As soon as the second round begins, I absorb a towel-snapping-like Bruce Lee heel kick against my back, followed by another leg-spinning heel kick to my solar plexus. This double-whammy momentarily rocks me. I absorb them, but feel the pain of the same combination of kicks several more times during the second round. Although wobbling, I defensively adjust, and I attack the guy. Then I hear Rosemary call, “Tiempo!”
During the third round, I am fighting a man who regularly uses his knees by repeatedly clenching me and ramming his knee into my stomach. This is problematic because a knee is thicker than a fist and becomes a hard, boney, pummeling tool. After absorbing a number of these rams, my reserved breath is depleting fast. My Dad and friends see that I am in the throes of a full-tilt asthma attack.
They begin screaming, “Keep your arms up! Keep your arms up!”
My arms are also drained and nearly limp. I can hardly lift them, but remarkably, I’m still standing when time is called and round three, ends.