Bam!
A glove punched me square in the left cheek. My head swung to the side like a rag doll.
I bent over, dizzy, disoriented. As I looked up, a blonde Norwegian woman peered over me, holding her mouthguard.
"Are you okay?" Maja asked.
"Yeah, fine. You just got me real good. Well done." I straightened up and checked my nose. It wasn't broken, thank God.
We tapped our gloves together, and I delivered a series of strong kicks to her side. She kicked back, and I blocked them. It was agony. We both wore thick shin pads, but our legs were perpetually black and blue from all the daily self-inflicted abuse.
There weren't that many women in our Muay Thai class. The open training areas reeked of sweat and testosterone. Sparring was supposed to be slow and deliberate, but Maja and I found that boring. We'd team up and pummel each other with full-force punches and kicks as the trainers gathered around and cheered.
After sparring, we'd unwrap our hands and do conditioning exercises. Some days the trainers would kick us in the abs while we held planks. Other days they'd make us do hundreds and hundreds of situps at the end of class.
I needed the physical exercise at the time. It gave me a break from the mental storm raging in my mind and helped me cope. I trained for a few hours each day in the morning or late afternoon, then spent the rest of my time in front of my laptop.
There was a gaming hotel near the gym. Men would travel from around the world to play Fortnite during the night and train in Muay Thai or go to the beach during the day. I rented a computer in their gaming rooms so I could use the place as an ergonomic office.
"That was a good session," I said as Maja and I sat on the ground and packed up our gear. I could see Mikel in the distance, warming up with a skipping rope.
"Yeah," Maja agreed. "Oh! I didn't tell you. I'm fighting in the ring on Saturday night. It's my first proper competitive fight. I'm really nervous."
"Wow!" I said. "That must be really exciting for you. I mean, I personally like the training, but I have zero interest in the competitive aspect in this sport. My uncle is picking me up on Friday to spend the weekend at his place, so I don't think I can come watch, unfortunately."
"Maybe next time," she smiled. "Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow." She threw her bag over her shoulder and walked over to the scooter parking lot.
I waved to Mikel in the gym mirror. He flashed me a grin and a nod as he continued skipping.
Once I was all packed up, I ran out of the sheltered gym, onto the road. It was pouring rain, which wasn't too unusual at that time of year. I was tired and drenched in sweat with a full bag of gear on my back, my shin pads strapped to each side like a cargo horse.
"Want a lift home?"
I turned around to see Maja, who had just exited the parking lot.
"Yeah, thanks," I said as I hopped on the back of her scooter. My place was only a three-minute ride down the quiet side road. I wanted to get home and into a hot shower.
I held on, and she zoomed off.
She didn't need to go that fast. The rain was smacking my face.
If I come off right now, I'm done. I'm dead. Gone. Finished. Why am I so irresponsible? I wondered.
But the other side of me loved it. Craved it. Safety was boring, and it was not because I wanted to die — no, not at all. I loved life. Even in my down moments, I still loved life. I'd never, ever wanted to die or self-harm or self-medicate with drugs or alcohol. None of those things appealed to me.
Safety was boring because I wanted to live. I'd risk failure a thousand times if it meant I got to feel alive.
