June 30, 2012
All I saw was the black glove shoot out before my head whipped to the side from the impact. Frustration clouded my attention. My arms sagged from fatigue of this. This continuous assault of fists beating against my body, my attempt to jab my opponent in their face, to let them feel a frustration of their own. The muscles in my arms ached from holding them up, spitting beats from hitting the protective stance I was being faced with. My jagged breathing made it difficult to move light on my feet, I didn't have time. The time it took to take deep breaths to calm myself. He hit me again. Disappointment washed through me, why do I keep letting this happen? I can take these hits, but that's not the point. Why can't I block them, evade them? Where's the pride in being hit in my face? My identity was being abused. Why aren't I strong enough to move quickly, think quickly to avoid being hit? Maybe it's because I'm a girl. A girl is treated with weakness, raised with pathetic helplessness. Are these ideas of being too hesitant my disadvantage? Why can't I hold myself, and prove I'm as strong as any man in this gym? That i'm as tough as the one who keeps hitting my body and who makes me fall back on my heels, making me lose my balance. Why aren't I making him exhausted? Am I not good enough? Not good enough to earn being taught these secret mind tricks and cheat codes that could win me this fight? The next one, will I be strong enough? Will I learn to be quick and precise? If so, I will take these hits gladly, and prove to myself i'm more than an innocent female.

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