Content warning, highlight the hidden text between the lines:
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Mild violence
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Despite having already seen the central training area of the school once before, Alicia couldn't help but gawk at the sheer size of it. It was more crowded today, and the aspiring wrestler's attention was seized by the bustle of trainers and trainees hard at work.
In the ring closest to the door, one trainee, a pale, diminutive woman with a brace on her right knee stood in the middle of the ring while three other women took turns body checking her onto her back. To the left was another ring containing a pair of trainees being coached through an off-the-ropes sequence by a trainer.
The sinewy veteran looked back over her shoulder and beckoned Alicia to catch up and walk alongside her. "Even though you got here late, we'll still get three-and-a-half hours in."
Sabrina guided her to a heavy beige door with a push bar–a feature of the room so thoroughly mundane as to almost vanish among the patchwork of wrestling posters wallpapering the red and black cinder block walls. As they approached the door, Alicia noticed the veteran wrestler spinning a silver object on her finger. Sabrina caught the combination lock and dropped it in Alicia’s outstretched palm.
“Write the combination down. Next lock’s on you if we’ve got to cut it off. Anyway, there's the locker room. Put your stuff in number 9, alright? That one's open."
At least up to this point, the day one orientation felt comparable to every other gym and training camp she had been through. Alicia stepped through the door and found her locker. Not exactly spacious, but she could make it work. She unzipped her bag, dug out her workout clothes and a towel, then rummaged for the bottles of water and H-Twenty. She looked at the two pairs of shoes sitting at the bottom of the bag.
"Should've asked when I had the chance," Alicia muttered to herself.
She already went into the locker room. It would be weird to ask now. Would it be weird? Probably. I'd find a way. Running shoes won out in the end with the justification that if she embarrassed herself, she could at least make a quick getaway. Finally, she grabbed the satin scarf she had tucked into one of her bag's pockets. She bent over and tossed her jet-black curls forward so they draped in front of her. Now dressed for the occasion, Alicia grabbed her drink bottles, threw her bag into the locker, took quick note of the combination, 39-11-45, and snapped the lock shut on the door.
Alicia emerged from the locker room to find Sabrina waiting outside, keeping an eye on the pair of trainees still practicing the same sequence as earlier.
Sabrina waved her over. "We'll start by the back wall over there." Teacher and student passed a dozen or more women using the sprawling equipment and weight area, and headed towards one of the four pull-up bars that had been drilled into the painted cinder block wall about 20 feet apart.
In the ring to her left, Alicia saw a trainee repeat the same running dropkick on her coach's kick pad, and each time receiving a bark of criticism. Stand up, hit the ropes, leap up, feet together, dropkick. "Come on! You haven't made me move once!" Stand up, hit the ropes, leap up, feet together, dropkick. "Is that all?" Stand up, hit the ropes, leap up, feet together, dropkick. "Where's the impact? Hit me like you mean it!" Alicia knew what those tough love sessions were like, when the only options were collapsing in exhaustion or somehow pleasing the determinedly unpleasable. Good luck, girl. Hit her like you mean it.
The silence between the new trainee and trainer had grown uncomfortable. Sabrina did something about it. "So you're a hockey player, huh? What position?"
"Goon," Alicia replied with a smirk.
Sabrina raised an eyebrow. "I don't follow hockey, but that sounds made up."
"A little. Forward was the actual position I played. Goon is more of a role. They're not there to really handle the puck or score. They're more like a wrecking ball. Their goal is to hit and hit hard," explained Alicia, slamming her fist into her palm, suddenly aware of the enthusiasm in her voice. "Hard. Bust up formations, wear the other team out. The idea is that when the goon's on the ice, the other team's got to respect you."
"You're, what, six-one, six-two? One-eighty? I bet you didn't even need to touch the puck."
"Six-foot-three. One-eighty and change, yeah," Alicia nodded. "I was actually really good. You're talking to the reigning Division II collegiate record-holder for most goals and penalty box minutes in a period, game, season, and career. When I first started as a kid, being big was the only thing I was good at. I didn't even learn how to stop until my second year! Didn't matter. The girls on the other team were my brakes. The letters their moms would write..." she smiled, recalling the one that taught her the word "grievous."
Returning from the daydream, Alicia inspected the pull-up bar and couldn't help but feel disappointed. She may have promised herself to come in with zero expectations, but subconsciously, she had expected something more exotic than this.
"You ended up being good eventually, so at least you're teachable. That's rarer than you think," Sabrina commented while taking a couple steps back and gesturing for Alicia to stand under the bar.
For a second, Alicia thought she caught the hint of a smile.
The trainer continued, "I'm just trying to get an idea of where you're at. General fitness, strength, conditioning. Let's start out simple: 30-second rotation of sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups, squats. Go at the highest pace you can, and I'll tell you when to stop. Okay, sit-ups… go."
The first two cycles breezed by. Halfway through the third, the mounting exertion turned to fatigue. Sweat started running freely, and Alicia took a little longer to rise than before as she started a fresh cycle of push-ups. By the fourth round, her breathing had grown noticeably labored. Fatigue ticked over into exhaustion as she strained to pull her chin all the way up past the bar before dropping down for a two-second rest before the next set. She could feel her strength start to fail but resolved not to slow down. There was no point in holding back. Alicia knew what was happening. This wasn't a fitness test; it was a blow-up drill. Sabrina meant to run her down to empty to find out how big the gas tank was.
Start of round seven. Sweat pouring. Sucking air. The pace had drastically slowed. "Don't let up. I'll tell you when to stop," coached Sabrina. That little smile suddenly made sense. Onto push-ups.
Three push-ups in, Alicia felt her arms trembling. Four, five, five-and-a-half, five and nine-sixteenths. She collapsed to the padded floor, gulping air. Her muscles had stopped protesting and went on strike.
"Pretty good," Sabrina remarked, offering a hand to Alicia and helping her into a seated position. She tossed Alicia her water bottle and sat down beside her. "Take five minutes. Then we're doing back bumps."
So passed the five shortest minutes of Alicia Gretchen Winthrop's life. It was time for the Professler's first lesson.
Still breathing heavily and wiping away sweat with her wrist, Alicia followed Sabrina into the recently vacated ring nearby. She stood beside her trainer in the center of the ring. "I hope I'm not the first one to tell you, but you are going to get hurt doing this." Alicia wheeze-chuckled as Sabrina continued, "And while I can and will teach you how to reverse, escape, and evade so you can avoid getting hurt, I have never met a wrestler in any promotion worth a damn who didn't spend a good chunk of every fight getting their ass kicked. You're going to be hitting the mat a lot. A lot. Hitting the mat or the ground, that's called a bump. I can't speak for whoever is going to take over your training in a few weeks, but I'm not teaching you anything until you learn to protect yourself."
Sabrina took a step away from her student to get a bit more space and positioned herself like she was sitting on an invisible chair. "That's why you're learning how to take a bump properly. For a back bump, the idea is to control the fall and impact, so instead of landing on your back, you're distributing the impact among five points: your back, your arms, and your feet. Watch."
Zip. Sabrina's legs shot out from under her as if some unseen force suddenly ripped away the invisible chair, sending her falling to her back with a bang.
"Did you see? Watch again." Another squat, another fall. "Legs go up like a V. I'm hitting flush with my back, and just as I hit the canvas, I'm spreading my arms wide and hitting the mat with my hands, while bringing my feet down and hitting the mat with the bottoms of my boots. I'm not just landing on my back; I'm taking the impact across my arms and feet. See? You're spreading out the damage. You last longer. Sure, you hurt in more places after, but it hurts a lot less than letting your opponent do to you what they mean to do."
Alicia tried for herself. Squat down, legs u- bang. She winced as her back gracelessly collided with the canvas. The mat arrived quicker than expected.
"Yeah, they call it a mat, but it ain't exactly soft. That's alright. Try again," coached Sabrina. "I'll tell you when to stop."
That earned a glance from the exhausted newcomer. Squat down, legs up, but as her arms were coming out, bang. Another wince and a groan.
"More snap in your limbs," said Sabrina. "You'll know when you get one right. You can tell a good one from a bad one. You can tell the good ones right away. The bad ones will keep reminding you."
Alicia rose once again. Squat down, legs up, arms out, feet down. Bang.
"Nope. Hands, feet, and back all have to hit at once."
Tenth try. Bang.
"Ouch. That one looked rough. Take a minute if you need."
Twentieth try. Bang.
"Splay your arms out more. Feet shoulder-width apart. Lots of snap. Try again."
Twenty-eighth try. BANG. That was it. That was it! She didn't just hit the mat–she made it flinch.
"I felt it!" cried Alicia from the mat. Eyes wide, irrepressible smile. "That was right, right?"
"That looked and sounded good," Sabrina confirmed. "We're going to 100. Well, you are. Ready to go again?" Alicia was already up and in position. Her body felt sore and her muscles were stiffening, but that clean landing invigorated her for more. "After that, you're learning flip bumps." The apprentice wrestler didn't know what a flip bump was, but she had a guess. Bang.
Sabrina was happy to explain. "Take a couple quick steps forward, tuck your body, chin up, quick snap up off the canvas with your legs, throw your arms forward, flipping in place. We're not going for distance. We'll get to rolls a bit later on."
Sabrina stepped out of the corner and threw herself into a flip, landing in a back-bump position right where her feet left the canvas. Somehow, she made the act of landing flat on her back look graceful.
Even if she was supposed to fall on her back, Alicia still felt hesitant at the thought of being upside-down while airborne. Oh well. Couple steps, tuck, quick snap, thr- bang. A bolt of pain shot up the back of her neck. Alicia groaned in pain and frustration as she reached back with one hand to massage out the lingering sting. She grit her teeth and slapped the canvas before slowly getting to her feet. Did the first day of hockey practice hurt this much? She was 10. No, that would have been a crime.
"Remember, chin up; if you tuck your chin, your body is going to go where your eyes are pointing, and you're gonna take a nasty bump on the back of your neck."
Alicia tried again with her chin up. Bang. It still hurt, just not as much. 98 more to go.
Then came shoulder bumps. Sabrina threw herself into the ropes and dropped Alicia to the mat with a shoulder tackle.
"The idea is not to oppose them. Start a back bump just before their shoulder makes contact. Now they're not hitting you, they're not knocking you down; they're positioning you for a controlled bump to the canvas."
Then front bumps. Then all of them, in order, again, and again, and again. Sabrina would tell her when to stop. Eventually the clock stepped in. 10:00 PM had mercifully arrived. It was time to stop falling down.
The din of shouted instructions and bodies hitting canvas had subsided. Many of the other women in the main gym had already gone home or were in the locker room. Alicia sat motionless in the middle of the ring. Her workout clothes were drenched. She had removed the scarf keeping her hair up and tossed the soggy fabric aside hours ago. She had never felt this ragged and beaten up after a practice. Not after a workout, not after a game. The thought of standing up hurt. A callused hand thrust itself into Alicia's field of vision. She grabbed on tight, allowing Sabrina to help her up.
The pro offered some advice as she brought the lesson to a close, "I'll tell you straight: tomorrow's not going to be fun. Epsom salt bath, ibuprofen, and lots of ice. Rest up, and I'll see you Saturday."
The beaten-up trainee nodded as she lumbered out of the ring and painfully creaked towards the locker room. She didn't bother changing. Everywhere ached. Everything was painful to the touch. Every inch of her felt like a raw, exposed bruise. The strap of her gym bag, the seatbelt across her chest, her tenderized back pressed against the car seat the entire 41-minute drive home - it all hurt. The sound of the radio hurt. She turned it off. The silence made her more aware of how much she hurt. She needed a distraction. Windows down. Even the breeze hurt. Windows up.
Home at last, and she only drove past it twice. She left her gym bag in the car and ambled towards her side of the house. The door was tantalizingly close: just 10 feet ahead through spider alley and six steps down. As she inched excruciatingly towards the cave of leaves and branches, she could sense the ambush coming. Wait, thought Alicia.
Back to the car. Alicia realized she left the door unlocked as she reached inside and grabbed her gym bag. She made sure to lock the door and stormed back to the cavernous overgrowth where she had gotten that armful of spiderweb a few days earlier. Tonight, I'm the bad neighbor. Alicia gripped the bag in both hands and, with a primal scream, hurled it through her intended pathway at approximately head-level.
"No fun when it happens to you, huh? Someday, I'm gonna remember those hedge trimmers, hear me?"
She brought up her hand to shield her face, ducked low, and pushed past the foliage to retrieve her bag. She staggered down the concrete steps, unlocked the door, and pushed her way inside, safe from danger for now.
"Hold these," mumbled Alicia while tossing her keys to Jennetti the Yeti, missing wide and sending her keychain clattering to the hardwood floor where it slid to a stop by the baseboard. "That one's on you, Jennetti. Sacrifice for it."
Then she turned on a lamp. She considered the kitchen as she looked up the staircase on the left. Folly. Nothing in that refrigerator was worth 14 stairs.
Alicia trundled down the hallway on the right. She turned on another floor lamp and proceeded through the door on the right wall. She stood at the entrance of her navy blue-painted bedroom and turned on the standing lamp. Against the opposite wall stood a matching white, wood-frame bed and dresser set. About five feet up from the bed was an egress window. She wasn't exactly thrilled with the raccoons and stray cats camping in the window well right above her head, but it was the only natural light available.
With a groan, Alicia flopped forward onto the folded Yetis quilt and crisp white sheets of the made bed. Next to the (non-walk-in) closet was the weight/living/sewing room. Through the crack in the door, Alicia could make out the shape of the dumbbell rack in the darkness. Never had the weight looked so daunting.
She hadn't felt this good in years.
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