savate

Few weeks ago, my sister told me that she had found an excellent new sport – savate. Apparently the weekly working sessions left her finding new muscles, or then it was the old ones reminding about their existence.

Sounded pretty good to me.

I did a little google search and found that there was one, just one, one little one, but one club in London. And they had a nice deal for beginners.

Sounded pretty good to me.

Savate is also known as Boxe-Française. Which obviously means French boxing – kickboxing in reality. It originates from 19th century France and has been described as fencing with the feet and like fencing it emphasises technical ability rather than force. So, in theory it should be just the thing for me – after all there were many French noblemen who excellent in both. Not that I have ever been able to boast on my fencing technique, quite the contrary. I have always relied on my ability to run up and down the piste until my opponent was out of breath and too tired to defend him/herself. But that is all beside the point.

Salut. En guard. Allez. I recognised those at least.

So yesterday, we arrived to the club, got changed and were ready to go. The class started with an announcement about next week’s class. It would not take place. Because the coach, alongside with six other people standing in the room would be participating in the world championships and hence there would be nobody to teach the class.

World championships? Were we really in the right place?

The first our, after warm-up, was technique. I paired up with a world-class boxer who was happy to correct my feeble attempts to imitate the coach’s smooth, controlled and elegant moves. Unfortunately my knee does not, due to numerous sport injuries, go to the point where my leg could be considered to be straight and hence I looked more like a chicken, trying to fly than an elegant boxer.

We decided to stay for the sparring and fitness session that followed. I do not want to imagine what my friend and I looked like, dancing around the ring, desperately trying to not miss each other and not kick at the same time, as this usually resulted our legs getting locked and us being ready to fall on our faces. Luckily the fitness circuit was there to give me my self-confidence back – I don’t want to boast but, well, I was not the one out of breath there.

After the training session we did, as you do in England, move to the pub. You could pick out the competitors as they ordered cordial or lemonade instead of the traditional pint. A good crowd they were.

After biking home I was full of energy and reluctant to go to bed. So today I am tired – a signpost for fatigue. But not too much in pain.

Might have to try again in two weeks. With a mouth guard.