“The form is good,” Andy says. “Now do it faster.”
This time, I don’t immediately get into position. I know Christine has the power and the speed. And I’m sick of this.
“You afraid of hurting me?” I taunt.
Her eyes narrow slightly. “No.”
“Here, let’s try something. Swing a punch at me, as hard as you can. Really try to hit me.” I glance over at Andy.
He considers a moment, then gives a nod, understanding what I’m proposing.
Christine looks skeptical. “Really?”
I nod. “Really.”
She raises a brow, glancing between us. “I’m a head taller. I’ve gotta have at least fifty pounds on you.”
“Talk is cheap. Either you have the guts, or you don’t. C’mon. Hard as you can.”
Christine looks to Andy, whose calm expression betrays nothing. He nods again.
She shrugs. “Alright. It’s your funeral.”
Then she winds back and swings a hook at my chest.
Like springing onto the rock, the movements are feeling, not thinking. I sense her energy, catching its flow and getting ahead of it, using the feel of my feet against the mat to swerve.As her punch soars past my chest, I grab her forearm and yank it forward, gaining leverage on her shoulder with my other hand and shoving her down.
There’s a lowthudand Christine is flat on the mat, me standing over her.
She huffs with surprise and rolls over.
I take my mark and ready stance again. “If you hit me, it’s because I let you hit me.”
Christine chuckles as she pushes back to her feet. “Alright, then.”
This time, she commits to the swing—and I commit to the fall, thumping back into the mat.
“Much better,” Andy says. “Let’s get two more of those, then move on.”
I actually manage to find a rhythm as we go through a series of falls. It’s when Andy instructs us into a grapple—positioned with my head under Christine’s arm—that I’m in trouble.
Under the salt and seaweed, there’s a hint of sweet coconut in her scent I hadn’t noticed before, like a candle you’d see in a tacky beach rental. It goes right to my temples, tightening into a pounding headache. I breathe as little as possible.
For this maneuver, I let Christine grapple me, then grip her waist to flip my legs up and around her neck before throwing into a twist that sends her to the ground.
While moves like this give the appearance of a knock-down, drag-out fight, they’re actually very cooperative maneuvers, with both actors working hard to sell the action and make sure nobody gets hurt.
For the first pass, we go slow and talk through the movements, just like blocking. Then a little faster. And again, faster.
No matter how it makes my gut churn, no matter how many times Andy tells me to resume the starting position with my head tucked under Christine’s arm, I do so without complaint.
Her muscles are real, I’ll give her that. I’d have thought she trained for vanity, but what bulk she has is earned by strength. Her coordination isn’t half-bad, either.
Then a curious thing happens. As she tires, her pretenses thin. She listens intently to Andy, trying earnestly on each pass. When she can tell she’s fallen short, she’s back to her mark as fast as I am, ready to go again.
We find a steady rhythm, whether it’s her or me who takes the fall.
Marks. Execute the movement. Thump to the mat. Back to the feet. Marks. Again.
