Sketchism

So I’m at the gym, doing the ol’ boxing class with a group of other guys and I’m working up a good sweat. After doing a number of drills with a few sparring partners, coach Derek decides we should do the iron man drill. What happens is everyone takes a turn to try and take one man down, the man with the boxing gloves on. His objective is to stay up, throw punches and keep his distance so we don’t clinch him on his upper or lower body to take him to the floor.

First iron man up: a dominican guy in his mid 30’s by the nickname of “Shorty”. The drill is pretty much for him since he’s always complaining and using the excuse that he’s out of shape to avoid much of the excercises. So Shorty’s got his gloves and mouthpiece on, the music is playing and his first opponent comes up for the challenge: Chad, a guy in his mid twenties with plenty of experience in the ring. After a few seconds of going back and forth, Chad manages to dive for Shorty’s knees and takes him down. They’re faces are red from the struggle and both are panting when it’s done.

Next challenger up: “Doc”, a taller gentleman in his late thirties with a good build and a balding head. Doc is known for his intense training and has a killer roundhouse kick. This one lasts about 4 minutes longer than Shorty’s first challenge. Doc clinches Shorty around his back and takes him down on his side. Shorty is clearly fatigued and Doc is happy it’s all over.

Challenger number three is the slimmer “Books”, known more for his top game in wrestling and his quick hooks in boxing. Shorty now stands with his hands under his chin, leaving his head exposed for any kind of shot Books can take, but Books decides to go for Shorty’s knees instead of any jab he can take at his chin. The fight is over in a manner of seconds. Shorty doesn’t seem like he can take much more falling or punching for that matter.

Next challenger: Me. Gloves off and heart racing I stand in front of Shorty, waiting for the cue to begin the fight. It begins and I keep my distance at first. I know Shorty has the bad habit of throwing punches and dropping his hands to his stomach, so I wait for his first few throws. A few of them make contact on my arms as I cover my face and then I go for the clinch. His right arm has finished flying over my head and I open my arms for his upper body. Suddenly time has frozen and the pain shoots through my arm. I feel a bone dislocate in my shoulder and my arm now dangles at my side. The challenge is over. My legs are static and my left arm is dead weight. Some of the fighters come to see if I’m ok. Boy was I glad to see Doc, (He gets his nickname from his occupation). Doc raises my arm, and watches it fall back down. He hears nothing, and see nothing out of the ordinary so he tells me I’ll be ok.

I’m pretty much done for the night, so I change into my domestic clothes and get my car keys ready.
“Make sure you put ice on that shoulder,” coach Derek says.
“Yes, sir.”
“Will you be here for Saturday’s session?” he asks.
“Yes, sir.”

So now here I am working with a star-decorated ice pack near my neck, dreading the pain to come in the next few days. If someone asks me how I got injured, I’ll have to be honest.

“Oh this? Got this by taking down some Dominican shorty.”

Maybe I’ll omit the part about hurting myself from moving too quickly. I can’t wait to hear what nickname I’ll be branded.