With My Own Two Hands

The World is so big.
We had the opportunity to see parts of it we had only ever imagined and even parts of it we never imagined. We met amazing people. We opened our eyes wide but sometimes had to fight not to close them. We sang our hearts out, cried our eyes out, and laughed until our cheeks hurt. We challenged ourselves to our limits. We experienced things we had only ever heard about and many things brand new.

The World is so small.

Our journey does not end here. Nor does a new one begin.
The journey continues.

Turns out that every step of the journey is the journey.

Go ahead, chase that rainbow.
And wherever you go, go with all your heart!

The happiest place(s) on earth

Troy and I learned early on in our relationship that we both loved Disneyland and Christmas and counted them both on the top of our list of favorite things. Troy's list also included ninja movies and football but I was willing to overlook some things. Anyways, it only seemed fitting to cap off our year of travel by celebrating a few of our favorite things...

First stop, Disneyland! We took advantage of 24 hours in Hong Kong to relish the innocence that I'm convinced, now more than ever, can only be captured within the confines of the Happiest Place on Earth. As we took in the magic of the magic kingdom, we laughed at the cliche of the snow covered Canada in the It's a Small World display. (Little did we know at this point that the joke would be on us upon our return home when we would be assaulted with -30C weather and a foot of snow).

That evening as the lights of the Disney castle lit up in a spectacular finish, the curtain was also drawn on our 'whole year of awesome'. What had once seemed so far away was now upon us. Filled with excitement, anxiety, nerves and anticipation, it was officially time to go Home.

As we walked (who's kidding who, the picture clearly shows that I ran) through the arrivals gate at the Edmonton airport, it became obvious that not until that moment had we truly found the Happiest Place on Earth! Never had it felt so good to arrive at a destination. Probably had something to do with the familiar faces and the outstretched arms that greeted us despite having arrived home with little more than a day's notice and in terrible weather conditions.

There is no place like Home. And I don't think it could get much better than Home for the Holidays :).

We count our blessings having arrived home safely after 49 weeks of travel including visits to 11 countries! Home now for less than 48 hours, it seems a bit surreal. I am trying not to let myself think about What Next? Not yet anyway. After a year of constantly planning our next move, I can honestly say that I don't know what I'm doing tomorrow. With our calendars cleared until the new year, don't be surprised if we show up unannounced on a doorstep near you!

Big hugs and thanks to everyone who sent us smiles over the internet this year and to everyone who took time out to visit us at thefarnyard to check in on our journey. (Paige and Bree, this most certainly includes you, thanks for following along and can't wait to see ya).

It was great having everyone along for the ride.
Your support and kindness has literally meant The World to us!

Beach 'n Brawn

While Troy spent our final week in Thailand healing his aches and pains, showing off his purple leg and stitches, and wearing out the Youtube link to his fight video, I resumed training.

You know, just another day in the life of a muay thai kickboxer...

Yib (the trainer) continued to encourage me to punch him in the face, convince me to stop smiling and keep my chin down, advise me that there is no squealing in kickboxing (even if I am a girl and that is my immediate response when my legs are kicked out from under me), and inform me that when we return next time he will train me harder and I will fight. I held fast to my position as a lover.

I embraced my last week of training, came away with my own impressive set of bruises, and after logging a few more hours in the sun and flexing some muscle on the beach (hehe), it was time to say goodbye to Thailand.

Knock Out!

Undefeated in Thailand. Has a nice ring to it...

Sunday was spent on a wave of nervous energy. I'm not sure who was more nervous, Troy or I, but we both did a good job trying to hide it.

We entered the stadium and I was overwhelmed with the smells of sweat and tiger balm. Yep, we had arrived. The little kids were up first and while I watched 7 year olds with boxing gloves the size of their heads and practiced spectating without squirming, Troy got prepared. Or should I say that the pit crew (as i like to call them) prepared him. First was hand taping, then the massage and grease-up, some pep-talking and off to wardrobe!

This was the real deal, a professional fight. He looked the part and was the picture of confidence as he climbed into the ring in his silk robe. (Though he later confessed that he almost fell on his face as he negotiated the ropes...)

Troy went through the motions of the Wai Kru (the traditional 'dance' performed in the ring prior to fighting) and then the inevitable happened. The fight began. I had been hoping the formalities would last a while longer as I sought out an isolated seat in the corner from where I could watch alone with my nerves.

It started out a little tentative, as was expected. This was Troy's first fight. This was not the first fight for his Thai opponent. Troy took a couple of good kicks to the leg in the first round and then I watched the momentum of the fight turn as Troy got, well, pissed off! He found his one-two and got into the game. I didn't need that seat after all as I found myself jumping up and down and yelling like a hockey-mom.

Round 1 seemed to pass in a flash and the team sprung into action!

Round 2 was even shorter. This is a picture of Troy trying not to celebrate prematurely as his opponent, in the bottom right hand corner, lies unmoving on the mat... So proud!
The fight was definitely a crowd pleaser and it was agreed that while it wasn't necessarily a real pretty or technical fight, it didn't matter. A knock-out is a knock-out and the victory tastes just as sweet! He even ended up with a Thai Tattoo (aka stitches, four to be exact) as a souvenir. Who could ask for more?

On the way home, one of the trainers looked at me, nodded his head, pounded his chest, pointed to the box of the truck where Troy was sitting (he couldn't bend his leg to get in the cab) and despite the language barrier, he managed the english to say "Big Heart".

Check out the link below to watch the Farn in action :)

http://pub2.bravenet.com/forum/static/show.php?usernum=112235354&frmid=6346&msgid=816649&cmd=show

Hearing Things

Though I had fully intended to attend each training session faithfully, (twice a day, six days a week, for the four weeks we have committed here), I was forced to take a day off on Tuesday of our second week. I knew I should have stayed away from that slimy incline bench. But I didn’t. Surrounded by impossibly toned six pack abs everywhere I turned, it had called to me. Unfortunately, what it didn’t say was ‘Take it easy Nicole, don’t overdo it’. If it had said that, I probably wouldn’t have lost valuable training time due to a pulled abdominal muscle.

By the following Tuesday I had also lost a toenail, the ability to turn my head to the left, several layers of skin from the bottom of my toes and feet, maybe a couple of pounds of sweat, the ability to run without a distinct limp, a small amount of dignity having been persuaded to participate in greased pig grappling, and the will to get out of bed.

Troy advised me to listen to my body and acknowledging the fact that it was screaming at me, I decided to give in and take a break. I have traded my remaining two weeks of group training in for one week of one-on-one sessions next week. This week I am concentrating on trying to heal my twisted joints, stretch my tight tendons, and relax my pulled muscles by attending the odd yoga class, receiving Thai massages, reading an embarrassing amount of chick-lit on the beach, and going for runs on flat terrain only. All in preparation to be in fine form to kick some butt next week! I prefer not to think of my need for a body break as wimping out but rather as a consequence of over-enthusiasm! It makes me feel better.

Troy, on the other hand, has decided not to heed his own advice and is clearly ignoring his body’s cries for help. He, instead, has committed much time to alternating an ice pack between his knee and his ankle and slathering his extremities with tiger balm. I suspect he will soon need earplugs to drown out the screams from his body. This morning I think even I heard little shrieks from his knee as he eased himself ever so gently out of bed and I swear I heard his ankle yelp as he wrapped it up in ice yet again this afternoon. However, with only three days of valuable preparation time left until fight night, I know that any reminders from me to listen to his body will fall on deaf ears. Instead, I am comforted by the words of the trainer this morning reminding me that regardless of the condition of his body, it is the size of his heart that will prove most valuable in the ring.

This is good news as, true to form, the only thing I can hear louder than the cries of Troy’s aching body, is the sound of his heart pounding with excitement, determination, desire, and sheer will. And so, I am not worried.

Out of my element

A lot of giggling.

That’s how I would describe my first day at muay thai training. Is that even allowed in fight training? I guess so. It was tolerated at the very least as I didn’t get kicked out. In my own self-deprecating sort of way, this is how I dealt with my initial awkwardness and embarrassment. If you can’t laugh at yourself…

Though Troy has mentioned many times wanting to try his hand at a martial art, I have never been into any sort of contact fighting. I can’t even watch boxing on tv without my face contorting as if in pain and wincing and turning away every time someone gets pummelled. What can I say, I’m a lover not a fighter. Heck, I could barely even pronounce muay thai apparently as when I told my sister where I was, she thought I was at bar tending school. Needless to say, I had no idea what to expect from this training camp, just that it was located 800m from the nearest beach.

I watched in horror that first day as people shadow boxed their way up and down the gym, let out guttural sounds with every punch and kick and grappled like greased pigs inside the ring. Will this really be me? I am nervous. I know I will feel ridiculous and conspicuous and like everyone is watching and laughing as I fight, of all things, an invisible opponent.

In stark contrast to the gyms of my past, there are no cute little spray bottles of disinfectant or towels to blot sweat from shared surfaces. I share the pink boxing gloves with other gals and ignore the dampness when I put them on. The punching bags are often glistening and the one incline bench that exists is constantly dripping wet and it is not uncommon to see actual puddles on the floor underneath the knee-pit pads. Nope, this is not Club Fit. I am however not deterred, I always thought all that disinfecting was futile anyway.

From the start, I have really enjoyed working with the trainers, learning the moves and punching and kicking their pads. They call out a move, jab, one-two, punch, right knee, front kick, left block, etc., hold up the appropriate pad or make the corresponding offensive move (at a reasonable speed ofcourse) and allow me to respond accordingly. Seeking that satisfying slapping sound of perfect contact with the pads is actually quite addicting. This part of training is called Technique. I could really get into this, I mean throw in a beat, coordinate some movements, paste on some smiles, and we’re practically dancing!

And then we move on to Sparring. I do not love this. This is where the trainer actually wants me to punch him. Did I mention I’m a lover not a fighter? This is also the part where, when I’m not doing any punching, I get pummelled by fists from seemingly every which direction (seriously, does this guy have more than two hands??). Blocking requires a certain speed of reflex, which, if you lack, results in being punched in the head and kicked in the abdomen. In frustration with my lack of defensive moves, the trainer drops his gloves altogether and tells me to punch him in the face. Seriously? I wind up and swing, my glove stopping just shy of contact. I wince. I can’t do it. He returns to swinging at me instead and I hear him remind me to keep my eyes open…

Though I ache in places I didn’t know I had muscles (or maybe I don’t have and that’s why those places ache?) and I have a distinct limp when I try to get my legs moving after sitting for a while, I am really enjoying myself, feeling a little more confident and, dare I say, a little bit ‘tougher’ after each workout. Now, today, as I shadow box my way across the floor, I am suddenly aware of a faint guttural sound being let loose with my every movement. It is coming from my mouth! Barely audible, it is not intimidating by any stretch, but who would’ve thought? I notice that I no longer compulsively look around to see if anyone is watching me or can hear me. In fact, I no longer care if they are. I have become somewhat comfortable (though I have not yet been asked to participate in the greased pig grappling so this could change) in this new environment so out of my element.

Don’t get me wrong, it has not been without missteps. I did have to be told to wear my punching gloves when punching the punching bag (I didn’t know…), I did give the trainer a high five once (and only once) when he raised his hand as a target to be punched, and there was the one time that I may have interfered with his ability to father children when I delivered a front kick that slipped off the waist target I had been directed to aim for.

Contrary to my worries of looking stupid or feeling ridiculous, it has occurred to me that, well, nobody cares. As I watch boyz bouncing themselves off the ropes like WWF superstars (I resist the urge to tell them they’ve got the wrong sport because I’ve never actually seen a muay thai fight and maybe this does actually happen), I realize that everybody is too busy livin’ the dream to worry about anybody else. I like that.

Now this is my turn to brag. While I am here to embrace the fitness training only, Troy is keen to fight. Troy left me in the beginner ring after the first practice and is rapidly learning how to channel all the ‘power’ he apparently possesses. With hopes that the promoter can arrange a fight for him before we leave here, he has taken on the training full throttle and the trainers are eager to get him into the ring. I often glance over during his one-on-ones or while he is punching the bag or skipping or while we are running together and I wonder if the theme music from Rocky is playing over and over in his head. I suspect it is more often than not .

The smell of success

Okay, okay, I know I touched on this already but I felt it needed a little more attention.

Let me share something with you: 14 days of trekking, two t-shirts, two sets of socks, and one pair of boots is a recipe for stink. Not to mention the fact that in an effort to reduce backpack weight, deodorant did not make it onto the packing list, coupled with the fact that we were too cheap to pay for warm water for washing let alone a hot shower, to say we were ripe would be an understatement.

In our defense though, check out this example of the hot shower 'contraptions', as I like to call them, that were available to us. Does it really look like a recipe for clean to you? I don't even know how you were supposed to see your body to clean it as this little gem of a shower shed doesn't even have windows.

Seriously though, have you ever gone for 14 days without showering? Now to be fair, Troy claims he did splash his armpits a couple of times and stuck his feet in a river once (as I recall, his voice was a few octaves higher afterward). So if you want to judge someone, judge me. I just couldn't rationalize the use of freezing cold water to clean any body part that was going to immediately be clothed with dirty laundry.

You come up with little systems to make yourself at least feel less dirty. For Troy, it was the little celebration he had every 4(!) days when he allowed himself a fresh pair of ginch, I myself ceremoniously pulled my second t-shirt out of reserves after we crossed the Chola Pass, and a hat or tuque became a no-brainer after Troy inquired one day why my hair was wet (it wasn't, ewww.).

Seriously though, think back, what's the longest you've gone without a shower? Not that this is a competition but I think I could have this one all wrapped up. I have a cousin (not to name names, Scott) who went through a phase when we were growing up of wearing the same clothes every day, even to bed, so he wouldn't have to get dressed in the morning. He might be able to give me a run for my money but other than that, I'm pretty confident about holding the title. Notice I didn't say proud...just confident.

Anyways, not to dwell... just had lots of time to think about how disgusting we were as we passed all the sparkling clean people just heading out on their treks. I smiled inside and thought, just you wait...