“You can leave your socks and shoes down here,” he replied, as if he did not hear my question. “Take off your hoodie, and put your hair up.”
I quickly complied, slipping out of my sneakers, and stuffing my socks inside. I threw my sweatshirt over them, piled my curls at the top of my head, and made my way into the ring. I was not crazy about being on display in the middle of the entire gym. I fussed with my tank top, nervously awaiting whatever was about to happen.
T.J. had gone to the far corner of the gym, collecting gloves and pads. My stomach churned while I watched him trot back over to me. He jumped up and over into the ring, dropping the pads at my feet. “Hold out your hands.”
I held my hands out in front of me. He slipped my fingers into the gloves, and wrapped the Velcro straps around my wrists.
“Make a fist. How do they feel?”
“Tight,” I replied. “But it’s fine.”
His eyes narrowed. “Well, are they tight or are they fine?”
“It’s fine that they’re tight,” I countered.
One corner of his mouth slowly turned up. He began bouncing from side to side in front of me. He held up a black rectangular pad in front of his chest. “Okay. Hit me.”
Unsure of how exactly he wanted me to hit him, I threw a punch at the pad.
“Okay. Now, hit me like you mean it.”
I exhaled, and tried again.
“Come on. You punch like a girl.”
I tightened my fists in front of me, and threw another punch – harder this time.
“There ya go. That’s how I want you to keep punching. Alternate between your left and your right. When you punch, I want you to twist from the waist,” he demonstrated, “and put your back into it.” He pointed at me. “Don’t stop until I tell you to.”
I nodded, and began mimicking what he had done, slowly at first. I picked up speed once I became more comfortable with the twisting motion. Immediately, I understood why he had told me to use my back; my punches landed with much more force than before.
“Yes, good!” T.J. exclaimed. “Harder! Let’s go!”
I started to break a sweat, and I could feel my breaths becoming shorter with each punch. My arms were burning from shoulders to wrists. I wanted to take a break, to drop my arms, but I would not dare say so. I continued slamming my fists into the pad as fast as I could.
I was so focused on landing my punches, I did not hear T.J. shout, “Time!” He lowered the pad as I was in the middle of hurling my next punch. My knuckles plowed into his cheekbone.
My hands flew up to my mouth in horror. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry!”
He chuckled and wiggled his jaw. “It’s been a while since someone’s clipped me.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’ll live.”
“Guess it’s a good thing I punch like a girl.”
“Take a look at where we are standing.”
I looked down, realizing that we were no longer standing in the middle of the ring. We were about two feet from where we started.
“Is that bad?” I asked.
“You pushed your opponent backwards. That’s what you want to do. It means you punched with force. It means you’re in charge – you’re on the offense, and your opponent is merely defending himself.”
I shrugged one shoulder, trying to act nonchalant. “I meant to do that.”
“Now, imagine how much better you could have done if you weren’t so hungover.”