Fight Like a Girl

p e p - t a l k

❝Boxing is not about your feelings. It's about performance.❞

-Manny Pacquiao

We arrive at our hotel later in the afternoon. Coach has packed extremely light, which, to me, is somewhat creepy.

Does he have a change of clothes?

I, on the other hand, carry a duffel bag and a backpack. All my clothes are in my backpack; my warm-up gear in the duffel. The school has not provided us with a ton of money for our stay, so we’re lodged in some unsanitary Motel 8 with no wifi, television, or clean towels.

We have to check-in in about 2 hours, so Coach allows me to relax in that time. I unpack (lay out my clothes for the fight, fill up my water bottle, and take out my toiletries bag) and write an entry to publish on my blog. Without wifi, I can’t at the hotel, so I’ll compile my posts into one when I get home.

Post #1:

I’m at the hotel now. I’ve realized that EW (this is what I’ve been calling Everett Wesley on my public blog) is only bringing me down. Sure, it was nice to have a friend, but now things are getting real. The only person who I need to focus on is me.

T-minus 4 hours ‘till my first fight. I’m containing my nerves as much as possible. Coach told me to “man-up” or something, and that pissed me off. Whatever, I’m used to it.

If I can just win this, I can show everyone at home what boxing really means to me. I can show them I’m not some idiot/freak/weirdo.

But really, that doesn’t matter to me anymore.

My Dad. Feminism.

Boxing.

Let’s go.

I close my laptop, and set an alarm on my phone. I fall asleep for a bit, just to rest up.

***********

“Ready, Davis?” Coach puts the car in park. I swing my bag over my shoulder, and nod.

“Ready, Coach.” He opens the door.

“TEAM, FILE OUT!” The team (me) files out of the bus and waits for him to drag his lazy ass off.

I see quite a few girls filing in, carrying bags packed to the brim. I glance at mine, barely full, just containing my gloves, headgear, mouth gear, and phone. Not like I need anything else. I hold my water bottle so it won’t spill.

Coach and I check in at the front desk. There’s no line, which kind of scares me. Are we doing something wrong? Are we really late?

I pull out my phone to text Dad.

Hey!

What’s up?

Just checking in. Are you here?

Yep. Got the best seat in the house, in the right arena! There’s like, 8 arenas…

One for each fight. Soon there will only be four… *dun dun dun*

The nerves are getting the best of me, Dad. I don’t know what to do.

Relax. You’ll be great, sweetie.

I know, I know, that’s what you always say. But what if I don’t?

So what? We win some, we lose some. We move on. I’ll be here to support you with every step you take.

Okay, Dad. Thanks.

Seriously, though. I’ll be proud if you win, and if you lose, I’m still going to be your Dad.

“You lost, Lane. I’m no longer your father. Good bye. Forever.”

Haha. You kill ‘er, okay?? FIGHT LIKE A GIRL!!!

Thanks, Dad.

I power off my phone. Coach takes me directly to the warm-up room, instead of giving me alone time to practice.

“You’ve had enough alone time,” he says, opening the door to our very own warm up room. This place is like heaven!

There’s a platter of fresh fruit laid out for us.

Welcome, Miss Davis!

I rush over to grab some, but Coach slaps my hand away.

“Could be poisoned.” He points at me, as if I’m the one in the wrong.

“Why the hell would it be poisoned?” I’m pretty sure he’s just mad that they didn’t add- +Coach!

“Other team planted it here. Let’s go, gimme squats.”

I do 50 squats, 50 lunges, 25 push ups, and run around the mats a few times to warm up.

We run through some practice fights in the ring, I do some punches on the bag, and we finish with laps around the room.

Next, we must attend a rules and regulations meeting, where we run through everything we can and cannot do in a boxing match.

No kicking. No shit, sherlock. That’s kick-boxing.

I practically sleep through the rest of the rules. But then they show the competitors the trophies, and I sit up to see what I could win.

There it is. The big, shining trophy. It could be mine.

My first round is with a girl named Kiara Mundial. She’s a small hispanic girl with a large scar on her left cheek. We shake hands, and she never breaks her eye contact with me.

Our fight begins immediately. Coach tosses me my gloves and whisks me off to the arena.

This process flies by. Coach has a 30 second pep-talk time.

“Right shin. She limps just by a hair. Get her there. You got this, kid.” I nod.

I look in the audience to find Dad.

I find him, and sitting right next to him is Karen. Shit. I forgot about her. I forget about the bell right as it rings, and the girl sends herself flying into me.

Shit.

AN: one chapter tomorrow. 2 chapters Friday. EPILOGUE IS ON SATURDAY AND THAT'S IT *cries*