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We’ve been close, with our 1983-vintage Kenner toys and PVC pipes and yardsticks. But as the co-founder of the extremely real Indy Lightsaber Academy will attest, none of us would last one lousy parsec against a Sith or a Pau’an, and do not even get him started on a Dathomirian.

The co-founder in question is Michael Tucker, who’s spent the past 10 years teaching stage combat to theaters and schools. In January, he and Doug Trefun launched the academy with the idea of mixing traditional martial-arts disciplines with Star Wars–approved Jedi teachings. (Were you to meet Tucker in actual battle, you’d be promptly bisected and plummeting down a reactor shaft.) Some 20 students meet every week for instruction at the Circle City Industrial Complex; they range in age from teen to 67 and include a fellow in a wheelchair. “Honestly, we didn’t think it was gonna take off quite as it did,” Tucker says.

If you’re an aspiring Padawan, search both your feelings and Google: There’s probably a similar lightsaber-workout group in your city, though Tucker stresses it’s important to find one that focuses on actual instruction. “We’ll teach you how to look good,” Tucker says, “but also how to use martial arts.”

I dropped in on a recent Saturday for 90 introductory minutes of Jedi trials, and I brought my 11-year-old son because 1) How could I not, and 2) He might have to redeem my soul one day...figured we’d get a jump on that. Here’s what we found:

8 Lessons From Real-Life Lightsaber Training

To fight right, you’ve gotta let go of your past.

Tucker is about as enthusiastic about people touting their “Jedi expertise” as ER docs are when you start telling them what you read on WebMD. “When people say they’ve taken martial arts,” he says, “it’s usually, like, a semester of self-defense in college.” Start fresh, this is gonna be all new material.

You’ve been gripping your lightsaber wrong.

This isn’t a baseball bat, for God’s sake, it’s a plasma blade suspended in a Force containment field, so please get your shit together. With your lead hand, grip at the top of the hilt. Keep your back hand near the bottom of the hilt, and leave a fist’s worth of space between the two. Use a hammer grip, thumbs in. Most importantly, imagine an iron bar shot through your wrists—they’re to stay firm and move as one.

Here’s your proper, Force-approved “en garde” stance.

Feet shoulder-width apart. Your lead foot (whichever dominant hand you are) is well out ahead of you and your back foot well behind; you want to be stable enough to not get knocked around in any direction. Bend your knees, getting lower than you want to—your lead knee should be directly over your lead big toe. The handle of your blade should be just in front of your hip bone, the end of the blade directly in front of your shoulder. Hold the blade at a 45-degree angle to your spine; that provides an automatic defense if your opponent tries to charge (or hug) you.

A Jedi master knows how to relax.

Be loose and vigilant, not anxious and aggressive. Jedi are not wound tight. If Anakin had better control of his breathing, maybe he wouldn’t have carved up all those Sandpeople.

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Less is more.

Lightsaber combat should be graceful, fluid, and minimalist. You shouldn’t be moving much; defense is simply adjustments to your blade’s angle. “The most realistic fight was in A New Hope, where Obi-Wan and Vader are just sort of jabbing at each other,” Tucker says. “Real combat can’t be flashy—the moment you turn your back is the moment you die.” Every move should end with your blade pointed at your opponent.

Mind games work.

At one point, Tucker holds his blade at eye height and levels it at my face, so I’m looking down the barrel of shimmering light-blue death. It’s terrifying, which of course is the point. If you can keep your cool with a laser three inches from your face, you’re in good shape. “Staying calm throws your opponent off,” he says. “He’s expecting you to be all aggressive, and you’re just…” [walks slowly, keeping eye contact, looking cool]

Lightsaber training will ruin your enjoyment of cinematic swordplay.

Here’s the key to spotting a bad movie fight: jump cuts. “If they show a move, and then a reaction shot, and then cut-cut-cut, they’ve got a bad choreographer,” Tucker says, naming a show I won’t mention but that rhymes with Schmame of Schmones. Watch the Qui-Gon/Anakin/Darth Maul fight from The Phantom Menace, or even the volcanic Anakin/Obi-Wan showdown in Revenge of the Sith: They’ve got several longer, wide-angle shots. It’ll have the curious effect of making you hate the prequels less.

This is serious fun.

By the end of Day 1, I could complete a choreographed six-move sequence against both Tucker and my kid, attack while jumping, and execute a passable spin move. (With practice, I think I could levitate the soda machine.) I was also surprised at the amount of cardio involved—it’s not CrossFit, but it’s not playing video games either. It’s more like being a character in a video game—or, for that matter, a certain movie that…it opens soon, right? Like maybe today?

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