A Boot to the Head

"Kick me in the head."

Pardon me?

"Kick me hard, in the head" Tyrese is hiding behind a kickboxing dummy. I'm seriously tempted to kick the wrong dummy in the head. I will myself not to do anything stupid.
I gracefully raise my leg up, twisting it slightly (like they do in the Jackie Chan movies) and make contact with the head.

Okay. That actually didn't happen.

What actually happened was that I raised my leg up, Karate Kid style. As I raised it higher than my hips, I lost my balance. (I didn't have my arms out, crane-like. I fear that this was my deadly mistake.) I ended up on the floor, on my back, wondering why the ceiling tiles were moving. Tyrese just stares at me. I stay on the floor, quietly doing an inventory of all my body parts. (Can I wiggle my toes? Check. Can I feel my knees? Check. Can I flex my butt cheeks? Check.)

"Seriously girl? That's all ya got? I hope not, because that was just sad."

I continue with my inventory. (Can I wiggle my fingers? Check. Can I blink my eyes? Check.)

"Okay, now you're just embarrassing me. Git up."

I slowly start to get up. (I was done with my inventory anyways. Sheesh.) He hides behind the dummy again, and tells me to kick him again. I kick the dummy in the "shin". The effort makes me take a step back.

"I stand corrected. THAT was sad."

He excuses himself, and comes back with a handful of stuff. He hands me some boxing gloves. He hides behind the dummy, and instructs me to hit the dummy in the head. I take a punch, and it nearly knocks him down.

"That's what I'm talkin about!!"

"I went to public school."

He laughs. I keep punching him for a while. I'm enjoying it somewhat, but I keep thinking about how filthy the gloves may be. (I'm not exactly a germaphobe but I think about things like this.) How many hands may have sweated in them before me? How many gym bags that they might have been tossed in, specifically next to the jock straps? Yuck. Eventually, I'm sweating, and breathing hard. He picks up some pads, and tells me to kick them. He holds them down low, around knee level. I start to kick them. My shoe flies off. He tells me to turn my waist sideways, making my feet parallel to the ground. I slowly get comfortable with this, and keep kicking him. He's slowly moving the pads up, so eventually they are shoulder high. Each kick gets harder to land. The entire time, he's taunting me.

"Harder! Higher!"

"You hit like a girl!"

"My grammy hits harder than you!"

"Come on Rocky!"

I'm huffing and puffing. My legs ache. I want to stop, but I know that he won't let me. I ignore his taunting, concentrating instead on making deliberate half-ass punches. I'm punching, and he's taunting.

"Come on. Let's get rid of those bingo arms!"

The sting was noticed by everyone. I've never had anyone talk to me like that before, and it stung. It also lites a fire in my belly. I start throwing punches and kicks like a crazy person. I'm sweating and drooling. My hair is flying everywhere. My nose has started to run. (I'm wiping it on the back of the germy gloves.) I'm still kicking and punching.

"Okay, five more!"

"Three more!"

"Okay, last one!"

Tyrese straightens up, and lets go of the dummy. He glances over at the wall clock. As he does this, I throw one last punch. It makes him take a step back.

"Oh, sorry."

He gives me the stank eye.

I turn around, and start removing the germy, snot filled gloves, smiling to myself. I don't even flinch when Tyrese tells me to do 300 bicycles.