I stay standing. My lungs are desperately gulping air and every muscle in my body is screaming, but I refuse to drop. I straighten my shoulders and stare straight at Tristan.
He grins and seems to give a quick nod of approval—then turns and walks out of the room.
"Oh Lord Jesus save us all," Aiden wheezes next to me. He's managed to get to his feet, but he's still bent over, hands on his knees, trying to compose himself. "That was the hardest workout I've ever done. By, like, a lot. Who peed in his cereal this morning?"
Lucy shoots me an accusatory look. I scowl. "I actually think that's him in a good mood," she says to no one in particular. "I think it makes him happy to run us ragged. Fucking psychopath…" A few people grunt in agreement.
After a few minutes, we've recovered enough to head back to the main mat room. Where the bag room is filled with heavy bags hanging from the ceiling, this room is devoid of any type of equipment. The only thing it has is a massive amount of mat space for sparring and jiu-jitsu. It's also where the benches and gear cubbies are, which means it's the room where everyone congregates.
As we walk into the mat room, I hear Coach ask us, "Who's staying for open mat? Does anyone want to roll?"
"There is not a single ounce of me that has any energy left after that bag workout," Aiden tells Coach honestly. Everyone nods in agreement.
I look around the mat and realize that it's mostly filled with advanced students. A lot of people only do jiu-jitsu, so they wouldn't have come in for the Muay Thai workout that we just did. For them, this is their first workout—which means they're fresh and full of energy. Everyone around me has multiple advantages over me before I've even stepped on the mats.
But a part of me hates leaving when there's such a good group of people here. A lot of the best guys only train in the mornings, so by the time evening classes roll around, class is filled mainly with beginner students. And though I'll never say I'm too good for anyone, I also can't say no to getting my ass kicked by the guys that are better than me. It's undoubtedly one of the best ways to learn.
"I've got a few rounds in me," I tell Coach. "Just give me a second to get changed."
I'm not certain, but out of the corner of my eye I think I see Tristan's head snap up in surprise.
I ignore the wide-eyed stares of my teammates next to me. They already know I’m a pit bull by nature so I'm not sure why they're surprised. I take a swig of my water bottle before rummaging through my bag for a rash guard.
Since jiu-jitsu is body-to-body contact, it's not enough to train in a T-shirt—we have to wear spandex on both top and bottom. I don't bother changing the leggings I'm already wearing but I do need to swap my soaking wet, now-baggy T-shirt for a skintight rash guard. I peel my shirt off and toss it in my bag.
As I stand there in my sports bra trying to slide my sticky arms through the tight clothing, I notice Tristan looking at me from where he's warming up. I see his eyes travel over my sweat-covered body.
Suddenly I remember that Tristan has already seen me completely naked—what he's looking at now is tame compared to how I looked coming out of the shower. I duck my head as a blush flames across my cheeks. I quickly tug the rash guard over my head and yank it down over my stomach. I take another swig of water before rushing onto the mat.
Coach nods in approval at the fact that I’m staying for another session. He calls me over for the first round.
The bell rings to signal the start of the five-minute round. We start standing but, just like with Tristan earlier this week, I quickly end up on my back. I make a mental note to work with more wrestlers so that I'm not so easily knocked over.
Coach doesn't destroy me, but he also doesn't give me an easy round. For five minutes we alternate positions—sometimes advancing, sometimes losing ground. Both of us attempt several round-ending submissions. I tap out once when he catches my arm in an armlock that I can't get out of. Overall, it's a great round with a lot of back and forth action.
I do three more rounds with other teammates. The minutes are hard, with everyone applying a lot of pressure, but the flow and rhythm is so good that I don't even mind the extra exertion. I was already exhausted when I stepped on the mat, so my body has automatically forced itself into fight-or-flight mode. I'm so far past my energy limitations that I don't have any left to overthink or worry about perfect technique. I just… roll.
"Remy, I've got you next round."
Breathing heavily, I look up to see Tristan is beckoning me to his side of the mat. And because I'm too tired to even argue, I crawl over without a word.
We shake hands to begin the round. I try to catch him off guard with a reach for his legs, but he sidesteps easily and ends up beside me. Before I can even react, he's wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me off the ground.
If this were a real fight, he would slam me into the ground and probably knock the wind out of me. But because we're training—and because it's common etiquette when you outweigh someone by seventy pounds—he drops me gently. I've barely touched the ground before I'm scrambling to try to face him. The worst position you can be in is having someone behind you, when you're blind to their moves and they have all the control.
But no matter how hard I try to move, Tristan is not letting go of my back. Eventually he slips his forearm under my neck and applies a chokehold that has me instantly tapping in defeat.
I jump back to my feet, annoyed and ready to start over. We shake hands and go again.
This time he's the first to attempt a takedown. He tackles me easily. The second my back touches the ground I wrap my legs around him in an effort to control his position. But as soon as I move one of my legs to attempt a submission, he uses the opening to spin to a more dominant position. Not long after that, he's used his position to isolate my arm and force me into an armlock submission. I tap again.
I'm silently fuming at myself. I'm not under any delusion that I'm even close to Tristan's skill level but I thought I could at least hold my own. So far, we're barely two minutes into the round and he's already submitted me twice. As we stand and start again, I study his face to look for any signs of egotistical motivation. It's not uncommon for guys to want to assert their dominance just because they feel threatened by women in martial arts.
But Tristan's face is completely expressionless. He's not submitting me for any other reason than he's training hard and giving me a good, honest round. Which is the best thing anyone can do on the mats—it shows respect.
We shake hands and go again.
A minute later, he's submitted me with an ankle lock.