001

                                    

                                          
"To me, boxing is like a ballet, except there's no music, no choreography, and the dancers hit each other." - Jack Handey
The boxing gym is daunting.
It's a large grey building, with a huge sign reading Knockout Arena on top of it. The big, colorless building is anything but inviting, and I would very much like to turn my car around and get as far away from here as I could. 
But I don't. 
Instead, I strategically find a parking spot that allows me to scope out the general demographic of the gym before I have to go in.
It looks like a place meant for tough men who ride motorcycles and smoke cigarettes. It definitely does not look like a place for a 23-year-old girl who shits herself whenever there's even a minor confrontation and can barely lift a 10 pound box.
I've always avoided the gym. It's intimidating to me. I don't want to walk in and make a complete fool out of myself by not knowing how to use a machine the proper form to lift weights. I've been told no one in the gym pays attention to anyone else, but I think that's complete bullshit. No one knows how to mind their own business.
I retie the laces to my gray and white sneakers that I've had for almost two years. They're a half-size too big, and I always trip over them, but they're the only sneakers I own. I am not a gym girl by any means, and I don't feel the need to become one.
Another minute passes by, and I'm starting to debate if this is even a good idea. I could drive away right now, and nobody would ever even know I was here. I could go get Taco Bell, eat it on my couch, and be perfectly content with life. I don't need this extra stress in my life.
I scream as there's a knock on my window, scaring the shit out of me. Pen's face appears on the other side of it, accessorized with a huge grin. She waves at me, unaware that my heart rate just skyrocketed because of her greeting. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest from the jump scare.
Well, shit. I guess I'm going in.
Pen, my one and only friend in Seattle, convinced me to come with her tonight. She won two free boxing lessons and roped me into doing it with her, which I said was a terrible idea, but she insisted. She always tries to push me to do new things, and she usually fails, but somehow she convinced me to show up here today.
Pen looks more like the normal person you would see walking into a boxing gym. She has prominent arm muscles that are littered with tattoos, and black hair slicked back into a high bun, along with a red bandana on her forehead. She looks tough, and she is tough.
I open the door to my car, and she attacks me with a hug. I wrap my arms around her and hug her back, but I'm confused as to why she's hugging me in the first place. I see her almost every single day, but she still acts like she hasn't seen me in years every time we meet.
"Hi, Kiz," Pen says, "I'm so fucking excited,"
"Me too. I can't wait." I actually want to die right now. 
The inside of the gym is huge. It's much bigger than it looked from outside. There's a large boxing ring in the middle of the gym, equipped with ropes around the outside edge of it. It looks like a boxing ring you would see in a movie. The main ring is surrounded by sparring mats on all sides, and workout equipment lines the back wall, as well as the right wall. The ceilings are high and have bright lights on them, illuminating the large area.
The place is busy. I mean, there are people everywhere. Some are on the mats, punching each other; there's some running around doing laps; others are on the cardio and weight machines. A few people are hanging around and talking to each other. This place looks really popular, but I can't help but notice that it's filled with at least 80% men and 0% body fat.