Full contact

So I walk into the rec center the other night and we're sparring and I've never sparred there but it's full contact and I have no idea what that means. Sparring for me means feeling stupid and crying in the parking lot after kung fu thinking "how come I suck?" over and over again. Full contact sparring, I come to understand, means that girl is going to break your nose if she can figure out how.

She is going to knock out your teeth if she can. She is going to hit you as hard as she can for as long as she can and you are going to have to stop her. Because she is the only other adult female fighter at the rec center and there is clearly something about her that's, well, feral.

Meanwhile, the game is afoot. Kids are squaring off with one another: getting their hands wrapped, donning the headgear, putting in their mouth guards, getting tied into the big sparring gloves. The first pair look to be about five or so. The next few are a little older, but only a little. None of these kids has a whole lot of experience boxing; everyone's very, very new and it looks like nothing on earth. I keep thinking up superhero names for them: the windmill versus the dogpaddle... the guy who just doesn't wanna get hit versus randomly exploding guy...

I'm standing there thinking that, actually, these kids have been doing this longer than I have when it's my turn. So I put on the gear, hop into the ring, skip out of the corner and notice rather suddenly that whatever my opponent is doing she is definitely not boxing. Her face is kind of scrunched up, her arms are swinging around her full-force and somebody, somewhere is laughing. She is fighting. She is street fighting. I have walked into a brawl and am halfway through realizing this when the second wild right hand connects with my neck.

Strategy comes to me pretty fast. Two punches in and I figure out that it's only the right hand that's connecting, so I thrown up my left hand to make a little wall for my face and start delivering crosses straight at her nose. Set up, push off the right foot, turn the hip, and bam! I know I should be jabbing, but I can't bring myself to part with my (Aha!) invincible shield. The left hand stays put, covering my face and I give her a few more.

Now she's on the ropes and the laughing has stopped. She's not hitting, her hands are down, and that look on her face is still there. I don't know what to make of it. I back up and wait. I scoot in a little and tap her with my right hook. I tap her again and she explodes off the ropes, arms swinging. Fine, I know the drill this time: left hand shield, right hand bam! (Not the most complex of strategies, but, hey!, I'm just happy to have one. Back to the ropes again, same thing: she's not hitting, she's not guarding, she's just leaning there with that look on her face. Maybe it's the mouth guard. Tap... Tap... Nothing. No more explosions. Then the bell rings and she's sitting on the canvass, out of breath. Turns out she really only had about two good berserker attacks in her. Also turns out that the laughing was her. (Spooky!)

She vows to quit smoking and we schedule a re-match for next time the rec center has this sparring day-- in five months or so.

I haven't seen her much since-- maybe once or twice after our sparring session-- but she told me she was going to quit smoking and start running. For a while, I would push myself through rounds on the heavy bag by imagining that she was out there somewhere, training. But there's a new adult female at the rec center and she's really, really good. (I mean really, really good.) And she is always training. (I mean always training.) So I don't have to imagine any more.