As I walked home, I just realised I get punched in the face often. In Taekwondo, one is not allowed to do such a silly thing. We are supposed to kick damn it! Is it my fault for not being able to block punches in the face? But hang on, its not allowed so one is not expected to counter/block such an attack. Or maybe I’m too slow and am open for an attack? Maybe I pay attention too much on the incoming kicks rather than the punches? Again, one is not allowed to punch in the face!!!!!

A fellow black belt pointed out that maybe people get frustrated that they couldn’t kick me, stop me, or pick points that’s why they punch me instead (>.<). Considering this silly thought, I reviewed some of my former fight vids and photos and ALAS!!! I do get punched in the face often!! Too often in fact, it’s getting ridiculous!!! But of course, those fights ended up me as the victor with a high points difference. Thus my theory: people with wonky noses are great because they are so awesome that they frustrate their enemies too much (TKD speaking of course!)

I even remembered the first time I got punched in the face! A ridiculously enthusiastic TKD fighter, my instructor always paired me up with the older, bigger, taller, stronger, faster, more experienced seniors in my class (at this time, I was still a fresh junior!). A serious sparring session, my instructor paired me up with a senior from another club. He was a foot taller, about 20kgs heavier, and very much testosterone filled. I was a scrawny, short, but fast little girl. First round, surprisingly, I’ve dominated the match by outmanoeuvring him, picking points as fast as I can and clinching all the time. I never gave him the chance to hit me because, come on, HE WAS BIGGER, STRONGER and has longer reach than mine. Why would I wait to get kicked? It’d be certain death if that happened!! In the second round, as I clinched again to get some points, he punched me straight in the face (the nose to be exact) with a full swing! As I lay on the mat with a bloody broken nose, he stood there acting all innocent and coy. The other jins got pissed at him but my instructor told me off for being too slow and not keeping my guard up. Whatever. Didn’t realise that that incident was a taster of what to come. Didn’t even realise that that made my nose effing wonky!!!

But I prefer my secret reason why people punch me in the face: they’re jealous ‘coz I’m prettier than them! BWAHAHAHAHAAHA!!!! (*cheeky grin!*)

High protein cheesecake

Egg- and gluten-free, this supercharged dessert has much less fat than a regular cheesecake and makes a good after-gym treat.

400g silken tofu

100g ground almonds

75g cornflour

1 tbsp cocoa, plus extra for dusting

150g caster sugar

1 tbsp sunflower oil

¼ tsp baking powder

75g drained ginger in syrup

2 tsp vanilla extract

400g full-fat cream cheese

Preheat the oven to 170C/325F/gas mark 3 (fan-assisted). Use a disc of non-stick baking parchment to line the bottom of a 18cm-diameter deep cake tin with a tight-fitting, removable base. Drain the tofu in a sieve to remove any excess liquid. In a bowl, rub together the almonds, 50g of cornflour, the cocoa, 50g of caster sugar, the oil and baking powder until evenly combined, then tip into the tin and press down firmly until smooth.

Bake for 20 minutes until firm like a cookie. Leave to cool. Thinly slice the ginger and put in a blender with the tofu, caster sugar, vanilla and remaining cornflour, and whizz until very smooth. Beat in the cream cheese until smooth, then pour over the crust in the tin, dust lightly with extra cocoa powder and bake at 160C (fan-assisted) for 40 minutes, or until lightly puffed and cracked on the top. Remove, cool and chill for four hours, or overnight, before serving.

Of course, if you prepare it, don’t forget to invite me over!!! =P

No. 09 : Oh-so-fresh-exhaust-filled-air – that’s right, if you’re an urban runner, there’s nothing more annoying than filling your lungs with smog, exhaled cigarette smoke, car fumes and people’s farts (running up the stairs following a bunch of old people – never again!!).

No. 08 : Too much protein on the way – especially during the summer time, mid-afternoon to evenings while out on a run in the great outdoors, BUGS are EVERYWHERE!! It’s already bad enough when you’re gasping for breath, imagine choking/swallowing/inhaling on a fly or damn mosquitoes!!

No. 07 : WET…. But not in a wet-t-shirt-contest kind of thing – imagine, you ran as hard, as fast and as long as you could. You feel oh-so good, being able to conquer that “runner’s wall” and then you feel so proud of yourself. Suddenly, you catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror (or some sort of reflective object): you have dark pit stains, your face/hair looks disgustingly greasy, your chest and back is all wet…. And even your bum and thighs are so wet you look like you’ve just pissed yourself. Argh!!

No. 06 : Path blockers – hate running in the morning (8-10ish) because you encounter a lot of hot-headed zombies trying to rush to work. I hate running around 11-1ish because you get pushed, shoved and glared at by old people with their shopping trolleys or by mums doing their leisurely walk to kindergarten or to wherever they bring their devil spawn to. I hate running at 1-2ish because of the rat racer’s lunch runs. I hate running at around 2 to 4-ish as you encounter a lot of mums pushing their prams and running you over for the school run. Hate running 4-6ish because you get a lot of those yobs or groups of school children loitering about and wolf-whistling you as you pass by. Evenings? Pshh…. Don’t even go there!!!

No. 05 : Unexpected obstacles – potholes, large twigs, protruding rocks, muddy puddles, wildlife (cats, dogs, ferrets even upon occasion), unexpected wildlife (the odd fox jumping in your path, a pigeon either flying dangerously close to your face or a walking pigeon that wouldn’t get out of your way – why on earth did I slow down and run around a damn pigeon?!?!) and doggy dudu

No. 04 : Naughty dishonest weather – of course, living in the UK, it’s a given that one should never always heed to the weatherman. Before a run, I used to always check the weather forecast to “arm oneself”. After being caught out in a freak downpour, being pushed by a ridiculously strong gust of wind, having been sunburnt in a cloudy day, baking in thermal layers during a freakishly warm spring morning…. I just give up and just run in whatever I manage to pull out of my wardrobe.

No. 03 : Hecklers – “yeah, you better run!” or “nice ass!” or “gimme your digits love!” or “run fatty RUN!” or “faster bitch!” or “boing, boing boing” … (*sigh*)

No. 02 : Wardrobe malfunction in the wrong place, wrong time – once, already ran half of my target distance, my bra strap went SNAP! Twice, my jacket’s zip got stuck and I basically ran, frozen, for 3 miles with my chest at the mercy of the elements. Too many times though, my socks were eaten by my shoe… giving me blisters and a very uncomfortable run home…

No. 01 : There’s nothing more embarrassing than being out of breath, sweating like a pig, swallowing bugs….  and being overtaken by a short 52-year-old woman called mum.

Again, I smile. Remember, I’ve hurt my knee Feb 2010? And then I re-hurt it Feb 14 of this year? He told me to rest it and banned me from training, discouraged me from going to the competition and even told me to forget about my Army Familiarisation visit I had booked. Now I’m back in his clinic, three weeks after he told me not to do what I did, with a cantaloupe of a left knee and looking like a Dalmatian because of all the bruises I have gotten.

It’s not the fact that it hurts that’s pissing me off. It’s not even the fact that I couldn’t wear skirts anymore (… well, maybe this is bothering me a little bit). It’s the fact that the pain couldn’t be tamed anymore and I couldn’t exercise without yelling profanities and bawling my eyes out. Yes, I know, you might think that “serves you right for ignoring doc’s orders!”. But come on, be reasonable. As I said before, the diva needs bling. I need a medal. I have worked hard to be able to decently kick a bit of ass. Yes, again, you might argue, “is the pain worth it?” With this, I shall throw my gold medal at your face and yell “hell yeah!” on top of my voice. Again, you will argue that, “In the long run, it is bad for you because you’re doing more damage…” With this, I will turn my back to you and say “talk to the ass coz my face ain’t listenin’!”

I know it sounds ridiculous: doing kamikaze moves with one’s body. But then again, aren’t winners made up of this mindset? True, they might die young and look stupid at times. But in the end, they have the most fun and most fulfilment in life… saying “Hell yeah! Been there, done that, owned that ass!”. As they said: “It’s better to regret what you have done than what you haven’t”

I remember watching my potential opponents by the stands, secretly crapping myself as I see them throw pretty powerful kicks, pretty high headshots with ease and a seamlessly untiring bouncy stances. Whoever wins the next four fights is going to be my potential opponent for the next couple of rounds. I was concentrated fully, seriously looking at their moves, their little ticks and their techniques so I can formulate my game plan later on.

However, my concentration was hampered by my coach’s sniggering  and laughing. At first, I didn’t mind as I simply concentrated on the fights. But the more he laughed and sniggered, the more annoyed I got. I thought, “What on earth are you laughing at!! The bitch that’s gonna win this effing fight will be my opponent!! Shouldn’t you be concentrating and help me formulate a game plan so I would have my precious face used as a doormat?!”

But I guess he could feel my killing intent through the cold look I was giving him and the raised eyebrow I had on for the past 5 minutes. He simply smiled and told me I’d be fine as long as I let her do the work. Puzzled, I didn’t say anything and I went back to watch the fight. He puts his hand on my shoulder and laughed as he pointed out one of my opponent’s key weakpoint: she was too “hot”.

HOT in this sense wasn’t like “oooh, damn gurl, you look fine!”. No. I looked fine and she didn’t. She looked hot in the sense that she was way too aggressive, too “hyper” and fights as if she was a starved lion let loose in the arena to devour a fat slow juicy pig. You could see that her black belt not only meant “oooh looky here, I’ve been training for quite a while” but it really meant “I can kick your ass and I will do it hard bitch!”. Of course, I’ve been been told time and time again to keep my cool in the ring… but never got the “point”. However, when my coach pointed this out… I started to laugh and snigger with him.

In the end, I won against the scariest, most bad-ass opponent I’ve had with a little effort, a lot of cool, and tons of patience (this was fighting for silver by the way, which is odd as usually, I would expect to encounter this kind during the fight for gold). All I did was to wait for her to do a heavy but strong move and pick my points along the way. I didn’t have to put as much effort in it – she did all the work for me. The more I pick my points carefully, the more she got frustrated. The more she got frustrated, the easier it was for me to find openings and pick more points. She got to a new level of frustration when she started punching me in the face (which is illegal and had costed her a point), pushed (pushed not kicked) me out of the ring (which is, again, illegal and costed her another point) and kicking me even though the referee stopped/paused the fight (again, another minus point from her). Again, it made her look stupid – me gaining points not because I actually kicked, but because she was being silly. Believe me, it was NOT a good look.

Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to win that fight. Clearly, she was more trained than I am, she was more passionate about the sport than I am, and she was more set on winning than I am. But experience and strategy can do wonders, especially to a lay-about egoistical injured sick masochist that I am. All I can say is this: don’t work hard, work smart.

If I was doing something similar in my old house, I would have been staring in awe at a wall with built-in cabinets – filled with medals, pictures, and trophies I’ve collected during my peak Taekwondo years. Now that I’ve moved a thousand miles away and stopped training seriously for 7 years, my ego-boosting blingy wall haunts me. I miss it.

Sigh… but of course, serious martial artists simply don’t retire… nor just throw the towel in a whim. It is a way of life. To some, simply quitting is an unbearable option.

Thus, I have decided to have a goal: a promise for 2011. I should at least have one gold medal this year. I can’t stand this bare wall right in front of me. Hang pictures instead? Are you daft? My wall should be about me. Call me vain, an attention whore, or whatever… I’m a taekwondo diva… and the diva needs bling.

Watch this space…

But looking back and forward in time (with a glass of sherry on one hand and my newly washed dobok in the other) made me consider how I would take the sport as I age. Will I simply teach the sport to the younger generations? Will I force my kids to take Taekwondo glory that I didn’t manage to achieve? Will I be the annoying granny that would always, “When I was your age, I was kicking people’s heads….”.

All this and that scary article I found in the net just make shudder in fear. Seriously, we all think that if one is an active athlete when they are young, they could live full, fun and healthy lives. But according to some, it might not be the case as joint injuries, if left untreated properly, will turn into torturous illnesses as one matures.

A glass of sherry for these thoughts….

Yep.. i have a red belt in accounts.....

Yes, the Taekwondo Diva needs to get paid. Being a “lady of leisure” (aka: jobless) for the last 2 months has stopped being funny and cool. Having realised that I need INCOME to supplement my hobbies (training, being a foodie and a trying-hard-fashionista), I decided to finally get a job that pays for all my expenses (plus, you don’t want to get caught broke in Christmas! The horror….).

As I look for the ever-elusive perfect job in London’s business heartland (otherwise known as the City), I just realised that there are two kinds of martial artists found in this magical place: the secret martial artist and the oh-so-obvious martial artist.

The hubby is a perfect example of the first one: the secret martial artist. He looks, talks, moves like an ordinary Square-Mile worker. You know those lot – wearing suits, all looking prim and proper, soft spoken, eye-glass wearing, busybodies who somehow look like they need to get some exercise or a life outside of the office, away from the screen. Even if he says “I’m a blackbelt in…”, no one would normally believe that the quiet guy from accounts can kick some bu…

As for the second one, the oh-so-obvious martial artist, my recruiter fits the bill. He looks eerily stiff and upright, shoulders and arms so chunky as if the suit/shirt they’re wearing is going to bust its seams. His body language oozes with aggression but poised: as if intimidating you in formal attire but not quite bouncer-ish (if you know what I mean). These blokes are different from body builders and rugby players. Martial artists are more, how do you say it politely, built evenly physically as compared to the body builders and rugby players who are usually just top heavy. Also, the martial artists tend to feel more intimidating as compared to the others, no matter how skinny or shorter they are amongst the others in the room, you’ll usually know where the killing intent/killer’s aura comes from.

For women, I guess it’s harder to spot. They come in all shapes and sizes and one cannot really know one is a martial artist unless the lady says she does.

As one wanders in the Square Mile, one wonders if it was possible that these champagne-guzzling, money-making, busybodies would turn out to be serious martial artists. I mean, business and martial arts have a lot in common: cut-throat, competitive and tiring.

Do you think if I use my martial artist status to negotiate (more like coerce) people into readily giving me a job, they would just give me it? Dunno… just a thought….

*Hachoo!!*

hmm… seems I need to dust the flat….

*Hachoo!!*

damn pollen…

*sniffle-sniffle*

eh? Sniffles?

*cough-cough*

OH NO!! The dreaded flu-ish/cold-ish symptoms have manifested itself! It usually is the case isn’t it? You either: get sick right before you go on holiday, get sick as soon as you’ve committed yourself to training, get really sick right before a great night out, get sick on the day of the tournament. It hasn’t happened to you yet? HA! It will I tell you! Beware….

Anyway, tracing back my steps, I think I now know where my fists will end up in for the dreaded flu: those adorable little buggers that I call my students. Of course, I intend to give them a beating because they generously shared Mr Germs with me – bringing me suffering and boredom (due to recuperation). But as soon as I see their cute and adorable little faces… I break down. I just smile and be blissfully happy teaching them how to kill their opponents in the ring (*aherm… and of course discipline, hard work, self reliance, indomitability of spirit and sportsmanship*).

But if you’re old enough to be responsible for your own health, I warn you now: don’t you dare bring your germs within a 5 mile radius of the dojang’s door.

*sniff-sniff-hachoo-cough-cough*

I’ll kick your ass as soon as I wake up from my nap….

…*sigh*

I guess I’ve severely underestimated how we all tend to neglect our non-dominant hand….

he forgot his over developed dominant arm....