Things I Imagine While Taking a Kickboxing Class

Years ago, this girl who had betrayed me in a way that is pretty much unmentionable knocked on my door. I won't get into the whole story, but the bottom line is, she had no business at my house. And she came, walked up to my door, and knocked. I looked out the peephole, and saw it was her. I've never been so angry before in my life.

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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