There were a lot of women in the boxing gym and a couple of them could probably knock me out. Maybe all of them. No, there was one I would beat the shit out of for sure. I want to fight her.
I jumped rope on one foot and switched to the other foot. I did this a few times without tangling the rope around my ankles. Other times I tangled the rope around my ankles. Why do kids think jumping rope is for girls?
He said: "Don't lean in, just use your upper body, turn."
He said: "Don't lift your back foot up when you punch."
Jab cross jab cross jab cross hook jab jab cross jab cross hook jab jab cross hook.
He said: "Hit this big black bag and pretend it's that guy." He pointed to the big black conditioning coach.
He said: "Move forward when you jab."
I threw a cross and missed the center of the big black bag and rolled my wrist. It hurt. I thought it might have been sprained. I kept punching and concentrated on my aim and kept my wrist locked. My fist went a little numb but it was okay when I took the glove off later.
He said: "Hit this bag." It was attached to the ceiling and the floor with elastic bands. "It's all about timing, just like life." Once I hit it and sent it bobbing all over the place, I couldn't hit it again unless I held out the glove and stopped it.
He said: "That kid is named Rocket." He pointed to a little kid hanging out by a window. "Can you believe that? What kind of name is Rocket? That's his real name." I said he might be named after a famous baseball player who did steroids. I said I knew a kid named Zap. Real birth-certificate name. He asked a guy on a treadmill: "Have you ever heard of a kid named Zap? Real birth-certificate name?"
I stepped through the ropes and bounced around in the ring with another guy with pads on his hands. He called out combinations and I hit the pads. I missed once and almost hit him in the face.
He said: "Keep your elbows in."
He said: "Breathe when you punch."
There is a pushup variation that I find almost impossible. You start on your forearms, in a flat pushup position off the ground and launch into a pushup from there, then lower one forearm at a time flat again. It couldn't do more than two in a row.
Bicycle crunches make me fart.
The store across the street sells coconut water. I chugged a bottle afterward. It has potassium and is the only natural substance that can be injected into your bloodstream safely. It was cold and felt slick going down my throat.
An old lady with a bunch of bags got on the train. It was crowded. There was a seat between me and this dude with a Yankees cap. He was sitting in that leg-spread-wide way that is a dare to anyone who wants to sit down. I said to her, loudly enough for him to hear, "Would you like to sit down?" I pointed at the open seat between us. The guy didn't move his legs and she said, "Oh, it's okay," and I said, "Are you sure?" and she said, "Is there room?" and I said, "Yeah," and scrunched my shoulders in and made myself as small as I could, pressing against the steel wall, and she slid in and the guy did not move and I had to lean forward to finish typing this and it made my neck and back hurt. He got off a couple stops later and a little dude took his seat and it was a bit better but was still a squeeze.
The train was fucked and crowded the whole way home, and hot, and I bet I smelled and I bet people thought: that guy smells.
The thing about the old lady: If that empty seat had not been there I would not have stood up and given her mine. Luckily I was able to deflect whatever bad feelings I have about myself for that onto the guy who would not move his legs. I should thank him for giving me someone to feel superior to.
Crap. Another old lady is standing in front of me. She is watching me type. I am not giving her my seat.