“It smells back here.”
“It’s only going to get worse,” he promised.
“Where should I sit?”
Colin gestured at a bunch of equipment in the corner: crates of boxing gloves, assorted pads, various elastics, jump ropes, and plyometric boxes.
“You can sit over there on the boxes if you’d like,” he said. “We don’t normally use that part of the room.”
“Where will you be?”
“All over, most likely,” he said.
“How many guys will be here?”
“Eight or nine, maybe? Saturdays are always a little slow. During the week, there are fifteen or sixteen of us.”
“In other words, only the supremely dedicated are here?”
“It’s more like the workout nuts, or guys who are just starting out and trying to hit every workout they can. On Saturdays, a lot of the serious ones are out of town at events.”
“That’s good. Since we’re going out, I mean. I’d hate for you to end up all cut and bruised like you were the first night I saw you.”
“Are you ever going to let that go?”
“I don’t think I can,” she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. “The image is burned into my brain forever.”
Colin did a quick warm-up; arm rolls and leg swings, a few minutes of jumping rope. By then, Todd Daly, the main instructor and a retired UFC fighter, and Jared Moore, who was fighting professionally but not quite at UFC level, had arrived, and Daly led the entire group through more warm-ups.
While awaiting his turn in the cage, Colin worked on his ground skills: arm bars and leg locks, various submission holds. Most of the skills had their roots in the martial arts and wrestling, with speed, instinct, and balance being far more important than brute strength. As was usual during Saturday classes, Daly demonstrated the moves first – occasionally using Colin as a partner – before the group split in two. Each group was given a chance to practice the move, repeating it ten or twelve times before switching positions with their partners. They would then move on to a different set of skills. Within ten minutes, Colin was breathing hard; by the half-hour mark, his shirt was drenched. Through it all, Daly critiqued them – telling them where to place a foot for additional leverage, or how to wrap more effectively with the legs, the subtle variations endless.
One by one, people rotated through the cage, and after an hour, it was Colin’s turn. He put on headgear and heavier gloves and worked with a partner while Moore – a former Golden Gloves champ from Orlando – shouted coaching tips. Colin went through seven two-minute rounds, bouncing and circling, taking advantage of openings to strike or kick while trying to avoid leaving any open shots. He dominated, but less because of his own skill than his opponent’s lack therof: The guy he faced was out of shape and relatively new, with only a single fight behind him, which he’d lost.
From there, it was back to the mats again, where they worked on takedowns while their partner’s back was against the wall; then, switching positions, they tried to prevent takedowns. By the end of class, Colin’s muscles were twitching with exhaustion.
Throughout the afternoon, he found his eyes drifting toward Maria. He’d expected her to be bored, but her gaze followed him the entire time, making the session harder than usual. Ordinarily, focusing exclusively on his opponent was easy, but her presence made him self-conscious in a way he’d never experienced. In a match, this lack of focus would land him in trouble. By the end of class he felt like he’d taken two steps back mentally, and he knew he’d have to work hard to regain ground. It was, after all, a sport that was equal parts mental and physical, even if most people didn’t realize it.
Afterward, he went straight to his bag and tossed in his gear before looping it over his shoulder. By then, Maria had walked up.
“What did you think?” he asked, adjusting the strap.
“It looked hard. And tiring. And sweaty.”
“That’s about it, when you get right down to it.”
“How do you think it went?”
“Okay,” he said. “I got distracted.”
“By me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He smiled before tugging at his shirt. “Could you give me a few minutes to rinse off and change? I need to get out of these things or my car seat will be soaked by the time I get home.”
Maria wrinkled her nose. “That’s… kind of gross to think about.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“By all means,” she said. “I’ll wait out front for you.”
When Colin finally exited the locker room, he spotted Maria just outside the doors, talking on the phone. In her sunglasses, she resembled a glamorous fifties-era movie star. She hung up just as he approached.
“That was Serena.”
“Is she all right?”
“She’s having dinner at the house tonight with the director of some scholarship thing, so she’s a bit nervous, but other than that, she’s okay.” She shrugged. “Do you feel better?”
“I feel cleaner. Temporarily, anyway. I’m still sweating.”
She touched his arm. “I’m glad I came. It was a lot more interesting than I thought it would be.”
“Are we still on for seven thirty?”
“I hope so,” she said. “And just to warn you, when we go dancing, I might be a little rusty.”
“I wouldn’t worry. It’ll be my first time ever. And Maria?”