I missed soccer today and I didn’t even mind. Instead, I went to an awesome kickboxing class. It was at a boxing gym, in a dark room full of punching bags. There was dance music blasting from the speakers and a bunch of fit soccer moms scattered around the space.
The leader of the class was a 55 year old ex-boxer. He looked 35 and was built like an ox. Before class, my sister introduced me to him and he clasped both my hands, exclaiming, with a huge smile on his face, that he was excited to have me and that we were gonna work. He was not lying. We busted our way through the hour-long class—punching and kicking the bag, squatting to avoid imaginary jabs, and powering through some final burpees. I sweat a lot and imagined myself beating up demons and zombies and vampires.
He gave out hugs after we finished, which I obviously avoided. However, I did take a high five and a towel for my hard-earned sweat.