Boxer

Joe

Jab. Jab. Uppercut. Duck. Straight punch. Slide to the left. Liver shot. Overhand. Swing. KO.

That's it. That's what I plan to do. If I can execute it precisely, this should be an easy win. I know those movements by heart. Sometimes my arms start moving before my brain has even caught up to what I am doing. All in all. One round and I should be done. A winner. But, I also feel like I should let it go on for more than one round. Give the fans a little excitement, after all, they did pay money to see me. Why not let them enjoy the show? It wouldn't be fair to let them pay hundreds of dollars and see a three minute match. This guy is a no name, well to me he is, but I'll let him take a few shots at me, as long as it isn't too hard. I would like to come out of this match, without a bruise, or bleeding for once. Either way, my streak of four months without a lost will continue. I won't let it stop. I'll fight until I die before that streak ever ends.

"You do too much thinking." A familiar voice says a way behind me.

I crane my head back, glancing at my trainer, Chris, in the doorway, a smile plastered on his lips. "Do exactly that," he says coming over to me. "You'll be a winner in no time," he exclaims patting me on the back, gently rubbing my shoulders with his small hands. "Don't over think it."

"I don't plan on it," I smirk, knowing what I have to do. What I just practised in the full-length mirror is what I have to do. No waiting for him to make a move. Don't let him get a shot. KO. First round. Hopefully. I've never seen this guy, I could be in for a long one.

"Stop!" Chris yells, smacking me forcefully on the back of the head, with the back of his hand. "When you concentrate too much you lose focus. Quit."

"Alright jeez," I mumble, rubbing the tender spot where he hit me.

"Good," he smiles, dropping his arms from my shoulders. "Get your hands taped," he says, walking walks out the room and into the next.

He never remembers does he? "Boots first," I remind him, walking over to the tiny open hanger.

"Why don't you do that when you put your shorts on?"

"I do my own thing. Normally it's undress, put on shorts and then practice in the mirror for a bit." I shrug and pull on out my white boots, plopping them on the thin bench below me. I sit myself besides them, grabbing one in my hands, loosening the laces before slipping it on my foot, tying it tightly. Grabbing the next I do the same thing, make sure they don't come untied, no matter what. I always make sure to triple knot them, don't want to go through tripping and falling flat on my race again, that was an embarrassment. Definitely don't want that to happen ever again.

Slowly I stand up, stretching out my body in the process.

"JI SUNG!" Chris' loud voice booms from the other room.

"I'm coming!" I holler back, making my way out. As usual I take my straddling position on the chair with my hand laid out in front. After all these years I could do this job myself, but it's what I'm used to. I'm used to someone else tapes my hands for me. Whether it's training or fights, someone is always around to wrap my hands. The process burned into my brain after all the times I've watched them do it.

Loop the thumb and wrap behind the hand. Three times around the wrist. Three times around the hand. Three X's through the fingers. Around the thumb. Lock the thumb. Three times around the knuckles. Extra wraps and finish at the wrist. Finished. Simple. Well for me it is.

I pull back my hand, inspecting it before laying out my other hand, watching as he repeats the process again. All the while I can't help but think someone is trying to get my attention. I hear muffled voices, but I am trying my hardest to drown them out. Noises distract me.