❝I hated every minute of training, but I said, ‘Don’t quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion’.❞
-Muhammad Ali
There’s my list. I can’t exactly make out what it says, but I know. And I like it better, knowing, instead of just reading it. I’ve got my priorities set in the front of my mind.
I wake up about 10 minutes before my alarm’s to go off, so I lie in bed and imagine the face of the girls I’ll have to face today. And then I think about the girl from Everett’s team, and I wonder if I’m going to have to focus on her.
Either way, I know Everett’s going to be there, and I know he’s going to find some way to torture me, one way or another.
After I get out of bed and get ready, I wake up Dad and head down to the basement.
I practice a bit on the bag.
Left hook, into the ribs. Straight on the chest. Fake hit to the left arm, come back with a hook around the neck.
“Quite the technique you’ve got there.” I jump. I’m in the zone, so Dad shocks me when he speaks. I didn’t even realize he was sitting, watching me practice.
He stands up and walks over to where I’m standing.
“You’re gonna do so well today, kiddo.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He wraps his arms around me, and I’m still short enough where he can rest his head on mine.
“I say it every day, but I just want you to know, especially today, that I’m proud of you. Proud that you do what you want to, no matter what anyone says. Even though you’ve gone through some rough patches, and maybe you don’t have a ton of friends to help you, you’re still you nonetheless. While everyone’s just driving, trying to figure out where to go, you’re, well, in your own lane.” He chuckles.
“Nice pun there, Dad.”
He kisses the top of my head.
I don’t like sappy shit like this. Even though it’s nice, I never know what the right response is.
He drives me to the meet, and it’s silent. He yawns a few times, I yawn in response. I crack my knuckles a few times, a task I usually save for times when I’m in front of competitors. To make me look tough, I suppose.
We arrive at the school.
“Knock ‘er dead.” I give Dad a small smile, and drag myself out of the car.
Before entering the school, I turn back. Dad’s still smiling at me. He doesn’t wave, but I can hear his voice in the back of my mind, yelling- “Go and fight like a girl!”
All right, Dad.
For you, for myself, and for all those other girls out there who need my kind of courage.
I open the doors.
AN I'm breakin out the big guns with my quotes. Ali. *loud noises of oooooooh*
YOU ARE READING
Fight Like a Girl
Cerita PendekLane has a list of everything she loves most hanging over her bed, and it goes a little like this: "1. My dad 2. Boxing 3. Feminism" If Lane wants to stick to what she loves, she may just have to fight, well, like a girl for it- because girls fight...
