yaw-yan

i was glaring at my trainer, eyes fixed madly upon the kick pads he held in front of me. my head was spinning from the dehydration and all inhibitions and thoughts about how stupid i must have looked, drenched into my underpants in sweat and throwing uncoordinated swings, had left me. all i could see or hear was my trainer and his voice screaming for me to hit harder and the resounding thud my shin would make upon each blow.

"again!" "one more time!" "again!" he hollered, louder and louder, faster and faster, as i swung my leg unto him, striking him harder as hard as i could... until my hips hurt, until my legs bruised, until my feet and toes became raw... until i could no longer breath.

he would laugh at my blows as i would collapse from exhaustion. i would offer him a faint smile in reciprocation, a forced grimace that i push out of my lips as i gasp for air. i sit myself down on the hard canvass floor, looking at my legs, feeling my shirt clinging tightly onto my body, listening to my heart pounding and waiting, waiting for the bell to ring and ready myself for another round. my mind would momentarily wander, venturing into forbidden territory, but my trainer's gesturing for me to stand would break me from my reverie, and haul my disregarding mind back to focus. concentrate on the now, jamie. it's all about the now.

my arms were heavy. my legs were weak. my knuckles were sore. my shin was tender. my spit tasted like metal. he extended the pads toward me and bowed in honor of the sport. i bowed back. "head kick!" he commanded, as i aimed my right leg and threw it towards his arm shielding his crown.

pain is a sensation is am learning to master and befriend. might as well, i reckon.