I nod to Gabi---let’s rock is the message, and we both start to move. Although the sun is now almost directly overhead, literally launching its own attack with intense heat and light, I feel myself internally aflame---anger seething through me at what I consider to be unfair treatment and a missed opportunity to put my best foot forward in this tournament. I am fairly well-known as a hothead---shoot first, analyze the problem later. I impulsively fly off the handle at sometimes even the most miniscule issue or affront. Some of my friends have suggested I should see someone about this---I often respond to their well-meaning gestures that they should MIND THEIR OWN FREAKIN’ BUSINESS!
Ahem---but the whole hothead thing is a recurring theme with me, and I do try to be mindful of it. As you start to move toward me, and I start to slowly circle you, the part of me fueled by anger is driving me to lunge at you, or swing, or kick---draw first blood and make a statement. But, like the cartoons where there’s a devil sitting on a shoulder and an angel on the other, my AngelMish (the tiny cream-colored robe looks great against her tanned skin!) counsels me to slow it down, reminding me that you’re much bigger than me, and no good will come from rushing in. “Grrr, shut the hell up…” I growl, obviously to no one, and hopefully not loud enough that you overhear and wonder whether I missed a dose of Abilify today…
I watch as you adopt your fighting stance---arms at about chest height, hands open, knees slightly bent. I can do this, I think, I can pace myself and NOT be the one to act purely on emotion. I can be the Spock of FCF! That is, until you call out, with a smirk, “What ya’ got?”
I actually feel it---adrenaline being released into my bloodstream, heart pounding and lungs increasing their capacity as a result. My body even starts to feel warm---even in this blistering sun, I must be radiating my own heat right about now. My open hands start to curl into little fists. I’m the underdog here, clearly---I’m nearly always the underdog! Squinting, my vision crystal clear as a result of my sympathetic nervous system kicking in, I note your eyes, darting back and forth from my hands to my torso, no doubt looking for a tell. Fine, Gabi, I think. Wanna watch me? I can’t fight you and fight who I am. Not at the same time, anyway. I give in to my nature and go for it. I’ll give you something to watch…
Closing the gap between us quickly, I step in, fists balled, watching your hands and keeping an eye on those feet. Your height advantage of course gives you a greater reach, something I need to guard against. I take two quick steps in, keeping low and knees bent, and fire my left out and to the side, targeting your right side, maybe the ribs. Hoping to draw your guard down, my right hand cocked, I pull the left at the last second, firing the right up and slightly to the side, and at the same time I jump---hoping the feint drew you in, and that the second feint, the right coming close to your face, throws you off a bit, as my real intent in throwing my right and lunging at you is to hurl my smaller body at you, wrapping my arms around the back of your neck and kicking my legs up and around you, locking them around your torso, forming essentially a letter P with our bodies, wrapping myself---arms and legs---around you. It success depends on how quickly I can move and how unprepared you are for this kind of attack.
