…What’s The Problem

Last night I dragged myself to the dojang.

I wanted to be there, I wanted to go, but at the same time my bed was tempting me. Wouldn’t it be fun, after working from home all day, to just put on my PJ’s, climb into bed, snuggle with my comforter and binge watch something on Netflix?

My brain was feeling numb and I almost gave in.

I did everything possible to make myself late for my class. I cooked a batch of pancakes, I took my time gearing up, I did some dusting, I read some articles online, I may have even hung off the side of my bed – upside down…and the list goes on….

I figured if I was late leaving my place and it took too long to pass Yonge street, I’d just turn around come home and go with Plan B – Pj’s+Bed+Netflix.

Surprisingly, traffic was a dream and I arrived at the dojang a good 30 minutes before class start time.


I walked into the ladies change room. There were a few kids getting ready to leave the dojang after their class and sitting in the middle of the floor was a little boy about 4 years old. He face earnest while he struggled putting on his socks.

I couldn’t help myself and observed outloud, “There is a boy in the ladies change room!”

He looked up, looked me in the eyes and deadpaned, “And what’s the problem?” and turned his attention back to putting on his socks.

The Untitled Day

Ninja training is in full swing and I really am developing that six-pack that I never wanted. But not to worry today is turning out to be the day I turned my back on discipline, and fueled myself with something, ANYTHING beyond my own cooked meals.

Perhaps it’s boredom or that I am an unimaginative cook or perhaps a bit of both.  Or could be that from the start my day has not gone as planned and this was my terrible reward.

First off my phone informed me “It’s time to find a boyfriend!”→ exclamation and all.


So am I. I sat an extra few minutes in front of my coffee shop not sure, how, why, WHAT!  l shook my phone and pulled the battery and the message disappeared.

Second, there was that flurry of confusing conversations about how, what, when I should be spending my time. I sat back on my heels, crossed my arms, squinted, uncrossed my arms and replied ”You decide.”

Best sentence of my day → well besides convincing the random Jazz Guitar player I really wasn’t interested in how he spends his evenings. I am sure he’s a nice man→ I am not taking my phone that seriously.

In any event, a whole chunk of my day was freed up to do as I pleased, within reason → smiling again inside I began my journey of treating that six-pack to a host of fatty, sugary, wheat-laden food.

I can report as it gets further into the evening → the sugary, fatty experience was fun but I'm over it.

Back to boring, same daily diet of my unimaginative cooking.

Ninja Training


[dil-i-juh nt]

1.constant in effort to accomplish something; attentive and persistent in doing anything.

2. done or pursued with persevering attention; painstaking.

Three weeks into my ninja training with my hand wraps and boxing gloves, I-am-a-machine! 

Ninja training? Boxing gloves?  Fist wraps?

It doesn’t match up.

Don’t ninja’s wear skin-tight black tights with Nunchaku’s for weapons?

Perhaps but for me, my Muay Thai class doubles as ninja training.  My yoga pants substitute for ninja tights and my fists are my defense!

The last few classes the focus has been on kicks.  I might not be so coordinated with my foot work and hands but by golly you don’t want to be at the receiving end of my kicks.

Tonight while working on jabs and kick combo’s, coach interrupted my sparring partner and I.

“DF,  you are being really diligent about keeping your gloves up to protect your face, but how about you drop them slightly,” and demonstrating, “like this.”

I do my best to mimic.

“Not quite like that, turn them slightly.”

I try to mimic again and from the look on his face, still not quite right.  At this point he left me with this new stance to work diligently at perfecting.