Black Diaries

06. Man Power

"Welcome to McFarlane's fitness. How may I help you?"

A perfectly ordinary sentence. One to which, you'd think, a reply would not be difficult to find. I, however, wasn't quite ready to answer. I was too busy trying to find out whether the person talking to me was a woman, or a guy with really, really, really long hair.

Judging from the amount of muscle distributed all over his/her/its body, it could be either. But it was wearing a top in the middle of a gym where all men seemed to be topless, so that might be a hint in the female direction.

"Yes, um... Miss?" She didn't contradict me, so I soldiered on. "I'm registered for the self-defense class. With Mr. Benson?"

"Oh, Chuck! Sure." She smiled at me, and now there was definitely something feminine about her face, though the bulging muscles on her arms still made me rather nervous. "That's one level below. Through that door on the left, down one floor, and then the second door on the right. Do you want me to show you the way?"

"No, thanks. I think I'll find it."

The moment I was downstairs, I knew that I didn't even need the muscle lady's directions: I could clearly hear Chuck's voice from down the corridor. Following it, I finally came to a long, low-ceilinged room with mats covering most of the floor. On the mats, a group of people stood gathered around a mountain of muscle I well remembered.

I smiled.

"Are we all here?" he called. Then he scratched his head. "Well, I don't really know what kind of answer I expected to that question. I mean, it's not very likely someone who isn't here will shout 'no', now, is it? I tell you what: We'll start, and if there are any stragglers, we'll just have to do our best to fit them in, okay?"

There was a chorus of assent from all around.

"Awesome. Let's start, then. My name," he thumped his massive chest in a Tarzan-imitation, "is Chuck Benson. Welcome to my self-defense class, 'How to chuck Chuck.'"

The people all gave a few forced chuckles, and a pained expression crossed Chuck's face. I couldn't keep my lips from twitching.

"That name, I'd just like to mention, wasn't my idea," he declared. "The gym's PR guy came up with it. Ever since, I've been hoping he might attend one of my courses so I can show him my appreciation." Smiling again, he cracked his knuckles. "So far, he hasn't shown up."

This time, there was real laughter from all around.

"All right, people. Form two lines, please, facing each other. You'll be pairing off, and I'll be walking around, showing you what to do."

We took up our positions. So far, Chuck hadn't noticed me. Or, he simply had a tendency to forget crazy girls who ran him over with their Toyotas, who knows?

"Now, the first attack you'll have to learn to defend yourself from is the frontal attack," Chuck explained. "If someone attacks you, especially if it's a man attacking a woman, the assailant will often go for the throat and grab you with both hands. That means he's pressing down on both the carotid arteries and the windpipe, thus cutting off air and blood supply. If you don't do anything, that will incapacitate you very quickly. You there! Want to help me to demonstrate?"

He beckoned to one of the course members—a scrawny guy in his mid-forties, who looked less than thrilled about the idea of having Chuck demonstrate how to strangle someone, using his throat as an example. Slowly and cautiously, he stepped forward, keeping a wary eye on Chuck's powerful hands.

Chuck smiled, which caused the guy to take a step backwards. "What's your name?"

"Marty."

"Nice to meet you, Marty. Don't worry. I won't break your neck or anything."