they’d have any problem defending themselves, with or without Krav Maga.
“Anyway, welcome back,” Katia says to me, ending our conversation.
“Thanks,” I say.
Over the next ten minutes the other students arrive. Out of twelve people, nine are men ranging from age sixteen to forty-something. I think I’m the oldest guy in the class. The three women are relatively young, between eighteen and thirty, I think. Katia’s a very good instructor. She starts each class with a basic warm-up that includes some kind of aerobic activity, strength conditioning with push-ups and sit-ups, and stretching. Warm-ups are usually different in each class to keep things interesting and to ensure that each student leaves with a variety of exercises that can be used to keep fit outside of class. Following warm-up, Katia leads us in hand techniques for fifteen minutes. This time is devoted to hand strikes such as punches, elbows, and hammerfists, and associated defenses. The next fifteen minutes focus on leg techniques — kicks, knees, and their defenses. The final quarter hour is spent on self-defenses, and in Krav Maga there’s a lot to learn. Katia goes through each self-defense move thoroughly, step-by-step to ensure maximum understanding. Then we practice live, with partners. The entire hour includes drills to enhance muscle strength and cardiovascular conditioning, as well as drills to teach students how to operate under pressure or fatigue, defend against multiple attackers, and keep fighting spirit high for the entire duration of a defense or fight.
Unlike the color belt system used by other martial arts systems, Krav Maga is broken down into levels. When you progress through the system, you move up in level until you reach 3B, the most advanced class that Katia teaches. That’s the one I’m in, as well as “Fight Class,” where we have the opportunity to spar while wearing protective gear. In 3B we work on weapons defenses, grappling, joint locks, spinning heel, and slap kicks, and other advanced combatives.
When the hour’s up, everyone is in a major sweat. I can’t wait to get home and hit the shower. As folks are leaving, I wipe my face and neck with a towel and catch my breath. Katia comes over to me and says, “Sam, you should be teaching this class, not me.”
“You do a great job, Katia,” I say.
“I’m serious. You’ve been doing this a long time, haven’t you? I mean, I knew you were good, but today you showed me a thing or two. Where did you study before? Are you from Israel?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Born and raised here in the States.”
“You’re not Jewish, are you?”
I smile. “Charlie Chaplin was once asked that question,” I say. “He replied, ‘I don’t have that honor, sorry.’ ”
She laughs. “Well, you’re damned good. I’d really hate to fight you for real.”
I don’t know what to say, so I shrug and mumble, “Thanks.”
“You have to rush off?” she asks. “You want to go get a coffee? Or something cold to drink? We can go to the little diner next door.”
Oh, brother. This is all I need. Damn. Part of me wants to go with her and the rest of me wants to run like hell. I just can’t get close to a woman. I know it doesn’t work. I’ve been there, done that.
“I don’t know… ” I start to say.
“Oh, come on. I’m not going to bite you. I might kick you in the groin if you don’t, but I won’t bite.”
“We’re all sweaty.”
She rolls her eyes. “What is this? You looking for every excuse you can think of? We’ll sit in the corner and no one will smell us.”
Damn, she is cute.
“All right,” I say.
She shakes her head as if to say, “I just don’t get you.” She grabs her stuff, I take mine, and we go out the door to the diner.
Katia buys a medium coffee, black. I opt for decaf. I don’t like to have to depend on stuff like caffeine. If you get too used to coffee to keep you alert, you have no business being a Splinter Cell.
Now comes the hard part. She’s probably going to ask me a lot of personal questions and I’m going to have to lie. I keep a catalog of cover stories for situations like this. The usual “What do you do for a living?” and “Where did you go to school?” and “Have you ever been married?” questions.
We sit at a table and she grins at me. “So. Here we are. See, this isn’t so bad.”
“Nope,” I reply. Maybe if I keep my end of the conversation monosyllabic, she’ll get bored.
“Now tell me again about your business. You get to travel a lot?”
“It’s nothing cool,” I say. “I sell ball bearings. I travel to other countries and sell ball bearings. It’s
She laughs. “I’ll bet it’s better than you say. Just the traveling part would interest me.”
“It’s all right at first, but you soon get tired of the early mornings, the crowded airports, the hassles of security these days, and the jet lag. Believe me, it’s not as exotic as it seems.”
“All right, what do you do for fun?”
“When I’m in another country?”
“No, here, silly. What do you do besides take Krav Maga classes?”
I look away. Sometimes the shy act turns off women and sometimes it makes them more interested. I’m hoping it’ll discourage her since she’s such an outgoing lass. “I don’t know,” I mutter. “Nothing much. I live alone. I’m not much of a socialite.”
“Oh, sure,” she counters. “A great-looking guy like you? You must have a dozen girlfriends.”
I shake my head. “I’m afraid not.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Uh-oh. She looks heartened. Maybe I should have told her I had six girlfriends that live with me. Damn, this is hard.
“Well, I know you’re not gay, so what is it? Bad marriage or something?”
“How do you know I’m not gay?”
She smirks. “Come on, a girl can tell.”
“What about you? You’re not married, are you?”
“I asked you first. But no, I’m not. I was married for four years when I was just out of college. Big mistake. Haven’t looked back. You?”
I don’t like to talk about that part of my life. “Yeah, I was married once. She died.”
Katia’s smile falls. That sure put a damper on things. Maybe I should just tell the truth more often. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she says. “What happened?”
“Cancer,” I answer.
“That’s awful. How long were you married?”
“A little more than three years.”
“Kids?”
I’m not sure if I want to reveal this or not, but I do. “Yeah, one. I have a daughter going to college in Illinois.”
“Oh, wow,” Katia says. “Do you see her much?”
“Not often enough,” I say truthfully.
“Hey, you like to eat?” she asks, sensing that she should change the subject.
I shrug. “I guess. Doesn’t everyone?”
“I like to cook. You want to try one of Katia Loenstern’s specials some night?” she asks.
I don’t want to tell her that I like to cook, too. That would just give us something in common.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” I say. It pains me to have to tell her this.
She looks as if I’d just slapped her. “Really?” she asks. “You’d be missing something, I tell you.”
“I believe you. Thanks, really. But I just can’t do that. I’m sorry.”
“What’s the matter? I said I don’t bite.”
“It’s not that,” I mutter. I try to put on the introverted, scared-of-women act to dissuade her.
“Don’t you find me attractive?”
There’s my opening. “No,” I say.
