Is being one of the guys worth it?

I've never really been one of those girly girls.  I’m not a big fan of dresses and gobs of makeup really take me outside of my comfort zone.  I prefer a football game to shopping and clean more than I cook.  Growing up I played a lot of sports, while still trying to balance it with the obligatory dance classes my mom was convinced would give me some sense of gracefulness.  After all this time, I am thinking that it just didn't take. 

I always loved hanging with the guys and found that I usually had much more in common with them than the girls that wanted to braid my hair and play dress up.  I chose to make mud pies in the dirt and ride bikes around the neighborhood.

While I tried not to go to extremes, I did manage to find a comfortable balance between rolling in the dirt and wearing pantyhose.  I learned to embrace my restless inner voice that sought danger and adventure while submitting to a life of eyebrow plucking, pedicures and leg shaving.

I have created this intensely strong exterior that sometimes portrays a tougher façade than of what actually lies within it. But at my core of who I am and what I stand for, I am quite certain that I am a feminine woman.  I enjoy being taken care of and treated as a sensitive woman.  I can so easily tap into my feminine energy that it sometimes comes as a surprise when I find myself unable to pull myself out of the “masculine energy” box my friends have put me in.

I love doing anything physical.  Engaging my whole body in some kind of battle makes me feel alive.  In our Krav Maga training there is a lot of physical contact and I tend to set my own standard of intensity.  I enjoy the combative nature of the drills.  But, I like to do it on my terms, just as any woman does.

So when I was invited to spar with some guy friends over the weekend I was pretty sure I was going to be able to play the girl card, just in case things got too rough.  They were used to training with me in Krav, but in truth, what guy wants to beat up on a girl?

I couldn’t have been more wrong.  As I stepped into the garage and got geared up, I saw the concentration in their eyes.  I knew they weren’t going to hold back and would not tolerate anything but my full effort.

Normally, I would be flattered for being treated as one of the guys and not receiving special treatment just for being a girl.  Truthfully, nothing annoys me more.  But this day was a little bit different.  They were so determined and intent on us practicing for the impending belt test, that I knew there was no room for whining girl tactics.  I had to match their focus.  I was nervous and not sure I could measure up.

Sparring was hard and intense and I am quite certain that getting my ass kicked, twice, was not on my to-do list when I woke up that morning.  They are strong guys with amazing skills that I can’t begin to match.

We sparred in multiple three minutes rounds and each of them somehow managed to punch me squarely in the face, sending me flying backwards in a dizzying body flailing motion.  I barely recovered before they were on me again with kicks and punches to the liver.  My blocking was pathetic but I managed to get in a few decent shots.  

These guys sent body shots, hooks and straight punches without a single thought that I may break a nail, or worse, start to bleed.  As I fought one opponent, the other shouted advice and offered suggestions on how to improve.  There wasn’t a single moment that they made me feel inferior to them. 

I did have one very girly moment where I just couldn’t dig deep enough to find the energy I knew I needed for the final round.  I just didn’t have it in me and I could feel the excuses and whines building up inside me.  Instead of giving in to my laziness and letting me quit, my friend did his best to piss me off and raise my level of aggression.  He yelled at me and wouldn’t accept any of my excuses.  He wouldn’t indulge me in my quest to play my girl card.  He made me fight for it. It worked.  And it was strangely supportive.  

While it is nice to play with the boys, there comes a point where I feel like I have to remind them that I am a girl.   I do want them to view me as a woman, yet not treat me like one when we are training.

At least no one laughed when I asked for a bottle of aspirin and some ice for the mild concussion they gave me.  That's progress.

I know I can’t have it both ways, but isn’t it just like a woman to want it that way?