Fight Like a Girl

g l o v e s

❝ Never Fight ugly people—they have nothing to Lose.❞

-Wayne Kelly

Along with my list of love, comes an unwritten list of hate. I know- being an athlete, I should try to be as optimistic as possible. But I can’t help it, it’s human nature just to hate certain things.

For example: lima beans. Who the hell invented that shit? Name a person who eats lima beans for their great taste- you can’t. Lima beans: on the list of hate.

There’s seriousness that comes along with it, though. I hate school; not the aspect of learning, but the idea that we’re forced to sit with people who sometimes do nothing but bring us down socially and emotionally.

I get that the idea that girls punching each other as a sport is not widely accepted. I don’t need to hear it everyday from my peers.

When Dad first started his quest to get me an equal boxing program to mirror the guys’, I was embarrassed. Some kid found out from his dad, who was the coach of the guys’ team, and told everyone in the school. I hadn’t told people about my boxing yet, and they were surprised.

“Holy shit, you like kicking girls in the face?” some dumb guy had asked me one day.
“No, we aren’t allowed to kick in boxing.”

“That’s weird as hell, still. I thought you were a women’s rights athlete, or whatever.”

Women’s rights athlete. Yep. Feminism at our school was that bad.

I went on to try to explain to him that punching girls as a sport was not the same as doing it to punish them, but he didn’t quite understand. He tried to convince me that since guys were bigger, they were better fighters.

People ended up finding my blog on feminism, and I began to wonder if it was really worth it to keep masking my love for these two things. Once the “team” (consisting of Coach and I) was established, I decided to hang out with him more than my friends.

Dad helped me with schoolwork, instead of my attending of study groups, and as easy as it was: I was eliminated from the school’s social pattern.

That was, until I qualified for regionals.

The day started well.

‘1. My Dad 2. Boxing 3. Feminism’

I read the list a few times, analyzing where the status of each was. One- fine, Dad was just fine. Probably getting for work. Two- just great, I qualified for regionals. Three- I was going to work on a post after practice.

I get out of bed, stretching my legs (still a bit sore from the match) and yawning. I grab an old boxing tournament t-shirt and jeans, take a quick shower, throw my hair in a ponytail, and I’m ready for school.

I realize my image isn’t exactly “pretty” or “sexy.” But frankly, that’s not what I care about. It didn’t make the list of loves. Dad doesn’t care what I wear- unless it’s see-through or something. Boxing doesn’t care, as long as I’m ready to fight at any time, and women from around the world would want me to be who I want to be. And my boxing shirt shows that I want to be a boxer.

Dad tosses me a protein shake.

“Best day ever?” A fake laugh is the best I can give him. I know it won’t be the best day ever, but I’ll try my best not to make it the worst.

“Sure thing, Daddio.”

At school, I don’t realize the headline of the day is “LANE DAVIS: WOAH, SHE’S ACTUALLY A GOOD BOXER?” until third period, which is gym.

We’re in the locker room when I hear it.

“Hey Lane, try not to box me too hard in soccer today! I don’t want to be taken out!” It’s Harley Lewis. She’s trying to sound cool by bringing up boxing terms and making fun of me at the same time, and it works. On the other girls, at least.

“I’m not gonna punch you in soccer. And it’s called a knockout?” They all laugh. Since when was I a comedian?

I walk out of the locker room and into the gym.

“Hey, Laura!”

“Lane. It’s Lane.”

“Lane. Sorry. Congrats on your, uh, fight this weekend. I didn’t know girls could actually punch!”

“Yeah, it’s a well known fact that girls can, indeed, punch.” I throw my hand into a quick fist and demonstrate a quick punch for him. Not on him, that would just be cruel. I also wouldn’t want a suspension.

“Woah! That’s wacky cool, dude!” I laugh. At least he’s trying.

The rest of the day consists of things like this: girls making fun of me, and boys pretending to understand my sport.

I tell Coach at practice about the guy who didn’t think girls could punch. He gives one of his nasty cough-laughs.

“Yeah, neither did I, until I saw you at your ‘try-out.’” He flicks his fingers in the air.

“Why did you use air quotes?”
“Well, you were the only one there, so it was pretty clear you would make the team. You nailed it, though. You shocked me, Davis.”

I gasp. “Wow, did you actually believe in me?”

“You know what, you’re getting there, kid.”

Even though he could be annoying with his anti-feminist thoughts, Coach was constantly by my side in boxing. He trained me well, he knew how to work me up to fight well, etcetera.

Coach never really made the list of love, but I knew I would never see him on the list of hate.

*your daily really brief AUTHOR'S NOTE* Hey all! HOLY OEHFOUIHEOI JEEPERS F.L.A.G REACHED #102 IN CHICKLIT!! YAYAYAY! okay... dedicated to KaistinMarie- for her great Movie Poster! How are you liking the story? Thanks for all the feedback :) *