A Question of Fate

Awilda left the first floor pretty much intact. She did however open the wall that separated the two living units. On one side she would have her school of defense and on the other side she would have a women's gym for conditioning. Because the first floor included storage in the rear of each unit, she could easily adapt one side as a locker room and the other side as a shower room and hot tub area.

When the work was complete, she stood in the front of her new establishment and surveyed the final product. The interior walls had received a fresh coat of paint, new hardwood floors had been installed, the lighting had been upgraded, and a new entrance had been added with access to both areas.

She was proud of the finished product; and as the new sign went up on the front of the building, she hoped that the citizens of Sedona and Oak Creek would give her place a try. The flyers and posters that she distributed to all the business in Sedona and Oak Creek announced the grand opening of the "New Age Fitness and School of Self Defense for Women." It listed the owner/instructor as Awilda Colone, third degree black belt in Jiu-jitsu, and a first-degree black belt in Taekwondo as well as a practitioner in Krav Maga.

From just a trickle at first, before long membership grew to the point that Awilda needed to hire three women and a cleaning crew. Since membership was only $10 a month, she probably was never going to show a profit, but that wasn't the goal. Her goal was to give back to the community at large, what her husband had enabled evil people to take away. Although this wasn't Los Angeles, she felt that it was a good first step.

Soon the "Gym", as her members called it, became one of the hottest places to be seen in the area. Her classes in self-defense for women began to fill up. She was proud of the fact that the women of the area were becoming more physically fit, more confident, and more in control of their lives.

Awilda herself was the gym's best form of advertising. She started her days before sunrise and could be seen running the hiking trails around Bell Rock and Courthouse Rock; but when she really wanted to challenge herself she ran the 1.2-mile Cathedral Rock Trail, which involved a good deal of steep running, ending with vertical rock climbing and was not for the faint of heart.

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She had been in Oak Village for nearly six years and had mostly forgotten her life in the crime-filled city. Although she wasn't a hermit, Awilda didn't have much of a social life outside of the gym. She had gone on some dates, but for the most part there just weren't that many guys that she would consider having a long-term relationship with.

One morning as she was running the Bell Rock Pathway-Llama Loop, a nearly six mile run with elevation changes of almost five hundred feet, she got the distinct feeling that she was being followed. When she came to a blind sharp turn in the trail, she stopped and confronted the man that was about thirty seconds behind her.

"Stop right there, don't come any closer. Why are you following me? I must warn you, I'm a skilled martial artist; if you come any closer, it will not go well for you."

She knew she had all the advantages: she was on higher ground looking down on him with the morning sun to her back directly in his eyes. He would have to climb about twenty feet before he engaged her.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to upset you. I know who you are; I've seen your advertisements, and believe me when I say I don't have any intensions of confronting a third-degree black belt in Jiu-jitsu, and a first-degree black belt in Taekwondo or a practitioner in Krav Maga, whatever that is," he said looking up at her while trying to shield his eyes. "I've been in Sedona about six months and I've seen you a number of times running these trails. I thought I'd like to meet and get to know you." Even though she was back-lit, he had seen enough of her to know that she was an extraordinary woman, a mixture of strength and beauty, rolled into an exquisite package.

"No, I'm the one who's sorry," she said. "Out here on the trail early in the morning, there are not many hikers. Sometimes I allow my training to get the upper hand over my judgment."

She looked him over, 'not bad,' she thought. 'Probably about the same age, but by the way he's huffing and puffing and sweating like a pig, not nearly in as good of shape as he would need to be to keep up with me.'

"OK, that's enough rest time; let's see if you can keep up."

Before he knew it, she was off, running at a pace he found impossible to maintain. For the next three miles, whenever he began to lag too far behind, she would stop, run in place until he was almost next to her and then she would start out again, a wave of her hand signaling him to follow.

When they finally reached the trailhead parking area, he thought he was going to die; she looked like she was ready to take another lap.

"You probably shouldn't try to keep up that kind of pace, you're not ready yet; besides you're spending all that energy and not getting to appreciate the beautiful scenery."

"Oh, I had a great view, that I truly appreciated," he said with just a slight hint of embarrassment.

She gave him a knowing smile as if to say thanks for the complement. She walked up to him and extended her hand, which he took, unsure if he was going to end up on his back or flying through the air.

"I'm Awilda Colone."

"John, John Richardson"

"I'm pleased to meet you John. How'd you like to run with me every morning? I'll get you into shape even if it kills you," she said with a laugh, reaching into her car and pulling out a business card.

"I'd enjoy that, Awilda."

"No you won't; I'm going to push you hard. Give me your number, I'll call you each morning about six and tell you which trail we'll be running. Don't be late; it makes me angry when people are late for my class, and believe me, they come to regret that."

He had to laugh when, after watching her pull out of the parking lot, he climbed into his Volkswagen and stared at her card.

"She has no clue who I am; this is going to be so much fun."

He started driving back towards Sedona along Route 179, but just before he reached the round-about where a right turn would take him towards the Chapel of the Holy Cross, he continued half way around the circle and made a right heading up the winding Skyline Drive until he reached his house. It wasn't the biggest house on the block, far from it, but what it offered was a rear veranda with an unobstructed panoramic view of nearly the entire valley, including Bell Rock and Cathedral Rock and for miles beyond.

Every morning, for nearly two months, he would sit on the veranda, outside of his bedroom, telephone at his side waiting for her call. She would tell him the name of the trail and that she'd see him in a few minutes. More times than not, she would beat him there, but not by much. They would do a little stretching and then she'd lead the way.

At first it was a struggle to keep up, but by the end of a month he was right behind her. It was a view that he never tired of. Her long sleek legs seemed to effortlessly propel her up and down the trails. Her skin was flawless, glistening with sweat; her athletic build a tribute to a lifetime of hard work. He knew she was dressing to impress him, to entice him and make him desire her; but he kept the distance between them just far enough to keep her trying harder.

Finally, he asked her out on a date; dinner at a Mexican restaurant in uptown Sedona. The cantina was built like a cave with rooms that never saw the light of day. There was, however, one room that not only had windows; it also had an open-air patio. It was there that he had made their reservation. At a table for two, they shared how they came to live in Sedona.

"I graduated from Stanford and went to work for Microsoft as a programmer, just as the company was starting out. I worked there for nearly ten years. When I just couldn't take the pressure and the hours anymore, I quit and moved here," he said, glossing over the tragic circumstances that led to his leaving and forgetting entirely to mention that he was retired. Tell me about yourself, how did you get here?"

"It's a strange twisted tale. I grew up in New York State. When I graduated from high school, I enlisted in the Marine Corps. After boot camp, I found out that I couldn't be assigned to a combat group, so I chose to go on to military police training in Missouri and eventually became an instructor in non-lethal combat. After I left active duty, I was hired as an instructor for martial arts at the LA Police Academy. I got married to one of my students, a detective. He was killed in the line of duty nearly seven years ago, and then I moved here."

All the time she was talking he couldn't help staring into her dark brown eyes; he was captivated by her beauty, her strength of character. It was all he could do to keep from inviting her back to his house, dropping this charade and telling her who he really was.

Awilda was having the same problem. She was falling for him, big time; and his playing hard to get was driving her crazy. That night, when he brought her home and walked her to her door, she invited him upstairs.

It took all his will power, but he declined, telling her, "I'm flattered, and I want to, more than you could possibly know, but I'd like to wait just a little longer."

All the time, the little guy in his pants was trying desperately to escape.

When he kissed her good night, she put her arms around his neck and held his body tightly against hers. She could tell that he wasn't gay and almost decided to take him upstairs against his will. But in the end, she said good night.

That night in bed, they both had to release their pent-up sexual energy before they were able to get some sleep.

The next morning after their run, Awilda asked of John a favor.

"John, the woman that usually assists me when I'm teaching my self-defense class, left me a message on my machine last night. Her mother passed away last night and she has to leave today to get back East for the funeral. Can you help me with my class tonight?"

"Of course I will; what do I have to do?" John said knowing full well what his job would be.

"Thank you. Be at the gym by 7:30. It's an eight o'clock class, probably about ten women of various ages. Dress like you are now. I can't thank you enough; the ladies would be so disappointed if I cancelled class because I didn't have an assistant."

John returned to his house, took a long soothing shower, made himself cup of coffee and stepped out onto the veranda. The sun felt good on his naked body as he stretched out on the lounger. Because the only houses higher than his were across the street in front, his privacy was absolute. He had plenty of time to think back to that eventful day when they were both freshmen. He closed his eyes; he could almost see her confidently tossing him around the mat, making him submit from the pain, or the feeling of helplessness as he uselessly struggled against her. He also remembered the absolute bliss he had felt as he struggled, as he had become rock hard, and at how she had looked deeply into his eyes and smiled as she realized what she had done to him.

It was then that he looked down his naked body and realized that he was erect. It was a lot bigger and thicker than it was back then. He also realized that he would have to wear something a lot more restrictive if he wanted to avoid being embarrassed in front of a group of women.

"What was I thinking, volunteering for this... again," he said out loud. Then, to himself, he added what was really on his mind. 'And what's going to happen when I tell her who I really am? Is she going to hate me? If this turns into something physical she could kill me without breaking a sweat.'

After an hour in the sun, he retreated back to his bedroom, rinsed off, and laid out his clothes for the evening, a white workout shirt, black gym shorts, and black Speedo™ swimsuit that he had never had the nerve to wear.

He made himself a late afternoon lunch, a cheese omelet and rye toast, and waited until seven o'clock before getting dressed. It took less than ten minutes for him to get to the gym. He walked through the front door, and was told to wait in the large matted room directly behind lobby.

Five minutes later, Awilda entered the room, dressed in clothes similar to his own, which showed off her athletic body; she was going to make this really tough on him.

"You can take off your sneakers and socks so neither of us will get accidentally kicked with a shoe."

As she sat next to him removing her footwear, John couldn't help admiring her feet. There was just something about a woman with bare feet that he always found sexy.

"John, you really don't have to do much tonight. I'll give you instructions as to what to do, and I'll demonstrate for the ladies how to respond to your moves. I promise that I won't try to hurt you. If you do feel any pain, please either tap my arm or the mat, or yell out your submission. Most of these women are here for the first time so I will have to go over things two or three times before they get to try it themselves."

"I've got a few props to help with the class," she said as she pulled out a rubber knife and a plastic gun from her gym bag. "These will be yours; when I tell you, I want you to threaten me with the knife or the gun. I'll show them how to disarm a mugger with a weapon, first a couple of times in slow motion and then at full speed. Then we'll simulate a rape attack and a purse-snatcher. And if we still have some time left, I'll show them some advanced moves."

John didn't like the sound of that, but he kept his concerns to himself. Soon women began trickling into the gym, taking seats and removing their shoes and socks. When they were ready, Awilda asked them to form a semi-circle around the matted area.

"Welcome. Most of you know me, but for those who don't my name is Awilda Colone and I am the owner of the New Age Fitness and School of Self Defense for Women. I will be demonstrating various techniques of defense against would be muggers, rapists and men who don't understand the meaning of the word 'no.' She paused while the women reacted to her last statement. I will be assisted today by John Richardson, a good friend of mine who volunteered to help me. Let's give John a nice hand."

John walked onto the mats. When the polite applause had finished, Awilda continued. "The most important thing that a potential victim must do is to set boundaries for herself. If you are alone at night and someone is approaching you, you don't know what his intentions are until you set boundaries. 'Stop, don't come any closer, stop.' If he continues to approach you, you know he has bad intensions and you can act accordingly. You also have to judge what level of violence you should use in any situation. If you are at a party and someone has a little too much to drink and starts making unwanted advances towards you, you really don't want to gouge his eye out or permanently disable him. You just want to get control of the situation."

From someone in the group came the comment, "I'm pretty sure I wouldn't mind if John made advances towards me," which got a laugh from the rest of the group.

"Ladies, this is serious, and besides, he's already spoken for."

She turned to John and said, "John move over there and start walking towards me."

Loudly, she said: "Stop! Don't come any closer, stop!" To the class she said, "Notice I'm backing away from him, but I'm also taking up a defensive stance. If he continues to approach me I know he has bad intensions. If he takes out a piece of paper and asks for directions, tell him to stop, drop the paper, and back away. When he is safe distance away, check the paper to determine its validity; if it's legitimate, tell him to keep his distance and help him if you can. If it's just a ploy, I prepare to defend myself and make as much noise as possible. Attackers don't like audiences."

"OK, I've determined he's up to no good. John, reach out with one hand to try to choke me; and let's pretend that I've retreated as far as I can go and that my back is against a wall. Notice how he's grabbed my throat with his right hand; his thumb is the weak point in this grip. I'm going to grab his wrist with my left hand, pivot on my left foot, and strike his forearm with my right hand. His hand will be forced off my neck and I can either continue my pivot and flee or twist his wrist and force him to his knees and attack him with my feet."

She demonstrated the technique in slow-motion.

"Watch again, grab the wrist, pivot, strike the forearm, turn and run or again, grab the wrist, pivot, strike the forearm, twist the wrist and kick, either the face or the groin. One more time; now, at full speed."

Even knowing what she was going to do, John was helpless to stop her. He felt her grab his wrist, strike his forearm with such force that he knew he'd have a bruise by morning and felt his arm being twisted forcing him to his knees, and her foot appearing suddenly within an inch of his face.

"All right, form a single line. The first person in line will take my place. OK John, grab her throat. I want you to grab the wrist, pivot, strike the forearm, turn and run. Good. Next in line, same thing."

After all, twelve of the ladies had done it once, Awilda had them do it again, however this time she had them twist his wrist, forcing him to his knees and pretend to kick John where ever they felt most comfortable. Awilda corrected some of their techniques, but was pleased with their grasp of the exercise.

John, however, was already experiencing mixed emotions. His forearm and wrist were bruised and he could feel the blood already rushing to another part of his body.

'It's a good thing I wore that Speedo™.'

Awilda helped him to his feet.

"In this scenario an attacker has come up behind you. He throws his arms around you and has your arms trapped in a bear hug. Some people will try to use their head as a weapon against the attacker's face. That sometimes works, but only if the attacker is approximately the same height as you. If he's taller, you hit him in the chest, if he's shorter; you hit him in top of the forehead and probably hurt yourself more than you hurt him. What I want you to do is bring your arms together in front of you at the same time that you bend forward. Grab his ankle and take a step to the side and backward, and pull the leg up. I guarantee, he will lose his balance and fall over backwards. Then grab hold of both feet and spread his legs open. You can either stomp his stomach or his groin. Do it again and again until he is incapacitated, then run. He won't be getting up anytime soon. John, if you please.

She ran through it twice in slow motion. On the third try at normal speed, John held her for a fraction of a second, the next thing he knew he fell hard onto his back, his feet firmly in her grip and her foot resting squarely on his crotch. She looked down on him gave him a quick wink and blew him a kiss.

"Here is a variation of this counter attack." Before he could respond, he felt her leg shift slightly around his and his leg was trapped by her body as she moved forward.

"Notice I have his leg totally under control and yet both my hands are free. I can lean forward and strike him at will and at the same time dislocate or break his leg."

Suddenly John began to feel unbearable pain in his knee joint, his hands instinctively moving to support his knee as Awilda's fist repeatedly stopped inches from his face.

"I give, I give! Please stop," he screamed.

After she helped him to his feet, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.