BIlly Mays and bloody noses
A love story
Growing up, infomercials kept me glued to the TV screen in the morning as I got ready for school. It did not matter what was being sold. Vacuums, blenders, and cleaning rags held my interests equally. Learning about new products and guessing what the “call now” deal would be kept me watching. Years later, I’ve gone from watching the “Lean Mean Fat Grilling Machines“ of George Foreman as seen on TV to training to fight like him as seen in the ring.
With every bloody nose, swollen eye, and stiff neck comes a valuable opportunity to grow. I must pay attention to the smallest details while jabbing, dipping, and slipping to remain relatively unscathed. The judges’ mallet thumps to alert us there are only ten seconds left in the round. I value the importance of every second as time slows to a crawl while being hit on the brink of exhaustion.
Finally, the bell rings.
I maintain my composure among the chaos by taking deep breaths to slow my heart rate as I return to my corner. I’m greeted by my sailor mouthed coaches scurrying to get the water bottle, spit bucket, and stool ready for use. I am scolded for everything I did wrong since the last time we spoke as they attempt to reverse the damage of my face. My coaches rush to apply globs of every cornerperson’s magic serum, Vaseline, as I strategize how to implement their notes to improve going forward.
The bell rings again. It’s time to do it all over again.
Mike in bullet points
Black sheep, die hard New York Mets fan from the Bronx, NY
Comprised of 80% peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
Underachieving producer of the lactase enzyme
Lion mascot on standby in middle and high school
Punching bag and women’s self defense class dummy