My experience with Indian leg wrestling started with my in-laws before they were my in-laws. The Indian leg wrestling of my pre-in-law in-laws started with an explanation, then a demonstration, that soon became a tradition.
At the beginning of every school year, my in-laws, Bob and Kim, creative writing professors at the University of Idaho, host a party for the students and faculty of the English MFA program. It is a chance to meet the new Master's students, for them to meet each other, and catch up with friends from previous school years. They host it at their home on Moscow Mountain overlooking the Palouse area of northern Idaho and eastern Washington. There, under the September stars, a sport was explained and a tradition grew.
At one of these such parties, Kim was explaining Indian leg wrestling to one of her students. Part of Kim's ancestry is Native American and she had heard of/seen Indian leg wrestling. The group she was explaining it to wanted a demonstration. So, Kim went and grabbed a blanket from inside and brought it out to the deck. She lay down on her back and raised her right leg perpendicular to her body. On the count of three, with a swing at each number, she brought her leg down. This was a demonstration of the technique of the sport. When actually demonstrated, two people would be laying on their backs with their heads at opposite ends of each other. They would grasp inside hands (usually the right hand when wrestling right-legged) and swing their inside leg. At the count of three, they would bring the opposing legs together, each trying to flip, turn, or spin the other. Matches rarely go for more than a few seconds. Kim demonstrated with one of her students before the onlookers. Soon, the deck was crowded (well, more crowded than it had already been) with onlookers and contestants watching as match after match were performed. Indian leg wrestling would become a staple of the MFA parties from then on.
I attended my first MFA party as an honorary MFA. I was getting my Master's in literature, just an MA; apparently my arts aren't fine. My fiancee had just left for California to pursue her own MFA at Claremont Graduate University near L.A. I had just started the aforementioned MA and was a teaching assistant at U of I. I had heard of the legendary Indian leg wrestling from Chase, a friend and neighbor who was also an MFA student. He had attended the previous year's party and enjoyed the wrestling. When they had leg wrestled that year, Chase had been an observer in the shadows as one student dominated most of the the matches. Chase stepped out of the shadows and won his match. I had listened to the story over drinks leading up to the day of the party.
The night of the actual party I arrived late, having to work beforehand. Most of the food was gone and the party was in full swing. But I hadn't missed what I was most interested in witnessing. Everyone was talking and milling around, sipping at wines and beers, sodas and juices. I met some friends. Talked about our summers, our plans for the school year. Fielded questions about my missing fiancee. I missed her terribly. I was glad I was invited to the party. The prospect of being alone in my apartment with my cat to keep me company did not appeal in the slightest. The chaotic snippets of conversations wrapped around me like a warm blanket. The sips of wine and a bottle of beer helped to blunt my social awkwardness. I was downright talkative! I chatted with other TA's. I met the new MFAs. Greeted professors from previous years.
Then. Kim brought out The Blanket. It was time for Indian leg wrestling. I leaned against the railing of the deck and watched Kim's perfected-from-years-of-repetition explanation of the sport. I watched Kim flip an MFA student. I watched Kim flip Bob. I watched another MFA student, named Jordan, flip Bob and fellow student after fellow student after fellow student. I was ready to try. I took my shoes off. I lay down on my back, looking up at the clear sky and the stars in the evening. Jordan lay down next to me, hip to hip. We joined hands. ONE shouted the crowd, led by Kim. We raised our right legs and swung them down. TWO! Raise and swing. THREE! Raise and snap down. I'm flipping! I do an awkward somersault as Jordan's leg collides with mine with the meaty thunk of our calves hitting. Jordan's leg pushes mine back over my shoulders until my back is lifted off the deck and my toes touch the wood of the decking. My first loss. It had looked easy. My legs were the strongest and the most in-shape part of my anatomy! But Jordan had flipped me. Amid the applause, I got up and retook my place against the railing of the deck. The next challengers took our places on The Blanket.
After a few more matches (and a little study), I challenged Jordan again.
ONE! Legs up swinging.
TWO! Back up, back down.
THREE! I remembered my karate lessons. I remembered the ax kick. The kick where you balance on one leg while you bring your other down to strike your target with your heel. I remember to raise my leg and release it, sending it down in a weird horizontal ax kick.
The meaty smack of our calves.
The satisfaction of feeling my leg proceeding forward on its downward trajectory as Jordan resists, then flips. My first win.
The rest of the night I would win and lose. I would always re-challenge those who had beaten me. I would face Jordan again and win. Over the course of the night, I would keep track of my record and note that no one would beat me in 2 of 3 matches. I had found something. I had found a sport I enjoyed. I had also found something that, looking back, maybe I was a little to competitive at. I didn't get upset or angry at my losses. I wouldn't taunt after my wins. But, maybe I was taking it more seriously than those around me.
I had started my Master's studies in literature. I was intimidated by those around me. I didn't understand the theory involved in literature. I hadn't read all the classics. I would listen to my classmates, many of whom were standing around this very deck, and I would feel lost and behind and confused. On top of that, I felt as though I had lost my best friend and true love to a school in California. I had endured one cancer surgery and, though I didn't know it at the time, was heading toward another, more serious one.
But I had found something that I could do better than the classmates who unintentionally intimidated me in the classroom. I had found something, from my fiancee's family, that I could excel at. When I left the party that night to head back to my-empty-save-for-the-cat apartment, I felt better about life than I had when I arrived. I felt a certain pride in myself. Even if it was in something that no one else took as seriously.
The next year, I would again never lose best two of three. I was rebounding from the serious cancer surgery--lymphadenectomy. My fiancee had returned from Claremont and was starting her Master's in anthropology at the U of I. But after the surgery I had withdrawn. I had left everything on her. She worked. She cleaned the apartment. She took care of me. I withdrew. I had spent nearly the entire summer playing video games because in them, my character didn't have cancer. Or scars that caused the right side of their face to sag. But in that withdrawal, I had left my true love and best friend to do everything on her own.
After the party and the Indian leg wrestling, I rebounded. I went back to work (actually at 4 jobs) and back to school. I helped clean the apartment (still not as well as Jordan did/does). It wasn't the Indian leg wrestling or the party that made me rebound, but it did remind me that I'm good at something other than immersing myself in make believe worlds to avoid this one.
At the beginning of this school year, we headed up to the MFA party. Now, we were married. Jordan and I were greeted and congratulated by those who hadn't made it to the reception. Our wedding pictures displayed inside on the baby grand. We made our way through the potluck buffet. We made our way through the wine/beer buffet. We greeted now old friends, professors, and met new friends and professors.
I was chomping at the bit for Indian leg wrestling. I was sure I was taking it more seriously than anyone else. But it was still all in fun. Some of the other students were getting into it as well. They would tease each other and cheer each other on. Especially when someone would get on a roll. I didn't challenge anyone and everyone as I had in the previous two years. I would sit off in the dark, at my now usual spot at the railing. I enjoyed watching everyone else have a good time. I'd hop down and challenge a few people, especially when someone would get on a roll.
It was my best showing yet. Toward the middle of the evening, I was flipped. Other challengers smelled blood. Suddenly I was challenged from everywhere in the crowd. I could be beaten!! (These were what they were saying!) Nat, one of Bob's poetry students, ended my perfect streak of the night. But I wasn't flipped again. There were glancing blows (when our legs wouldn't quite connect, so there wouldn't be a real wrestle), there were collisions that would tie and fail (striking heel to heel doesn't give enough of a lock but hurts like the dickens). There were friendly wagers (often turned down) like when Warren (another long haired individual) and I wrestled someone (it may have been me) suggested the loser has to cut his hair and give it to the winner.
Then, I decided I would retire. I had taken it seriously enough for long enough. I didn't mean for it to end the wrestling for the night. I'm not sure if it was my announcement that really ended the wrestling or if it was just coincidence that Kim put The Blanket away after my last best-of-three. I announced that it would be my last match, best of three. Everyone agreed that it should be against Nat, the only one to flip me on the night.
I defended my title and retired with it.
But I find myself thinking about it. I find myself looking forward to the MFA party of next year, even though, barring academic disaster, I will no longer be a student at the University of Idaho. I may not even be in the area. But I want to go. I want to wrestle again. I don't want to take it as seriously as I had. But I am obsessed with numbers and records. I keep track of how many red lights I get stopped at out of how many intersections with traffic lights I drive through. I look at team records and percentages. I want to Indian leg wrestle next year without having the numbers in my head. Without having to do best of three to make sure that I still come out on top.
But can I? Will it even matter? Will I even be there? Can I just sit in the shadows at my spot on the railing and watch everyone else and only occasionally hop down for a go? I love the sport. I'm still good at it. I still have yet to face my brother-in-law who is weightlifting (squats, what else?) with me. Can I turn off the competitor and just play?
