HOME | DD

Description

It had been two months since my last boxing match, and also my debut, and the battle scars from that event had healed up quite nicely. It had taken a few days before I could get back into a training regime, as Cindy had done an number on my face and chest. Cimar, of course, was as gentlemanly as always, bringing into my room a constant train of ice packs he placed tenderly on my face and stomach...while letting me place them on my chest.

Seriously, this guy is the most gentlemen of gentlemen! I had to persuade him I could get up to get my own meals as he was doting on me hand and foot those few days. Of course I rewarded him for it, heheh.

But after those first few days, I was back to training, with my trainer, Mac, deciding on a new course of action.

"Ariane," he began, his gruff, no nonsense tone belaying the absolute ridiculousness of his lime green sweatpants and mauve top. "Your form was decent, but you're too much of a wrestler to be a boxer..."

...ouch.

My head had dropped at his words. I trusted him completely and without his help I could never have even gotten as far as I had. Did he really mean-

"...without fixing your head-space first."

Oh...

I perked up a bit as he went into detail. He was 100% sure I could have won that match if I hadn't of gone into 'wrestler' mode and gone for a kick. "You were about to have her on the ropes, kid! She was getting gassed and you still had half a tank left! We've got to get your mind clear so you can focus on punching the lights out of these gals who think they can beat ya in the ring! Now, I've got myself a few ideas..."

He went into depth on what those ideas were, and safe to say, they didn't sound too fun to me. His first lessons in boxing to me were about movement, always keep moving so you can't get trapped in one spot. His idea to fix my 'kicking addiction', was simple.

Two fifty pound bags of sand strapped to my ankles.

I had looked down at them, then back to him. "I thought I was supposed to move?"

"Usually," he replied, before walking around me. "But with you, you need to keep your feet on the ground, and the only way to do that, is through muscle memory." He circled around me, and I had to strain to look at him as I couldn't budge my feet even an inch. "Thus the sand bags."

He popped around me from my other side, as I nearly gave myself whiplash to see him as he continued. "So what we's gonna do, is keep your feet anchored as you box, so that your only inclination is to move your fists, not your feet, and we's gonna do that until you can go into 'boxer mode' without any issues. Got it?"

"Understood."

He grinned, before tossing me a set of gloves. "Good. Now, you're gonna put on these gloves and I'm gonna punch at ya until you can either block or dodge every hit, capish."

And boy did he punch.

The next two weeks were nothing but punching drills; alternating between blocking, dodging, and counter-punching. Eight hours a day until my arms felt like lead, and the beads of sweat from me had formed Lake Ariane around the sandy bags at my feet. Cimar picked up the slack for me around the ranch while I was training, but some things needed to happen. I had a few wrestling matches on the weekends, and some veterinary appointments to make, but otherwise...

Punching. Lots and lots of fists-a-flying.

The third week brought a sweet, blissful release of my legs from those sandbags, of which I immediately chucked into the nearest pond. The geese weren't too happy, but I was elated.

At least until Mac stated training was going to go into overdrive for the next month. He trained me constantly, and attacked relentlessly, and I'm very proud to say that I only barely lifted a foot once for a kick a few inches off the ground. He'd glared at me, and told me to drop and give him fifty pushups for that.

That was the only set of pushups I'd needed.

Training continued to go well, and I didn't see much of Cimar for a bit. He said he had some things to do with my father quite often, and I even found him once speaking with my mother in the living room of the main house on property. The two hushed up like a cricket when its about to be stepped on, and got me a wondering what he was doing. Course he later said he was trying to figure something out for my father's birthday, so I helped him with a lot of ideas. He's such a sweet thing!

The last few weeks were a break from all the training for two reasons. One was I had to help out my friend Angel, more on that at another time, and two, I had finally found out where my friend Joanne was living, and what she was living in, and made a quick detour 27 hours away to pick her up and help her out. I got her back on the right track, and had some fun of my own with Kruelty, at their expense haha, before heading back to training.

It was early this past week, that Mac met me and said the six words I was so anxiously looking forward to...

"So, kid. Ready for round two?"

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Part I of Ariane's Boxing Story:

Joanne belongs to Emot1onBlur

Kruelty belongs to vrobx1

The rest of the characters belong to me.

Description

It had been two months since my last boxing match, and also my debut, and the battle scars from that event had healed up quite nicely. It had taken a few days before I could get back into a training regime, as Cindy had done an number on my face and chest. Cimar, of course, was as gentlemanly as always, bringing into my room a constant train of ice packs he placed tenderly on my face and stomach...while letting me place them on my chest.

Seriously, this guy is the most gentlemen of gentlemen! I had to persuade him I could get up to get my own meals as he was doting on me hand and foot those few days. Of course I rewarded him for it, heheh.

But after those first few days, I was back to training, with my trainer, Mac, deciding on a new course of action.

"Ariane," he began, his gruff, no nonsense tone belaying the absolute ridiculousness of his lime green sweatpants and mauve top. "Your form was decent, but you're too much of a wrestler to be a boxer..."

...ouch.

My head had dropped at his words. I trusted him completely and without his help I could never have even gotten as far as I had. Did he really mean-

"...without fixing your head-space first."

Oh...

I perked up a bit as he went into detail. He was 100% sure I could have won that match if I hadn't of gone into 'wrestler' mode and gone for a kick. "You were about to have her on the ropes, kid! She was getting gassed and you still had half a tank left! We've got to get your mind clear so you can focus on punching the lights out of these gals who think they can beat ya in the ring! Now, I've got myself a few ideas..."

He went into depth on what those ideas were, and safe to say, they didn't sound too fun to me. His first lessons in boxing to me were about movement, always keep moving so you can't get trapped in one spot. His idea to fix my 'kicking addiction', was simple.

Two fifty pound bags of sand strapped to my ankles.

I had looked down at them, then back to him. "I thought I was supposed to move?"

"Usually," he replied, before walking around me. "But with you, you need to keep your feet on the ground, and the only way to do that, is through muscle memory." He circled around me, and I had to strain to look at him as I couldn't budge my feet even an inch. "Thus the sand bags."

He popped around me from my other side, as I nearly gave myself whiplash to see him as he continued. "So what we's gonna do, is keep your feet anchored as you box, so that your only inclination is to move your fists, not your feet, and we's gonna do that until you can go into 'boxer mode' without any issues. Got it?"

"Understood."

He grinned, before tossing me a set of gloves. "Good. Now, you're gonna put on these gloves and I'm gonna punch at ya until you can either block or dodge every hit, capish."

And boy did he punch.

The next two weeks were nothing but punching drills; alternating between blocking, dodging, and counter-punching. Eight hours a day until my arms felt like lead, and the beads of sweat from me had formed Lake Ariane around the sandy bags at my feet. Cimar picked up the slack for me around the ranch while I was training, but some things needed to happen. I had a few wrestling matches on the weekends, and some veterinary appointments to make, but otherwise...

Punching. Lots and lots of fists-a-flying.

The third week brought a sweet, blissful release of my legs from those sandbags, of which I immediately chucked into the nearest pond. The geese weren't too happy, but I was elated.

At least until Mac stated training was going to go into overdrive for the next month. He trained me constantly, and attacked relentlessly, and I'm very proud to say that I only barely lifted a foot once for a kick a few inches off the ground. He'd glared at me, and told me to drop and give him fifty pushups for that.

That was the only set of pushups I'd needed.

Training continued to go well, and I didn't see much of Cimar for a bit. He said he had some things to do with my father quite often, and I even found him once speaking with my mother in the living room of the main house on property. The two hushed up like a cricket when its about to be stepped on, and got me a wondering what he was doing. Course he later said he was trying to figure something out for my father's birthday, so I helped him with a lot of ideas. He's such a sweet thing!

The last few weeks were a break from all the training for two reasons. One was I had to help out my friend Angel, more on that at another time, and two, I had finally found out where my friend Joanne was living, and what she was living in, and made a quick detour 27 hours away to pick her up and help her out. I got her back on the right track, and had some fun of my own with Kruelty, at their expense haha, before heading back to training.

It was early this past week, that Mac met me and said the six words I was so anxiously looking forward to...

"So, kid. Ready for round two?"

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Part I of Ariane's Boxing Story:

Joanne belongs to Emot1onBlur

Kruelty belongs to vrobx1

The rest of the characters belong to me.