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Chapter 21
My hair is almost at my jawline and matted to the sides of my face with sweat, distracting me. I miss being able to pull it into braids. I breathe out with each blow I deliver. Chema positions the boxing pads in a jab-cross-jab combination that I follow easily. We repeat this several times, and I know he is starting off light.
He already made me run a mile before pad training, which is significantly less than he used to. By my pre-cancer standard, it’s embarrassing, but this is the most my body has accomplished since concluding treatment.
After the fifth round with the same combination, he reaches for me, and I block with my shoulder, but I’m too slow, and he ends up hitting my shoulder with the pad.
“Agh!” I growl and step away from Chema. I shake my head to clear it.
“It’s okay. We just got started. Come on.”
I turn back to Chema and keep aiming for the pads. I successfully block with my right shoulder on his second try. We both smile.
“Chin down,” he scolds.
“Sorry.”
“Come on. Keep moving.”
His commands are obeyed in this gym, so I start fluttering in a circle around him as he positions the pads in the air. He switches the combination; it’s still a jab-cross-jab, but this time he wants a ratio of 3-2-3, and I can’t pick up on it quick enough.
The never-ending haze, like walking through the cloud of my brain where my reaction time resides, envelops me. I know the combination Chema seeks, and once I had this muscle memory, but it’s all gone now. I try again, messing up after the last cross before switching back to a jab. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
It’s so incredibly frustrating. I step back and use my teeth to rip the Velcro on my gloves to yank them off.
Chema removes the pads from his hands and drops them on the mat. “Come on. Sit with me.”
We sit cross-legged, facing each other on the mat.
“I’m sorry,” I say out of breath.
“What for?”
“What do you mean what for? For fucking up!”
“You’re not fucking up. Stop being so frustrated. Don’t you see? This is the best you’ve done since we started training again.”
“I know, but it’s not fast enough.”
“Think to the first day back at the gym. Did you think you’d ever be able to run a mile again? And here you are, in your gloves after running a mile. This is huge. You need to acknowledge that.”
“I do. But I also acknowledge that I can’t do a simple switch of combinations. My reaction time isn’t there. Chema, we might be able to improve it a bit, but I don’t think it will ever come back.”
“We don’t know that.” He shakes his head, not wanting to believe it yet.
“I think I do. The glitches in my memory are minor, but they’re there. It’s like I can see the word I’m looking for, hovering just in front of me, but I can’t grasp it. My synapses are short-circuiting. Eventually, my brain does what it needs to, but I can’t fight like that. I can’t ask my opponent, ‘can you hold on just a sec, my brain is catching up?’”
“Don’t give up. Not yet.”
“I think it’s time for my dreams to change. I can’t keep mooching off Pilar forever.”
“She’d be fine with that, you know?”
I smile. “Yeah. I know. I was only okay with it before because we had an end-goal in sight. I’d be sponsored soon and maybe even be able to pay her back. But I don’t think that’s the goal anymore, Chema. I don’t think we can get me there.”
“In time—”
I shake my head, and he doesn’t finish his sentence. His bottom lip quivers, and I watch as his Adam’s Apple bobs up and down.
