They advertised in Mather House with a cartoon of one man throwing another to the ground in what appeared to be some kind of kamikaze death roll. But most importantly, the sign read, "ANYONE can come!" I needed no further incentive. I decided to give it a shot.

So I gathered up my courage, threw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and headed to the MAC for the 9 p.m. Tuesday practice. As I climbed up to the third floor, I remember thinking, "What am I doing? As if I don't have enough stuff to do."

Further deterrence awaited me at the top of the stairs.

Clad in white and off-white gi with belts of all colors outside Rec Room 1, the mostly-graduate student Hapkido Club met me with raised eyebrows. I would definitely be checking my ego at the door. It felt something akin to showing up for a cocktail party in overalls.

"Is this the Hapkido Club?" I asked.

"It is," the instructor answered kindly enough. "Come on in. My name's Mark."

After introducing myself, I entered the room without bowing (a newbie faux pas) and started stretching out. We began to warm up, and the workout combined with my nervousness and the MAC's armpit-hot rec rooms led to copious amounts of sweat. Pig-like would have been an accurate description, but I was trying to avoid too much self-deprecation.