Itai

There’s blood in the sink. Mine. It’s coming out of my nose. Not a steady stream, like in the movies, thank god, but it’s enough to make me have to clean up afterwards. While dabbing at the porcelain with paper towels, I start to taste it in my mouth. There’s a red groove running horizontal on my lower lip. I can feel cuts inside of my mouth from where the mouth guard rattled around.

I just sparred for the first time. It was only two rounds with no winner declared. I can’t imagine how someone could do it for ten let alone 15.

Most of the damage came from a big jab I caught right in the face. It's a hot blue light that hits like a flashbulb, then twinkles out into cartoon stars. It’s my most vivid memory of the fight, which zips by in blurry hysterical nanoseconds. Mostly, I’m doing a lot of jabbing, trying to keep the guy (same age as me, slightly heavier, longer reach) away. He hooks me on the left side, head and body. I get him with a one-two, a jab and a straight right in the face. “There you go! Keep jabbing,” a young guy says standing just outside the ring, waiting for his turn to spar. I wonder if he’s making fun of the new guy, or just rooting for the underdog.

Round two: I go for the body, and catch him in the stomach. Then I start getting robotic. I jab and then try to connect with my right, which served me good before. He starts countering and trying to overwhelm me with headshots. The gym’s trainer, Paris, tells me what’s going on: “He’s got your rhythm down. You need to mix it up!” I try to lead with my right instead. Bad move. It opens up my guard. He caps me in the face, smothering my nose and chin with his glove, and I back up. “30 seconds!” Paris yells, but there's no big shots for the finale and no real memory of much until it’s time to step out of the ring.

When I come out of the bathroom, my sparring partner, whose name is Jose, is dabbing at his nose with a Kleenex. Seems we both have bloody noses. I look around. Another kid has a cut on his chin. We’re all sweating, leaking. Jose tells me I have a good jab. He couldn’t get inside or around it often, and it hurt when it connected. Paris’ measured verdict: “Not bad. Not bad for your first time.” I’m just happy I didn’t fall down or trip up and was on my feet the whole time.

By the time I get home, I can tell my nose is going to hurt the next day. And it does. The lip doesn’t look as bad it did the night before, but I have Advil for breakfast all the same.

We'll see how I feel about doing it again next week. Right now, I just want a beer, a hamburger, and some sleep.

Comments

[Daniel Zelter]

Good job. Hope you recover soon.

[Carl Horn]

Of course, when you think about it, the fact it was your blood in the sink and not another's is probably the least alarming way to begin the dispatch. And painful as the encounter sounds, I'm relieved that it didn't end "Then I felt just like a fiend/It wasn't even close to Halloween."

--C.

BGM: "If Love Is The Drug, Then I Want To O.D."

[Daniel Zelter]

Yo, Patrick. You'll be happy to know that The Streetfighter made the top 10 martial arts flicks at http://movies.msn.com/movies/martialarts .

[Kojiro Abe]

Hope you feel better. Getting beaten in any way, be it in the ring or outside, really sucks.