Working Mum: Kapow! We're off to kickboxing
COMMENTBy Tabitha Ronson
Recently, Master A has been asking to go along to kick boxing classes.
As he's not normally of the sporting persuasion I leapt on this sudden interest, keen to get him away from the iPad.
At the weekend, we went along to his first session. The gym was not the most salubrious. Like entering some speakeasy from the '20s, we had to press a buzzer and wait for a bruiser of a man to come down, check out our credentials before escorting us in.
We followed him up the stairs, into a mirrored weights room where the stench of sweat was suffocating and guys the size of the Hulk were wildly pumping iron, admiring their own reflections with each rep. It was neither a pretty smell nor sight.
I was just about to make some excuse about leaving my phone in the car in order to cut and run when a deep voice called out to us: "So this is the young warrior?"
We both turned around, our eyes slowly turning skyward to face the giant of a man (he made all the other beefcakes in the gym look like Mr Bean impersonators) standing before us.
Ripped, shaved head and decorated with tattoos. First impressions count. Yes, you certainly wouldn't cut in front of this person in a queue. Weirdly, I forgot all about my phone ruse.
After an introductory talk in which respect for others played heavily, Sensei Chris put Master A to work in the dojo. My son can be on the lazy side but under the command of this giganotosaurus he was sprinting, squatting, stretching like a true Olympian.
When it came to the boxing element, Master A's long-standing love of the '60s Batman TV series with Adam West paid dividends. His imitated "kapows" "whams" and "bams" - jabs and crosses - perfectly striking the hanging punch bag every time.
"He's a natural," announced the Sensei.
I beamed. However, it quickly disappeared when he followed this with: "I'll have him ready to join my fight team in no time."
Working Mum, wondering how to say "no" to a 17 stone colossus.