it takes ages to be physically fit and skilled enough to take on an opponent knowing that the objective is to punch the bejesus out of each other in front of a big crowd! i guess that's why boxers are the fittest athletes… because the consequences of not being in shape hurt a lot more than your pride. i.e. if 'jenny craig' threatened to bash folks if they didn't lose weight… imagine the results. must be a tv show in it... biggest loser meets the contender? working title: "fat lip". aaand back to the story.
at the moment i fight in the 60-64kg (light welter) division. i was matched with a chick who weighed about the same as me and who also hadn't had a fight yet. right on...
so once i was given her name, 'patricia mulet riesco' i went straight to google to see what i could dig up. and this is what i got:
"Patricia has been personal training for over 5 years and boxing and kickboxing for 7 years and also competes in Bodysculpting."
fuck me. okay… so she may not have had an official 'boxing' fight buuut… anyways. further searching discovered this:
interesting. the "mullet" happens to be a model / bodybuilder / kick boxer with an eclectic array of 'looks'. see for yourself: http://www.starnow.com.au/patriciamuletriesco
considering the girls i train with are tough butch dykes with shaved heads… this opponent had me feeling a tad conflicted.
the day before the fight i met up with my 69-year-old coach tony for a light training session down the oval… some punch combos and sprints to get me fired up for the big event. fyi, tony is like a cross between mickey from rocky:
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and clint's character frankie in million dollar baby:
you can barely understand a word he says (i interpret his gestures most of the time)... but you know he's "always in your corner". that's what it says on his homemade laminated business card too. bless.
here he is with my buddy, and fellow boxer, dan.
tone told me to check my weight when i got home to make sure i was under 64. so because i don't have scales i went via kmart to borrow theirs. to my surprise the kmart scales had me at 67kg!!! how the fuck did i put on 3kg in less than a week? feeling panicked i texted tone wondering if i should head to a sauna or start skipping or something? my lovely coach told me to just eat soup and to... ummm... "drop a pole" by 10am the next morning. i was to weigh myself directly after and text him the results. lovely.
so i woke up... a bit hungry and ready for action. and action is what i got... there was a fucking cat in my bedroom. while this is normal, and I suppose quite nice, for many people... it freaked the SHIT out of me (not literally, however) because WE DON'T HAVE A FUCKING CAT. the bloody thing had climbed in through the apartment window. so the next hour was spent trying to get this hissing beast out of our pad... all the while receiving texts from tony asking if i'd had a shit yet. argggh!! i told him about the cat situation, to which he replied: "don't eat it".
so with the puss hiding under the couch, i went back to kmart and this time invested in a decent pair of digital scales. i came home, stripped off and weighed myself. thank chrrrist they had me at my competition weight... 63.9kg. so the scales i'd sneakily used the previous night had been bloody dodgy as there'd been no "dropping of poles" at this point. not sure about you guys but i can't poo on cue. anyways.
fast forward to fight night... or afternoon rather. i hooned like a lunatic to randwick labor club for weigh-in (tone cocked up the time... he thought it was 6pm when it was actually 4pm) so when i arrived i was a little hot and flustered... but otherwise, dandy. when i walked in, tone was there waiting patiently for his 'kid'. as i walked over to him a tall attractive lady, dolled up in some kind of slim fitting summer gown, said hi. holy-shit-balls it was "mullet". and yes she was a knock out... gulp.
surprisingly, she then went on to tell me that we'd met before. apparently her ex-girlfriend (yes GIRLFRIEND) had introduced us at a rave (a RAVE?) a little while ago. WTF?? firstly, when was the last time i'd been to a rave? do raves still happen? i had no idea what she was on about but nodded politely... at the same time wondering if she'd just made up a story to 'out' herself for the sake of sister-solidarity? tone reckoned she was nervous... a bit of the old "charm and disarm" trickery huh...
whatever the case... i wasn't going to let her ruffle my feathers. that doesn't sound very tough, does it? whatevs. i mean... once we were in that ring i'd happily punch her in the face... pretty or not. and i'd expect exactly the same in return.
turns out we were the only girls fighting that night... there were about 8 other guy fights and ours was scheduled just before the big pro fight. a bit of a novelty it seems.
when it came to fight time she and i were both 'backstage'... (yes, a fight IS a performance - the ring is the stage and punters drink and cheer while two athletes dance around whacking each other - with scantily-clad 'card girls' punctuating the acts)... we were backstage with our respective entourages shadow boxing and warming up. gone was "mullet's" pretty dress... instead she was flashing her awesome guns in a tight singlet and revealing her shaved undercut that was previously concealed by immaculately-styled long hair. i on the other hand had white surgical tape wrapped around my head to keep my hair from getting in my eyes... (fyi, i've had one too many scary experiences where a sweat band has slipped down and blinded me mid-fight). so surgical tape it is! and anyways, the 'lobotomy look' is equally as intimidating. IT'S ON BITCHEZ.
ding ding. i dominated the first round. as she was taller than me my strategy was to go in hard with a double jab to distract her... dodge her punch then nail her with the right. it worked. she didn't like having her face hit. and with my strength i could get in close and penetrate her guard. she hit me back with her long reach and we took turns at punching and blocking and slamming and groaning til the bell went.
round two. i was less sophisticated from going pretty hard in the first so copped a few clean punches on the forehead... good point scorers. my defense wasn't so sharp but i'd unleashed 'the animal' and brawled her into the ropes. the "mullet" had precision... i had grunt. we were fucking knackered but kept on dancing... less jitterbug, more sweaty, heaving waltz perhaps. i could faintly hear my non-boxing friends yelling ringside... "smash her!!! give her an uppercrust"... i dunno... a new brand of bread maybe?
round three. tone told me i was down on points so had to give it everything i had... as long as i could walk out of the ring at the end of it. be strong and brave but with class. and punch like a tiger. grrr. yes coach.
sooo we went for it. punch for punch. "mullet" and i hit the crap out of each other. i gave her a blood nose. she gave me a fat lip. it was exhilarating. and like a classic hollywood fight scene, it seemed to be happening in slow motion. at the point of exhaustion, you kinda stop thinking and just start surviving. sometimes you can't tell if you're being hit... and you're not sure if your heavy brick-like hands are making any impression on your opponent... but you just keep going.
and then it was over.
standing side by side in the ring, the referee announced a split decision. ooooh... this means two judges ruled in favour of one fighter, while the third judge chose the other. "mullet" snatched the victory on this occasion, out-scoring me with her patience and precision, but it was a beautifully close contest.
stepping outside the ring, the physical reality of what you've endured starts to kick in. breathing in the metallic smell of blood and feeling that your lip is a lot bigger than it should be... as fellow fighters and onlookers congratulate you on the battle you've just survived. what a thrill.
and it was awesome going up to my friends after the fight... a bunch of hungry beasts, old pals and my besties who were there cheering me on... most of whom were worried about my face on the lead up to the event... but were sucked into the contest as soon as the first punch was thrown!
a little bit later, "mullet" re-emerges looking just as glam as she did when i first saw her. evening dress, hair done, make up... the works. what a transformation! (as i sat there sweaty and gross and proud as punch in my fighting outfit - even wondering if it'd be appropriate to wear out later that night??)
those wily, wily femmes.
anyways, as they say.... keep on punchin!
p.s... there will be a rematch.
(sub)urban tomboy xx
