There’s only a handful of people in the room when I walk in after changing. A guy and a girl are sparring, while two other women drill with strike pads and a man on his own lifts some weights. I run through a few quick warm-up stretches and then pop my headphones into my ears, blasting ‘Hell’s Bells’ as I strap on my gloves and take my stance in front of the punchingbag.
I start jabbing hard and fast, my blows landing with the satisfying thud I’ve found myself craving ever since I started kickboxing. I work the bag until my lungs burn and sweat trickles down my back, soaking my clothes and coating my skin in a slick sheen. An ache forms in my arms, but I push past it, envisioning my limit as a wall I have to breakthrough.
When I finally drop my arms and gasp for breath, I hear a voice calling my name over the music still blaring through my headphones. I pull them out and turn to find Coach Kelsey watchingme.
“Good work,” she says with one of her curt nods. “You have a knack for tapping into your aggression and channelingit.”
“Didn’t really require any ‘tapping in’ today,” Ipant.
She doesn’t ask for details. “Then let’s put that anger towork.”
Even though she’s not getting paid for it, she picks up some strike pads and straps them on, motioning for me to come stand in front of her. I assume my fighting stance and we start todrill.
“Arms in tighter, Christina. Keep tension in yourcore.”
I try to do what she says, but I know I’m off my game. Everything that happened today might be making me hit faster and harder than I usually do, but it’s messing with myprecision.
“Focus that aggression. Sharpenit.”
I miss the pad completely and stumble forwards a bit. Coach Kelsey drops her arms and tells me tostop.
“Don’t be an angry, raging bull, charging blindly at whatever makes you see red. That’s not going to get you anywhere.” She steps over and adjusts my stance a bit. “Your anger shouldn’t guide you; it should be a tool. Don’t keep it locked up inside. That’s what’s making you miss your shots today. Let it move through you. Let it fuel you. Take the adrenaline it gives you and focus it on somethingconstructive.”
If this were anyone but Coach Kelsey, I’d feel like we were talking about more than kickboxing now, but she’s not really the emotional type. Still, I give her a small smile over the tops of my gloves as she picks up the strike pads again, and I swear I see the corner of her lip pull up as shenods.
We drill until all I want to do is drop to the floor and lie there for a fewhours.
Coach Kelsey says goodbye with typical Coach Kelsey gruffness: “All right, Christina, you’re done. Good improvements today. Now get the hell out ofhere.”
I grab a quick shower before I go. Under the glorious water pressure, I let my mind wander to the events I was trying to keep it away from during my practice. I’ve worked the edge off my feelings and I can think about what happened with Aaron without wanting to breaksomething.
Maybe it’s not such a big deal after all. I slept with a guy, I started to like him a bit, and then found out he has feelings for someone else. It’s not exactly an original story; I’m far from the first girl to have to deal with something likethis.
There’s a whisper inside me that says ‘started to like him a bit’ is vastly underestimating what Aaron was beginning to mean to me, but I ignore it. It’s irrelevant. He’s Aaron Penn and I’m Christina Dominguez. I was stupid for thinking anything could ever come ofthat.
I’m still not ready to let all the hurt go, but I’m going to do what Coach Kelsey said. I’ll use my feelings as a tool. I won’t let them control me. I’ll focus all the energy they give me on onething.
I’m going to blow Palmer & Turquotaway.
