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Arm Wrestling with a Bunch of Girls

When you hear the phrase “ladies’ arm wrestling competition,” don’t you think of those aggro Amazonian/GLO/rollerderby women who needed an outlet for their muscley rage and found it through trying to snap off one another’s arms? I do. A friend heard...

When you hear the phrase "ladies' arm wrestling competition," don't you think of those aggro Amazonian/GLO/rollerderby women who needed an outlet for their muscley rage and found it through trying to snap off one another's arms? I do. A friend heard about one happening at a bar in Brooklyn, and watching butches go crazy sounded like fun, so I went.

Once I started talking about it with some friends, they told me I HAD to enter. I'm strong enough to move the furniture around my apartment, but I weigh about as much as two sacks of flour. WTF, everyone, I thought, do you want me to ever have use of my right arm again? I need that for… special things. Then I realized my ego doesn't mind losing, I am more competitive than your average American, and I have health insurance—and what good is the latter if you're not going to use it?

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So I did a quick practice session with my housemate in the laundromat. She once beat an old boyfriend at arm wrestling, and the next day he broke up with her. She was the perfect coach.

While the towels dried, she taught me how to dig in deep on the inside of the thumb when I grip my opponent's hand, and roll the wrist for more control. Once we really get going, she told me, I should pretend like I am hugging my opponent toward me and pull her with all my might. We demonstrated this with real hugs. Aw. Then we arm wrestled each other at a folding table and she whupped me.

A few hours later I showed up at the Brooklyn Diamond and ordered a hearty meal of pickles and olives. That'd bulk me up.

[caption id="attachment_37916" align="alignnone" width="640" caption="Tough girl with a busted hand"]

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Unfortunately, by the time I found the guy with the clipboard, all the slots were filled up. My adrenaline was kicking in though (don't forget, ladies will pick up cars for children), and I was determined to break a humerus, or at least bruise an elbow.

And you know what? If I had the chance to enter, there might've been some hospitalization. Because a good portion of the competitors (such as the one pictured above, left) were editors at freaking Bon Appétit. Bon Appétit! Where they teach you how to make one-bite appetizers and no-bake pie and get the most gentility out of your edible garden like intelligent, rational, well-bred people. They are great folks, I'm sure… but arm wrestlers?

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Actually, a couple of them were. Holy shit. A test cook and one of the editors made it really far.

[caption id="attachment_37902" align="alignnone" width="640" caption=""Channel the power of your pink pony tail!" I shouted."]

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Everyone was screaming at the top of their lungs. I opted for positive slogans like "Hang in there!" and "I believe in your power!" which I shouted to my favorites—a gal with a nose ring and pink streaks in her hair like she was in a Belly music video, and a lady with a swimmer's body, good sportsmanship, and a striped tank top.

[caption id="attachment_37903" align="alignnone" width="640" caption="A final moment of the entire competition"]

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Things broiled to a man-hating rage right after one woman beat everyone at least twice.

We were so about girl power at this point, after watching women show off their physical strength for a couple hours while cheering them on and drinking profusely.

After watching these women display their power, two dudes who couldn't control themselves sat down at the wrestling table. One ripped off his shirt. What a joke! All the ladies started screaming at them and booing. Or maybe it was just me? I was ramped up enough to crack their heads together like coconuts and watch their milky man-brains ooze out their ears.

After I calmed down and played with a puppy someone brought in the courtyard, some lady who also was not in the competition asked me if I'd like to wrestle her, just for fun. Yes, please!

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We sat at the table. A friend counted down: 3… 2… 1.

And in about three seconds I had her pinned. It wasn't hard at all. What?

My friend, who was acting as the umpire, said she'd wrestle me next. She's a yoga teacher with a pit bull that requires a good deal of handling. I was sure she'd kick my ass.

Let's see how it played out:

I won!

LIZ ARMSTRONG