He was right. The rolling, the falling, the kicking and the joint locking had caught me a little off-guard. But I was fascinated--addicted would probably be more accurate.

At the end of the evening, tired and excited, we bowed out to the two black belts. I had learned a lot.

I decided to come back on Sunday afternoon to the club's open workouts. I showed up and learned for another two hours, practicing five ways to break the human wrist and elbow. The line between club sport and art of war was greatly blurred, and I think that's what made it so empowering.

What I didn't realize until hours afterward was that I had been practicing breaking joints on three women. We were the only four people there, and I didn't even have to turn off my "southern gentleman" switch.

I think that's the first thing your parents teach you before your first day of school in the south: "Don't hit girls." But given the chance, I didn't hesitate to learn some nasty new moves.

But they were the ones teaching me. I would not consider myself a feminist by any stretch of the imagination, but I will readily admit that there are, at the very least, three women in the world that can break both of my arms. Maybe more, but I'm not sure.

After practicing for a month now, I've learned how to roll without hands, how to deflect and defeat a knife attacks and how to throw people from headlocks. But I am also convinced that martial arts would also work well in conjunction with the massage class after taking multiple blows from the floor. Water aerobics might also be worth looking into.