Shadowboxing

Last night, the setting sun blazed through the high windows at the gym like a scorching spotlight, highlighting the little corner where I wheezed and dripped and tried to keep up with the Bas Rutten workout (I gave up on the knees following every combination about three rounds into a seven-round doozy).

And my makeshift spotlight gave me a good look at my shadow, hooking and jabbing right next to me, shoulders heaving with every breath, puffy gloved hand shape wiping sweat from a monochromatic forehead. I fell in love with my shadow last night. My shadow was feminine and curvy, but strong. Very strong. And my shadow was beating the hell out of my punching bag's shadow.

Fifth or sixth round, Jason came over to hold the bag and watch my form for a few minutes.

"Damn, girl! Where'd that left hook come from?! You're doing it all right!"

I don't know where it came from (besides me), but I was super-proud of me and my shadow. We rocked it last night.