Unless my office pulls another one of their dirty tricks and calls for weekend overtime, I'll be attending my first Pekiti Tirsia class in over a year. I've started to buy painkillers in anticipation of the agony that I will gladly attribute to sitting on my ass for months. Ever since my last ad agency stint, exercise has been a distant memory. But creeping hypertension and, shall we say "horizontal growth", is tell me I don't really have a choice anymore. Tired or not, terrible schedule be damned, I need to get some exercise!
Actually the term "Filipino Martial Arts" has a nice, "politically correct" ring to it. It's a handy little phrase that gracefully skirts all the vicious politics and pissing distance contests that curse FMA, beginning with whether it should be called escrima, arnis or kali. Actually, it doesn't really matter to the layperson and probably means even less when you're at the receiving end of a rattan stick. You're not going to get struck on the brow with a stick and staunch the gushing blood, wondering if that was an arnis, escrima or kali technique that is ruining your day. Thus that great generic brand name, FMA.
Discussing FMA opens up a whole Pandora's box of rants and insight for me. I'll save that for later. Lots of good stress-busting venting there, I don't want to waste it.