The rhythmic thud of leather against the heavy bag echoed through the gym, punctuated by the occasional sharp snap of a jump rope hitting the floor.
The steady shuffle of feet on the canvas mingled with the grunts of exertion, creating a cacophony of determined effort. The sharp inhales and exhales, the metallic clang of weights being set down, all forming a symphony of dedication.
In this pulsating atmosphere, each punch carried not just physical force but also the resounding beat of commitment.
"Miller!" Mikaela called out, gesturing with two of her fingers. "When's the fight?" she continued
"It'll be this Friday" I explained reaching for a towel, adjusting my feet as I got off the weight bench.
"You should get a couple of sessions in, sparring sessions," she added nodding to emphasize the importance. "Kelly's off the team, that you know, so that leaves me and then Brooke, but Brooke fights at light....."
"You'll do" I interrupted.
She looked at me, seemingly surprised, she picked up her gym bag, took a document out and handed it to me "I'm also fighting on the Friday card..."
The familiar "whoosh" as the rope sliced through the air became more pronounced, accompanied by the steady percussion of feet impacting the ground.
Mikaela and I simultaneously pivoted, observing as Brooke set aside the jump rope and seamlessly transitioned into shadowboxing. Her lean and muscular figure glistened with sweat under the dim lights of the gym. Her ponytail whipped behind her as she moved, her muscles rippling with each punch and dodge.
"And so is Brooke," she added, rubbing her forehead. "It's too risky, for the both of us, Friday's just two days away."
Brooke was now walking over, she slammed a pair of boxing pads on my chest. "Some help please," she said, walking away before I could even respond.
I wiped the sweat from my brow as I watched Brooke approach, her focused gaze fixed on the pads I held. The scent of leather and determination hung thick as I adjusted the pads on my hands, feeling the anticipation building in the room. Brooke's determination was palpable, her lithe frame coiled like a spring ready to unleash its energy, her gloves punctuated the air with a staccato rhythm as she threw a series of quick jabs, her movements crisp and precise.
I was standing firm, bracing myself for each blow, as Brooke's fists flew with precision and power. Her footwork was a dance of aggression and grace, each step calculated to position herself for the next strike.
Brooke's breaths were heavy but controlled, her focus never wavering from the task at hand. I could see the muscles in her arms and shoulders flexing with every punch, the result of countless hours of training and dedication. Her combinations were a blur, a seamless flow of jabs, crosses, hooks, and uppercuts that I met with the pads, offering resistance to her strikes.
"Uppercut!" I called out, positioning the pads against my shoulder and tilting forward to absorb the impact. I had to be alert, anticipating her movements to ensure the pads were in the right place at the right time. I could feel the impact of her punches reverberating through my arms, a testament to her growing strength and skill.
As the round timer buzzed, signaling the end of the session, Brooke took a step back, her chest heaving as she caught her breath.
"Good job!" I nodded in approval, proud of her progress and the intensity she brought. She removed her gloves, revealing the wraps stained with the evidence of her hard work.
"Well done, guys! That's it, that's it!" Mikaela's voice rang out, a blend of enthusiasm and pride. She swiftly picked up her gym bag, slinging it over her shoulder with the ease of someone accustomed to the daily grind.
With a casual grace, Mikaela tossed a towel to Brooke, the white fabric unfurling in the air before landing in her waiting hands. The two women exchanged a glance, their shared laughter filling the gym as they began to walk towards each other. The conversation they shared was animated, a private dialogue that seemed to extend beyond the immediate surroundings.
The gym now buzzed with the energy of other athletes immersed in their training routines, the air thick with a mixture of determination and accomplishment.
Arriving at ringside, I picked up my phone and gym bag, sensing the strain in my muscles. The phone's cool metal offered a refreshing counterpoint to the warmth of the workout. Glancing back at the gym, I observed clusters of two and three individuals, briefly fascinated by the camaraderie they appeared to enjoy.
As Friday loomed ahead, I pondered the prospect of entering the fight arena without any sparring sessions and after a prolonged hiatus. Michael undoubtedly held the advantage in this scenario.
"I'll probably have to move a lot" I thought, "frustrate him and survive the rounds maybe get a points victory. If not, $6500 isn't so bad"
Chilled by a brisk shower, I suited up in my uniform and headed to the library. An inkling told me that Ms. Amanda would likely quiz us on the book we'd been immersed in all of last week.
Following an hour spent in the library, I donned a headset and retrieved my laptop. The notion lingered in my mind that the more I could learn about my adversary, the more advantageous it would be for me. With this in mind, I delved into the depths of the internet, scouring for videos on Michael—eager to gather anything and everything available.
He embodied a transformed version of the boxer I had known previously, exhibiting heightened proficiency and an intensified aggression that now involved pressuring opponents and forcing them onto the defensive—a striking departure from his earlier tentative style.
Notably, his communication style had undergone a shift too; he spoke with increased vocal assertiveness, engaging in trash talk and confidently issuing callouts.
I was starting to realize the magnitude of the challenge ahead; he held the upper hand in nearly every aspect, leaving seemingly no vulnerabilities to exploit.
I couldn't delude myself any longer; this wasn't going to result in a win recorded for me. It was evident that I had already lost this fight long before it commenced. The current objective shifted to minimizing damage and exiting with my earnings intact and my well-being preserved. I had to prepare to weather the storm.
"What are you up to?" Andrea whispered, startling me ever so slightly.
"Nothing," I responded, managing a smile as I closed the laptop shut. "You scared me."
"Oh, sorry about that. Good luck on... Are you alright?"
"Yeah, just locked in. It's getting close now," I replied, straightening my posture.
"You know it's not too late to cancel right." she took out her phone. "That could be settled in a second."
I shook my head, stifling a chuckle with my hand.
"What?" Andrea inquired, her initial smile fading into a more serious expression. She promptly pulled out a chair and took a seat.
"Listen, I understand we haven't known each other for long, but you might be in over your head with this one," she continued.
She was still talking when a thought crossed my mind, she had a point - I may be stubborn, but I was learning not to be foolish.
Considering the history between Michael and me, he probably had a chip on his shoulder, an urge to prove a point, hence the call-out. The fight could easily escalate into a war, and as wise as I considered myself, I was a warrior at heart I didn't know when to stop, I needed an even smarter mind in my corner on the night, I had to live to fight another day.
"Hey Andrea, what are you doing Friday night?"
Andrea's eyes widened with surprise at my question, her curiosity piqued.
"Friday night? Why?" she asked, a quizzical expression on her face.
I was stumped, I wasn't sure I had the right answer for her. She was peering deep into my soul which added to the discomfort.
She averted her gaze, removed her scrunchie and released her hair. "I happen to be available on Friday night. Just to be clear, don't expect me to be your ringside supporter or anything."
I took a deep breath and met Andrea's gaze with a newfound resolve. "I need you in my corner," I said, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. "Not as a cheerleader, but as my strategist."
Andrea's expression softened, her initial skepticism giving way to a flicker of intrigue. "You want me to be your cornerman?" she asked, her tone a mix of amusement and surprise.
"Corner woman," I corrected with a small smile.
She leaned back, considering the proposal. Her eyes scanned the room.
"Alright," she finally said, her voice firm. "I'll do it. But we do this my way. We strategize, we plan, and we make sure you come out of that ring on your own two feet, win or lose."
I nodded. "Deal."
I might not be an expert on everything, but I knew one thing for sure—I didn't go through all that trouble convincing her to save me from the battlefield just to go along with her plan.