Tane grumbles, “You didn’t even give it a real tug.”
She places her hands on her hips. “Because I am not destined to pull it out, and neither are you.” She stretches out her hand to help pull him to his feet, and they both look at me. “You try it, Lena.”
Something about looking like a fool in front of them makes me shake my head violently back and forth. “No, thank you. I’m definitely not worthy.”
They both scoff at my reluctance, but don’t push me further on the matter. Tane shrugs and says to Mathilda, “Let’s show her the warm-up first. Then I figured we’d start with the basics?”
She nods and looks at me excitedly. “Let’s start stretching!”
Their enthusiasm and positive support are the opposite of anything I’ve encountered from Julius thus far. Mathilda plops on the ground and begins stretching her legs and back. She’s surprisingly limber to be so muscular. Tane leans over and touches his toes before standing upright and stretching out each thigh.
“Just stretch until you feel limber,” he instructs while balancing on one leg. After we’re loose, Tane leads us around the ring in a brisk jog to warm us up. Mathilda and I continue around several times while he ducks into the timber building and comes out with a roll of linen and some padded gloves.
“What’re those for?” I ask as we halt at the water table for a quick sip.
Mathilda glances over to Tane. “The linen is to protect your knuckles and align your wrists, and the gloves are what you’re going to punch.”
I gulp down the water quickly and begin bouncing on my toes with excitement.
Tane chuckles at my eager expression. “We’re not scary enough, Mathilda. She’s still excited.”
Mathilda rolls her eyes and catches the roll of linen he tosses to her. “Hold out your hands,” she instructs.
I do just that, and she wraps my knuckles and wrists with the linen. It’s not too tight. I can still ball my fists, but it is tight enough that I can’t tilt them.
“This will keep you from breaking anything if you throw a sloppy punch,” she replies, as I struggle to roll my wrist.
We stand in the middle of the shade on the west end of the grounds as Mathilda throws a staccato of punches into Tane’s gloves. The beat floods my senses, and my eyes flare with excitement.
They are both so freaking cool.
Tane grins fiendishly at Mathilda as she effortlessly throws punches into his alternating hands. He absorbs each of her punches easily, and then he swipes out at her. After their demonstration, Mathilda moves me into position, commenting on my stance and making adjustments.
“You need your feet balanced beneath you, not too close together, it’ll put you off balance, and not too far apart so you can use the power from your legs.”
She nudges my feet gently to get them in the exact place she wants them, and I’m grateful that she took the time to explain the reasoning, much like my dad used to.
Mathilda holds her fists up in front of her face, and I mimicher placement. “You want to throw your punches from here. If you drop your hands, your opponent will drop you.”
I nod, and my father’s voice resurfaces from my memories, the many instructions he gave me on throwing punches clicking into my muscles. Tane holds his left glove out farther than his right, indicating where I should strike first. I throw a punch, twisting slightly from the hips as I shift my weight.
“Good,” Mathilda praises, and Tane holds out his left glove. I bring my left fist back to my face before throwing a punch with my right hand. My punches don’t land as loudly as Mathilda’s, but my muscle memory is just beginning to come back to life.
Mathilda corrects my arm position gently, and Tane nods. “Again.”
I move slowly at first, jabbing with my left, then my right, and then two lefts before Tane extends an arm and I duck under it.
“Good Lena, remember to shift your weight slightly with each punch, but not too much or you’ll become unbalanced.”
Tane switches the routine in the opposite direction this time, and we move together more quickly.
“Again,” he orders, and we go faster and faster each round.
My muscles burn, but my fists slamming against the pads, ringing out louder and louder, spur me on.
Mathilda’s voice calls out over the thumping, “Control your breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Make sure you pay attention to everything around you, your surroundings, your position, even the direction of the wind.”
Tane swipes out with a hand, and I duck quickly, but this time, he shoves his left-padded glove out right after, and my instincts take over as I let my body move freely. My right fist connects with the pad so forcefully that Tane stumbles back a step.
