Things I Imagine While Taking a Kickboxing Class
I punch and kick her a lot in kickboxing. Not just her, but her in that moment, when she had the audacity to knock on my door.
My husband got obsessed with Alex Jones a few years ago, and it opened up this door to the world of conspiracy theorizing that sent him down a path I couldn't follow. I miss when we were on the same page about politics, and I don't like how all conversational roads with him inevitably lead to some conspiratorial mental gymnastics. It sometimes kind of shuts me down, where I don't want to engage with him at all. So I punch Alex Jones, most often in the gut.
The pastor of my beloved church had an affair with his administrator a few years ago. The church is still there today, limping along, and the pastor has moved on to another congregation. I didn't realize how angry I was about his infidelity and what it did to our little community until I started finding myself punching him in the face, over and over again.
I punch my husband, of course. I love him so much, and I punch him harder than anyone.
I punch people at work who don't approve of my work.
I punch family members who disappoint my children. I punch people who let me down. I punch my own self and the weight I gained after having my second child.
I picture my older daughter on her wedding day. The baby is too young to picture at this point. I picture myself, strong and healthy and seeming younger than I am. I punch really hard when I think about this...I punch until my heart is beating wildly in my chest and I feel choked up, thinking about how beautiful she's going to be and how I'll be right there, by her side, strong and proud and happy for her happiness. I picture her graduations and births and all the parts of her sweet life that I don't want to miss, and I push and push and push myself harder. Stronger. More.
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