Boxing Bootcamp Day 8: People I Hallucinate Beating Down While Working Out
Hands wrapped. Head gear on. Mouthpiece in. Groin guard laced. Because I dig on my groin being guarded.
Now: hit the heavy bag.
Punch as fast and hard as I can in the same place for 30 seconds. Wait for the buzzer. 30 seconds of the other guy doing it while I hold the bag. Switch. Again. Switch. Again. Switch. Again. Again. Again. Again? Dude, again.
Bring my hands back up to protect my face after each punch. But keep going fast. And hard. And maintain form. And if I don’t keep my guard up Simon (the instructor) will most likely come up from behind me or just off to my side (where the headguard which protects my Bollywood star hair and Taliban good looks also serves to obstruct any and all peripheral vision) and smack me upside the head before gently suggesting “KEEP YOUR GUARD UP KEI!” I pretend it’s because he likes me. I’m lying to no one except myself.
I swear I hear the guy with the fake leg laughing at me from the other side of the gym. No wait. That’s just my Dad. In my head.
Head gear way too tight. Can’t fix it because trying to tie strings and adjust velcro with gloves on is like…well, trying to do anything with gloves on.
Spots appearing. Getting light headed.
Groin guard too loose. Keeps riding up and shifting as I pummel the man-sized sand bag. Try to reach to adjust it. Simon smack. “KEEP YOUR GUARD UP! NO ONE HERE IS KEEPING THERE DAMN GUARD UP HERE! HOW YOU GONNA STAY PROTECTED IN A FIGHT IF YOU CAN’T EVEN STAY PROTECTED FROM A DAMN BAG?!”
Shit. My arms are tired. But this feels good.
No.
Wait a minute.
Ah…yeah. No. This feels bad.
Yeeeeeah. Really, really, bad. Yup. Worse now. Sweat. Snot. Occasionally tears. I think I might puke. How can make it through this?
Get mad. That’s it. Get mad at someone. Imagine their face on the bag. Hit the face. Again. Again. Again? Yes, you frickin Nancy boy, again.
Round 1: Animated Mr T
Or is it Mr. T? Or Mr. T.? Or Mistah T? Anyway, I’m pretty sure I could take the cartoon version of the man who stole the right of Top Mohawk from both Sid Vicious and whichever native american tribe was famous for the, um, Mohawk. Look at the size of his head? How could I miss.
Cool, but too easy. I’m not really all that mad at Mr. T. Not really mad enough to keep going. Hmmm…who else to beat down…who else…
Round 2: Nazi Tom Cruise
“We are the authority”? “Are you ready to clean this place up?” Oh, shut up already you self-righteous jackass. Pay me enough and I’ll tell you the secret aliens are coming to save your ass on Judgement Day too. For the love of god, YOU’RE PART OF A RELIGION CREATED BY A SCIENCE FICTION AUTHOR. SCIIIIENCE FIIIIIC-SHUN!!!!
So angry at you, Nazi Tom Cruise. So Nazi. So Cruise. Who could possible make me angrier? Who could possibly make me angrier and hit faster and beat down harder?!
Wait. I know. THAT GOD FORSAKEN EXCUSE FOR TRAILER TRASH GONE WRONG, BRITNEY!
Round 3: Demon Robot Triclops Severed Head Britney
AHHHH! NOOOO! TOO MUCH EVIL! SWEET GOD MAKE HER STOP! CAN’T LOOK INTO THE ABYSS! FEARRRRRRRING THE ABYSS! THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE MAYOR MCCHEESE! THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE MAYOR MACCHEEEEEEESE!
Round 4: Mayor McCheese
Ah….phew…better. Two all beef patties. Special sauce. Lettuce. Cheese. Onions. Pickles. I can totally take this guy. I GOT YOUR FUCKING SESAME SEED BUN RIGHT HERE BEEE-A-TCH! WHY DID YOU MAKE ME A FAT KID?! WHY?!?!?
Editor’s note: The preceeding was based on true events.
Surgeon General’s Warning: Get more than 2 hours sleep before any ridiculous amount of physical torture that you (god knows why) are actually paying someone to induce.
