One Punch

Really Stinky Wrestlers

That punch itself wasn't fatal of course. The was the reverb from the skull contacting the ground was. Of course she was out before that. But still, she could've lived if I didn't knock her out - because there was no other way for her to steady herself if she was unconscious, which wouldn't have been the case if she was conscious. Which is why "Concussion", the movie, speaks so loudly to me right now a day after watching it.

I'm on my way walking to the fitting room, now. Two days ago I stripped in front of the boys, but now it was rather smart to pretend that maybe I wasn't the only girl, maybe I could change in the dressing room by myself like a normal teammate would do, girl or not...if you didn't get that sarcasm well enough. I was a girl, but as a member, I could really do what the heck I wanted if some the boys took their school khakis right off in front of me and the other boys. But what the heck; I really didn't want to stand out. I wanted to knock out. And that's the message I wanted to display.

While I eyed the now half dressed guys in their blue attire, my ponytail I yanked for the sake of loosening the rubber band. My meaty thighs peeked from under the personal shorts I brought. From two days ago, a small blister festering on my knee would've told me to wear something a little longer...but I didn't trust my speed or agility in anything that encased my legs completely. I had no singlet, besides, so I could wear whatever I wanted, but if a singlet wouldn't cover my knees, why wear anything that would?

It was the perfect outfit, what I had on. And I exhaled, feeling my whole chest deflate from the push in comfort....in relaxation. I would do whatever Coach wanted me to do with these boys, until the end of season. And I would even advance to an equal status to the best of my might, if that was an expectation from Coach. But my mind was atually on being better than a good amount of them.

The must of the atmoshphere surrounding me hit me only after my contemplating. What were you boys doing? I thought.

"You're late," Coach said to me. My ability to notice him struck me as my being attentive, now, back to Earth. Pheromones and sweat weren't necessarily nose candy however the fact that I was just noticing I was here made the smell substantially worse, I'm sure.

What did coach say? Late? How? Because I was trying to speak myself out of not coming? Maybe. But I wouldn't let him know that. My first day of this club, this was. So who cared. Maybe he would understand, even subconsciously, what battle I was dealing with here. But not that my pride wanted him to. Anyway...I digress to his rather uptight face, a mock to my existence for the little faith it had in me.

But I digress again. To maybe feeling that maybe I should describe to you his face and percieved intentions in pure detail before I can totally give you a full, non one-sided picture of why I feel his soul is bent against mine...

A second later from Coach's talk, Bud came near me and held up his hand for a high five. I instinctively put my hand up to my face but not for a high five...he smacked my hand anyway, which accidentally smacked me...not that it annoyed me. I was actually trying to shield his stink from my nose, so it wasn't a big deal if my plan backfired.

But nah, pheromones weren't even doing their job, here, he was stinky.

Please let him invest in deodorant Almighty Walmart. Eventually, soon, something have mercy on his pits...

"Yo. Get in place. We are going to start our stretches."

"Shoot doggedy man," I exclaimed to myself, and then answered the coach as I slipped into some random shoes that I found the other day and had stacked neatly back into the duffel bag of uniform goodies Coach had. My 7.5's fit me well (no, not really) and I wobbled into place with the boys, each's hairy or muscular chest not necessarily intimidating me (well yes, it did). Only because I wasn't going to develop tight chest muscles and hairy chest overnight. So my main concern, maybe even goal was, looking at them - how am I going to be their equal?

Smack!

Ooh!

Ughh!

Maybe my equality wasn't going to be in equaling them, I thought, watching each of them fall to the stronger boy. My equality would be gained by using my feminine qualities to my advantage. The men brought each other down with their hands, but I could bring them down with my weight, I'm sure - the bulk in my hips probably more so compared to them. The pull and affect of gravity wouldn't discriminate against me at all unless it was against the other boy to bring him down of I used it wisely...

I digress...as my head goes into the mat, and my side gets crushed by the guy just barely out of my weight class...."Get up." It was the coach's voice, the tutor seeing me somewhat squirm beneath the boy. I got up, and Bud helped me. Like last time. But the coach didn't raise any of our hands like I thought he would. "Why didn't he raise any of our hands?" Bud looked at me like I was crazy.

"Because this ain't a real fight. When you really fight against someone is when you get the reward." And I noticed from Coach's words that the only effort I should be putting my real fight into is the ones that should matter...which actually for me did include these small, unofficial ones we did outside of matches. Because if I had not put my all into them, I wouldn't win real fights. Would it be a good idea to apply this to my mom's violence at home?

Forget it: that is not a real fight, and it isn't pretty important anyway. It's bullying, and hopefully I'd fine a way to fight it. But now I'll stay here and hope I fight, well, those guys that are fightable...