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Fight Your Woman

“Wake up!”
“No baby,” she murmured sleepily. “It’s too early.”
“Get ready.”
“Please,” she begged; wiggling her slim frame under the blanket.
I was unrelenting. “It’s Saturday, I don’t wanna hear excuses.”
I pulled back the blanket, letting the morning air shock her. She rustled, slowly getting to her feet. “You’re cruel.”
I smiled. “Love you.”
Actually, call it tough love.
Early Saturday and Sunday mornings, Lea and I go to the park and get real. These are not ordinary workouts. We fight. That’s right. Fight!
Any woman I’m with must be able to take care of herself in every way. Dependence is a tremendous turnoff for me. I live in a major city, making personal safety a priority.
As men, we want to protect our women. But we can’t be there all the time. Terrible things happen. Innocent people are victimized every day. These are givens in today’s world.
Keep it basic
After studying martial arts for twenty-plus years, I’ve boiled my experience down to a few basic moves; seasoned with my favorite boxing and endurance techniques.
My woman pulls her hair back and goes to work on the focus mitts. I intersperse her volleys with jumping jacks, running stairs, wind sprints and, my all-time favorite, hitting the tree.
Back in the mid-90s, I started hitting lampposts with 16-ounce sparring gloves, switching to trees when I moved to Harlem. I still use my original Everlasts, now wrapped with duct tape, looking like relics from boxing’s golden age.
But they work. My punching power has remained off the charts. (I’ve buzzed my share of sparring partners over the years.)
Try it. At first, you’ll feel some soreness, until your body adjusts. But the devastation you can inflict is a worthy trade-off. And the boost to your confidence is tangible. You’ll move differently, secure knowing that you have a puncher’s chance in any altercation.
Punching a heavy bag can’t produce these results. With the tree, you’re building power against an immovable object.
If you can avoid hassles, that’s great. But if someone comes at you… let’s just say unloading on a person is a helluva lot different from hitting a tree. Ouch!
Lea attacked, and I fended her off with the mitts, landing a few shots of my own.
“Tired? Wanna quit?” I asked.
“No.”
“You’re dangerous, baby.”
She smiled with relaxed confidence, sweat rolling down her face. “Let’s work.”
We turned it up. No relief.
Combinations blazed in the morning sun.
Stay strong.
Later,
Gary
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