourself someone to practice with’

Some of my colleagues had dabbled in karate and others hit the gym religiously, but all in all, we were learning together. This is why it was so refreshing to hear Professor Carl stress not to harm our partners. In such a cutthroat environment as USC, we’d often been conditioned to take out the competition.

While that logic of one winner was sound in fighting, Professor Carl made it clear that hurting our partner to the point of injury, was actually a disadvantage to ourselves. It meant we’d have one less person to practice on. The atmosphere in our class had become cooperative because we threw punches knowing this training could potentially save our partners lives someday.

So as a college sophomore who promised to rue the day I’d returned to P.E. class, self-defense training has been more than a pleasant surprise; it’s been a badass adventure.