After Boxing class last night, as I was about to drag my tired and sweaty body to the locker room to grab my stuff, the instructor called my name.
“Jen! Don’t take off your wraps – come here!”
I walked over to her expecting her to check to see if I’d been putting them (wraps) on wrong, or to correct something I’d been doing while sparring or… I don’t even know.
But instead, she asked if I wanted to go into the ring and practice offence with one of the girls from the gym who is an actual fighter. Like, somebody who has actually boxed. Like real live boxing.
Let me clarify.
She asked me if I wanted to go into the ring and punch a girl. But not just any girl. A fighter. A girl fighter.
I… I can’t even…
Can I just tell you, that as much as I LOVE performing, and as high as I feel singing my little heart out and playing with the audience, and wearing sparkly, glittery, pretty little girly girl costumes and feathers and rhinestones and lace and all that other glamorous princessy shit.
AND I DO.
And as non-violent as I am (trust me, I spend half my boxing class apologizing and asking
“are you alright? oops sorry! Oh my God, I’m so sorry…”
NOTHING feels quite like putting on a pair of gloves, climbing through the ropes of a boxing ring, throwing jabs and punches… with every last ounce of energy you have, while your coach/teacher yells at you “Harder! Come on! Left hook! Uppercut! Hit her!”.
I was desperately miserable all day yesterday – I couldn’t find a way out of my funk. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t write. I couldn’t get off the couch. I couldn’t even eat all the cookies I made to comfort myself with (I know it sounds bad but it was mostly because they’re gross – Note to your self, if your peanut butter cookie recipe calls for molasses – find a new recipe)
The only time all day that I felt excited and alive all day was in that ring.
Actually. In fact I probably looked like a maniac, punching a girl in the head with a huge ass smile on my face the whole time.
I’m not saying that I want to be a real boxer or fighter or anything – Even if I thought I had it in me, I’m pretty sure that chance passed me years ago.
I’m just saying that there is something to be said for… I don’t even know what I’m saying.
I’m just saying that I punched a girl and I liked it.