Fleeting Tale Vol. 7

He is clumsy. His footwork is ineffective.

He moves in and instantly eats a jab from the amateur boxer– his much taller opponent.

Five years of training for a fight and all he could accomplish was walking chin first into basic jab-cross combinations.

He can’t move without being hit.

No place to go.

Hands are getting heavy. Guard dropping and chin rising every time he presses forward to strike.


The lanky boxer snaps his head back again.

He never sees them coming. He justs tastes and smells the rubber of tall boxer’s glove every time he moves in to throw an off-balanced punch or kick.

He’s hit with another jab.

He wants to blame the art he’s been training for the last five years, but that would be unfair to blame an art for his lack of spatial awareness, balance, fight IQ, or overall skill. None of that has anything to do with the art.

Smack! He takes another light jab to the nose.

Ding Ding.

Jab to his eye.

The bell sounded and ended his vicious pummeling, saving him from further embarrassment.

How could he blame the art. It wasn’t the arts fault he hasn’t picked up any real, effective skill in five years of training. .

As he walks to the sideline and removed his gloves and headgear, he thought about all the awesome practitioners who came before him his Sifu would brag about daily. People he will probably never reach. He thought about taking an art that would be more effective against bigger opponents specifically.

He took a seat on the ground and tool a guzzle of water from his bag.

The tall boxer was holding back the whole time. He knows tall boxer would have made quick work of him if he wen’t at even half his power.

He rotates his wrist.

He believes he jammed his wrist trying to punch through tall guy’s cross guard.

He can’t rely on speed, and what was the point of ox-like strength when he couldn’t even get close to opponents without getting clipped.

He removes his shin pads to massage his sore legs.

Tall guy checked one of his clumsy kick and he felt the impact through his pads.

He didn’t know his body. He blames the art. It wasn’t for him. It wasn’t for taller, more skilled opponents.

He watches as tall guy obliterates another one of his training brothers on the mat with the same jab-cross combinations he was hit with.

Tall guy’s combinations look so smooth and effortless. They are much slower when he watches other people on the receiving end of tall guy’s gloves, but the combinations were blinding when he was the one getting hit with them.

He put his water aside.

All of a sudden he doesn’t feel so thirsty. He doesn’t feel like he deserves water for his poor effort in sparring.

He watches at tall-guy dances around his opponent.

Tall guy moved like a tall guy. Tall guy knew his reach and he knew to stay out of range.

Why couldn’t he move his stocky body around without crossing his feet.

He removed his gloves and completely removed his shin pads.

He is done… for now. No sense in sparring, or learning anything new if he didn’t understand how to best utilize it for his body. If he didn’t know how to attack and move without getting his jaw clipped by simple jab-cross combinations from tall, long armed boxers.

He grabs his Gym-bag and bowed before leaving the Gym.

It will be the last time they see him for years. When he returns, he will be a better fighter.

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