She's A Fighter (ON HOLD)

She's a Fighter; Chapter Fourteen

“Don’t stop, pop that, don’t stop, pop that pop that pop that.”

Pop that was blasting through the gym. This song always gets me hype and ready to go.

I chugged some gatorade down, and Faye yells from across the room, “You heard him, DON’T STOP!”

I look at her, roll my eyes, and sigh. She laughs.

I’m hype, a good, positive hype. I was working (and sweating) my ass off. I was breathing heavy and my heartbeat was crazy. I was powering through combos. Jab, jab, cross. Jab, cross, hook. Roundhouse kick, knee 1, tornado kick. Every strike felt great. It was like getting any burdens off my shoulders through my kickboxing. My bag was my security blanket. Unlike my sparring partners, it worked with me. It never got tired or had to take a break. It worked on my schedule. I hate the punching bags that are on the ground and are weighed down by water. I like the ones that hang from the ceiling. They’re just … better.

I was in the zone.  I wasn’t tired at all. If anything, training was almost “recharging” me. I gave the bag a break and headed for my jumping rope. I was so in the zooone.

The feeling is unreal and can only be explained to an extent. Whatever your passion is, it’s like that for me. When you get lost doing what you love. When you’re so into it that time flies and you’re enjoying yourself like crazy. It’s bliss. It’s my escape. For a little while, I can forget about the world for a while and focus on one thing. Training.

Reed walks in the gym with flowers and pink cardboard box with a ribbon on it.

I stay in the zone. I have about 15 minutes on the clock and want to power through it. I feel great. I do inchworm pushups. Starting standing and walk my hands across the floor into pushup position where I do clap pushups. My arms burn. I feel my arms strain. They want to stop. I go against it. I go harder and make sure each pushup is perfect. After training I used to be really sore and get bad knots. Sometimes I could barely walk or move. I even have a bruise from icing my knee area in the shape of a wishbone.  Everyone asked me why I worked so hard and why I didn’t take it easy. I always said,”I rather be in physical pain then regret it.” That’s one of the things I really try to avoid in life; regret. I always thought go big or go home. I always made sure everything I did was supposed to be done like it was my last.

And sometimes I thought it would be my last. When I struggled heavily with being bipolar, I thought I was going mad to the point where I couldn’t keep myself together when I wasn’t speedy. I didn’t know what to do. I used to take advantage of my pleasures in life. Then I realized, what if I got bad? What if I lost everything I cared about? Some of the things I thought about weren’t realistic, but there’s always that what if.

I just was so distraught that I promised myself that I had to make sure I had no regrets.

I turn to Reed and catch him staring. I give him a big, cheesy smile. His face lights up and the corners of his lips turn into a smile and show the cute dimples in his face.

“Hi, baby.”

“Hey babe.” I say smiling as I eye the flowers and box.

I peck him on  the lips and avoid skin contact because I’m soaking wet from my sweat.

I grab a towel and wipe off as much sweat as I can. The towel is damp when I’m done with it.

“So who are those for?” I ask, obviously knowing who they’re for as I chug some smartwater down.

“My girlfriend.”

“Oh, she must be pretty.”

“Absolutely gorgeous.”