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Bobby doesn’t give me time to ask. He simply takes the heavy glove and holds it out for me. “Usually you’d put the second glove between your ribs and arm, shove your hand in, then use your teeth to do it up. That’s how you’ll get it off, too.”
Noted.
He finishes the Velcro and looks down at me with a lopsided smile. Standing less than a foot apart, despite the heavy rap music in the air and stinky soggy gloves on my hands, I still enjoy the butterflies that tickle my belly. It’s not candles and roses, but it’s nice, all the same.
“These are called Thai pads.” He picks up two black and red rectangular pads and hold them between us. Slipping his hands into the handles at the back, he lifts his arms and shows me. “I want you to jab with your left hand, jab again, then hit with your right hand. So, left, left, right. Okay?”
I get the feeling he’s not looking for a verbal answer, so I just position myself in front of him and get ready to hit.
“Go.”
Bolstering myself, I bunch my muscles and strike out. Left, left, right. I thought it’d make me feel badass, but nope. That felt sloppy. Damn.
“Alright, we have to fix a few things. First, feet. I want you to stand in your fight stance. So,” he gently kicks my feet into position, “left foot forward. You’re right handed, yeah?” I nod, and in reply, he nods and fights his silly grin. “Left foot forward, right foot back. Feet, shoulder width apart. Don’t let your stance get too narrow, or you’ll just fall over as soon as someone hits you. Put more weight on your back leg, but not too much, sort of like sixty/forty. That way you’ll be able to lift your front leg easy for a quick strike. Let’s try again.”
Left, left, right.
“Better. Now arms. Keep them both up high, always. Always protect your head. When you strike out with one, the other stays behind to protect. Your hitting arm will strike out from your head, then straight back to continue protecting it. I want you to extend your arm out to me, like that, and see how your shoulder protects your jaw and face while your hand’s gone? That’s good. Try again.”
Left, left, right.
“Good. Now hips. Power comes from your core and the swing of your hips. Hit with your left, and your left hip will swing around, too. Imagine you have a karate belt on, you know how the loose ends dangle? So, you want that belt swaying side to side with each strike. And because you’re swinging your hips, your feet need to follow, too. Like this.” He steps back and shows me.
His movements were fast as lightning. With narrowed eyes, I prepare to watch closer. “Do that again?” This time, I watch his feet, and when his hips swing, his foot twists in the direction of his arm. He strikes again and again, and I watch the way his shoulder protects his head. The wind whistles past my ear each time he strikes. “Okay, I think I got it.” I step back and get ready to try again. I take a moment to make sure my feet are spaced correctly. I lift my arms to where he showed me they should go, and my heart stutters at the look of approval in his eyes.
He raises his Thai pads and I concentrate on each strike. Instead of a sloppy slap like last time, this time each of my strikes results in a deepthwumpsound. “Good.” He smiles. “Really good. Try again. We’ll do this thousands of times in the future, literally, until you never have to think about it again, your muscles will just do it for you. Bruce Lee once said we should not fear the man who has practiced a thousand strikes once, but the man who’s done one strike a thousand times.” He smirks at me. “So, we keep practicing. Try again.”
Time both flies and drags as we practice, and after a while, my pushup fatigued arms turn to jelly. My previouslyokaypunches decline into exhausted slop, so Bobby calls time. “Go take a break and grab a drink.” He pulls one heavy pad off his arm and steps in with a smile. His dark eyes dance with approval. “You’re nailing it. Seriously. Take a breath, then we’ll come back in a few minutes to work on some other stuff.”
I don’t have to be told twice, and despite his closeness and the fact that maybe he wants to kiss me, I instead choose to sprint to my water. My poor arms struggle to lift its measly weight, but at least I don’t guzzle it down.
Bobby walks toward me with his own water and an approving grin. “You’re doing a great job. It means a lot to a trainer when we don’t have to repeat the same shit over and over again because our student is a dummy who thinks they know better. You’re here to learn – my favorite kind of student.” His eyes cruise my legs. “They’re not booty shorts, but they still make my job a million times more enjoyable today.”
“Ha.” I sip and smile, sip and spill the cold liquid over my chin. I’m not embarrassed. I’m sweating like a pig and Bobby likes my shorts. “Thanks. I wake up every single day with the express goal tonotbe a dummy. It doesn’t work out every day. But sometimes…” He grins boyishly. “What’s up next, coach?”
“Next is legs.” He screws the cap back onto his water and tosses it to the floor. “I’m gonna teach you how to kick, then we’ll stretch and pack up for the day.”
Oh, thank God!
He taps my hip. “Come on. Back to the mats. Show me your fight stance.” I know this is a test, but lucky me, I’m a nerd who requested tests at school – much to Casey’s disgust. Bobby gives no hint to what he wants from me, but I’ve been practicing that stupid stance for an hour already.
“Left leg forward, right leg back, not too narrow, slightly more weight on the back leg.” I position myself and lift my arms to protect my face. Lifting my eyes to his, I wait for my gold star.
“Close. Spread your legs wider.” When I glare, he laughs. “No seriously. Shoulder width apart. Now I want you to kick me in the rib area. Show me what you got.”
He lifts a Thai Pad along his side, and hesitating for only a moment, I kick my leg out and yelp. I drop my foot to the floor and bend over to rub my reddening foot.
“First, you want to kick me with your shin, not your foot. Let me show you on the bag.” He walks toward the wall of boxing bags without looking back to see if I follow.
I do. Of course I do.
Automatically stepping into his fight stance, his leg whips out at super speed and knocks the bag to the side. Narrowed eyes and hands on my hips, I step in as close as safety allows and I watch when he slows it down.
Shin, meet bag.
“First, you want to strike your opponent with your shin. Your foot will break long before your leg. Secondly, chamber your kicks through your knee. However high you want your kick, you need to lift your knee first. Watch.” He lifts his leg to the side and stops with just his knee in the air. His kneecap is at his chest level. “When you have your height, you flick your leg out and hit your target.”
His leg slams down with a deepthwumpand sends the bag whipping toward me. Back to his fight stance, he nods to the bag next to his. “Your turn.”
