a kick-ass lesson

The evening class at the community college was called Self-Defence for Women.

The teacher was a female expert on martial arts, a tough chick with a lovely manner. We were a group of regular women gathering in a run-down school gym once a week. She taught us practical techniques for getting out of almost every kind of violent or threatening situation but also often gathered us around her for discussions on how to avoid these situations in the first place.

We had a lot of laughs - it happens when you try to strangle each other, break kneecaps, crush windpipes and find painful pressure points. It turns out trying to kick a potential rapist's groin is not always the most effective defence.

These were dark winter evenings in Cambridge, England. I had to cycle home along the rather dangerous streets of the poorer neighbourhoods and the deserted fields of Coldham's Common. Before, like many women and for good reason, I was scared of the dark and felt weak and useless. After, I was confident. I knew that I still wasn't a martial arts expert who could tear the innards out of a potential aggressor, but I knew I was able to spot dangerous situations, avoid them and if necessary fight enough to escape them. Strong, no longer useless in a crisis.

And it's strange, the way that confidence from a few simple practical classes in that dark gym has followed me since - no longer scared of the dark, but also stronger in mind and spirit.