7] Practical Skills

My carry concealed permit for my state is still good, a leftover from when I thought carrying a knife around with me was a good idea. Although it turned out that now it was, so I’m doing it again.

What I need now is a small handgun I can carry around in my Ready 2 Go bag, which I am thinking of replacing with something classier, and more durable, like a leather messenger bag.

But I also want to keep up with the unspoken understanding that in return for getting a free bag, I will carry it around to give Ready 2 Go free advertising.

Maybe I can get a badge with the company logo on it to sew on the messenger bag.

In any case, I want a small, simple, lightweight handgun that can do some damage, and enough ammo to reload it a few times. That's going to take some research, but with this being the US, I have to wait thirty days to get anything I do decide to buy. So I should have some time to think it over.

I hope.

Meanwhile, I have purchased three throwing axes, only one of which I plan to carry around in my Go bag.

The other two are for when I’m practicing throwing them into the plywood board I’ve nailed up in the back of my garage, With three of them I can throw three, then go get them out of the target, instead of throwing one, and then going to get it one out of the target after every throw.

The advantage of a throwing ax is that I can use it to chop up wood for a fire or for building a shelter, so it can double as a tool and a weapon.

I thought about throwing knives, but I don’t think they are really all that dangerous. At least not the flat ones. Throwing stars are right out, at best they are just distractions, even if they can be painful distractions.

There are several no hunting limit species of animals in my state that can be hunted year round. Most squirrels, pigeons, opossums, and even coyotes. I don’t think I want to try hunting anything with a handgun, so instead I get a wrist rocket.

A wrist rocket is basically a slingshot made of surgical tubing, with a metal brace on the handle that folds out to rest on your arm so you can pull back the leather cup with a stone in it, or in my case a marble, with a lot of tension without worrying about the handle slipping out of your hand and smacking you in the knuckles or right in the face.

Cheap, small, lightweight, and dangerous enough I wouldn’t want to get hit by something shot out of it, but I don't think I will be taking down a coyote with one.

But killing a squirrel, and then trying to follow the free video’s on how to field dress it. That I can do.

The surgical tubes won’t last forever, so I’ve watched a few videos on how to use an old time whirl around your head sling. But that’s not something I can practice in my garage.

But on my upcoming camping trip, I can give it a try. As well as collecting wild edible plants, making a shelter from found material, and a bunch of other things I’ve watched a few videos about.

If nothing else, I can go and make my rookie mistakes here on Earth.

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I do find some classes on survival offered up by special schools, and even one sponsored by the state. But most of them don’t start up for several more weeks, and I would like to try some things on my own first, so I know what I need to learn.

Having killed a few days looking things up and making some plans, now I needed to look for a trainer in martial arts. Something that includes training in fighting with a knife, a staff, and a spear.

And dealing with someone with a knife, a staff, or a spear trying to kill me.

I’m not going to find that in a stripe mall Cobra Kai.

Asking around, and looking online eventually led to a dirty worn out looking gym whose name I’m not going to share, and an old but still very fit man named Robert.

Not Master Robert, or Sensai, or Teacher. Just Robert.

There were about a dozen guys with me that day. Some slightly out of shape guys like me, some tough guys, biker types with what I think are prison tats, and a few ridiculously young looking guys that might still be in their teens.

Robert doesn't look happy to see any of us.

“The first thing I’m willing to teach you is the same Rape Defense class I normally teach to little girls.”

He gave each of us a look. “Yeah, all of you have a problem with that. But teaching you Rape Defense will do three things.”

With a sigh, he began to pace. “One, it will teach you how to hit someone with the intent to try to hurt them. Doing that is more of an issue for girls, but even men these days are used to being civilized.”

“Before I can teach you anything else, you need to know how to hit someone so hard your fist hurts, your knuckles bleed, and you don’t freeze up in concern for how bad you hurt someone because you are trying to make sure they don’t get up and try to hurt you back.”

“That’s something that has to be learned after a lifetime of being told it’s wrong.”

He stooped pacing and turned to face us. “Two, you need to learn how to take a hit.”

Stepping up to one of the guys my age, he shoved him hard enough that the guy almost fell over backwards.

“You need to learn how to swing back with blood running down your nose and your head reeling. How to keep fighting because stopping means you could die.”

He grinned. “If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball. Best part of that movie, hell, it was the only good part of it.”

“As part of this training, I will hit you to hurt you. If you can take a punch from me and keep fighting, you will have at least a chance to survive against someone trying to kill you.”

He gave us all a long look. "The third thing putting all of you through rape defense training will do is tell me who is capable of letting me train them, my way. If you turn your nose up at going through something that is normally woman’s training, then I can’t do nothing with you, and you might as well walk.”

Two of the tough guys walked out, and some of the others looked a little dubious, but I was in.

If someone is trying to hurt, or kill me, yeah, sign me up to learn to go for a kick to the crouch, or fingernails to the eyes. I don’t want to be cool, I don’t want to win some stupid bar parking lot fight.

I want to live.

One of the teens leaves after getting his nose broken on the first night. He was back for the next class.

Asking Robert about training in knife fighting gets me a long look. “Finish with what I got to start you with. Let me have enough time to get a feel for you to be sure you aren't a poseur or a psycho, and we’ll talk.” Then he glanced off to the side in thought “But yeah, I can teach you how to use a knife.”

My classes are only twice a week, but on Robert’s recommendation, I’m joining a gym.

A regular modern looking one that has bright lights doesn't smell of stale sweat and feet, and lacks even one bloodstain on the mats. One that is closer to my house. I’m going three days a week.

Light weights with high repetition, treadmill, and an aerobics class with a bunch of soccer moms.

All for his first rule of training. “Endurance above all. If you can’t beat them, outrun them. And the longer you last, the more you can train.”

I had no idea I was this out of shape.

A low carb, low salt diet with smaller portions is something I decided on my own. Lots of cut up vegetables and homemade hummus. As well as chicken and nuts. After even just two weeks, the pounds are melting away.

The first few pounds are supposed to be the easy ones, but I'm hungry all the time. The local food pantry is more than happy to accept most of every food from my kitchen that is capable of giving me joy. All except the stuff that's past its sell date.

I don't think hungry people care all that much if the fast food brand sauce I grabbed from the discount shelf is a month past the recommended date, but I'm guessing the donation center has to meet government regulations.

Chips, ice cream, chocolate, beer, even just bread. I miss it. But in another world, it’s not likely that I would have access to any of the good stuff. By that logic, I should be indulging while I can, but the extra pounds from all of it could get me killed later on.

Besides, it’s nice to be able to pull the front of my pants away from my gut and have a gap.

If I keep this up, I might have to buy some new clothes. I'm thinking something durable, with a lot of pockets.