Page 82 of Liberating Bells
I am nervous about this evaluation. I know the “attackers” won’t actually hurt me, but still. The thought of someone grabbing at me has me on edge. So much so that my stomach feels tight and is teetering on the edge of making me feel nauseous.
After I get my personal items situated, I find a chair on the edge of the room and wait for the class to get started. The officers go over a few things before we begin and then ask for volunteers to go first. I keep my hands firmly planted in my lap. No way am I going first.
Someone does volunteer, and I watch with interest as she dons the gear and then starts her test. The two instructors walking close to her are also clad in gear. They walk back and forth beside her. The idea is that she won’t know which one will make an attempt to grab her, so she has to be alert at all times.
Finally, it happens. The instructor on her left makes the reach for her, and she springs into action. “NO!” she shouts as she hits his hand away. He tries again, making a move to grab for her waist. “NO!” she yells again. She throws kicks and punches at him and then knocks the guy flat on his back.
The women in the room all stand up and cheer. I even find myself on my feet, clapping. She did really well. That didn’t look so bad.
They go through a few more demonstrations until, finally, it’s my turn. I stand up, my hands shaking, and walk toward the instructors to get my gear. They help me put on the helmet and the pads that will cover my elbows and knees. The female officer catches my eye and gives me a quick pep talk.
“You can do this, Izabel. Just think back to everything you’ve learned so far. You’ve practiced the moves enough that you know how to perform them. You can get out of his grip. Fight like yourlife depends on it, and don’t forget to yell ‘No!’ Use your voice. Sometimes that’s your most powerful weapon.” I nod, glancing at her through the prongs in the helmet. “Okay, do you have any health conditions that we should know about before we get started?”
I shake my head, but then pause. “I haven’t really been feeling good the last few days. I think I’ve been anxious about this test.”
The woman gives me a kind smile and places her hand on my shoulder. “It’s normal to be nervous about this. That’s okay. Our goal is to prepare you to identify situations and then know how to react without hesitation. But fear is always okay.”
She says a few more words to me before sending me out into the middle of the room. My classmates cheer me on, hollering my name and clapping. The instructors in their bodysuits come up right next to me. The scenario I’m running is that I’m standing at an ATM, and these guys want my money, so they attack me. I turn and face the wall, aware of the two instructors who come up right behind me, their shoulders uncomfortably close to mine.
They’re throwing taunts at me left and right, but I force myself to not listen. My stomach is still feeling like it wants to come up through my throat, but I hold it in. I turn my head, making eye contact with the guy on my left. “Leave me alone,” I say firmly. I don’t let my stare waver. Finally, the guy on my left makes a move, reaching for my wrist to grab me.
“No!” I yell and come down on his hand with a forceful blow. He lets go, but then quickly comes back at me, reaching around my shoulders to hold me. “No!” I shout again as I struggle against him.
It’s not working. He’s holding on too tight. His forearm is placed against my sternum in an unrelenting hold. I kick back with my feet, trying to strike a blow on his shins. Then I throwmy elbow around, trying to land him in the gut. Nothing. I wrestle and struggle.
“Use what you have,” the female instructor yells from across the room.
My classmates are all still cheering me on. It’s loud. There’s too much going on. I’m stuck. I’m trapped. My breathing is labored, my breasts rising and falling with the exertion, heart threatening to beat out of my chest. I hear everyone shouting support from the sidelines, but I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough.
His arms are still wrapped around my chest as I struggle, and I finally realize what I can do.
“No!” I yell one more time as I drop my weight, letting my body go limp and falling to the ground. I slip right out of his grip and scramble away from him. I try to run over to the other end of the room, but the second instructor gets in my way. After being able to escape the first instructor, I feel a little more confident, and I throw kicks and punches in an attempt to thwart the second attacker. I’m able to get away, and I now stand across from them, panting.
The instructors stand up and nod with satisfaction, my classmates cheering. I’m done.
My hands are still shaking, and my skin is breaking out in a clammy cold sweat. I need to get this gear off of me right now. I hurry in, taking the pads and the helmet off, tossing them on the ground before running out of the gym toward the women’s bathroom. I enter the first open stall and fall to my knees right before I heave into the toilet.
I throw up twice before I’m steady enough to stand. Flushing the toilet, I then step out of the stall, dragging myself to the sink to clean up. I first wash my hands and then scoop water in my palms, bringing it up to my mouth to swish and spit out thebile taste. My throat is burning, and my eyes are watery. I risk a glance in the mirror and want to be sick again. I look like a mess.
I knew I could get away from the instructor in there, but I still froze up. How am I going to do this if it happens in real life? Mark is a lot bigger than I am and?—
I catch the thought before it can fully form, squashing the fear and anxiety in my gut before it amplifies. It’s too depressing a thought, regardless of how necessary it might be.
After collecting myself for another minute, I head back into the gym to grab my things. I meet the female instructor’s eyes, and she gives me a nod. Once I find my bag, I head out. I don’t have the energy to stay and watch my classmates struggle or succeed faster than I could. I want to go home and crawl under the covers of my bed.
When I get to my car, I lean forward and press my forehead to the steering wheel. I focus on my breathing, trying to steady my heart rate. In, two-three-four, out, two-three-four.
I jolt when the ring of my phone sounds off in my purse. I rummage through my bag, trying to find it. When my fingers grasp onto the phone, I see it’s my mother who’s calling. I steel myself and swipe the green button to answer. I’ve managed to keep them at an arm’s distance, but I know I can’t do that forever.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Izzie? We haven’t talked in ages. How are you? How did your test go? I wasn’t sure if you’d be done yet, but I thought I’d call and ask,” she says. I told my mom about the self-defense classes only because she was pestering me about getting dinner together a few weeks ago. She’s under the impression that Bennett requires all its staff to take continuing education—not wholly false—and I chose self-defense this year. It was the quickest excuse I could come up with on the fly.
“I’m fine, Mom. I just finished. I did okay, but it was a lot harder than I thought.”
“I’m sure you did great, honey!” Mom praises me. I stare outside my windshield, seeing a few drops of rain hitting the window. “I also wanted to check in and make sure you’re all ready for this week. It’s hard to believe in just a few days you’ll be a married woman!”
I clench my jaw, not loving the way that sounds. “I know it’s crazy. But yeah, pretty much everything is good to go. Mark’s mom has been planning like crazy. Now it’s just a waiting game.”
