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The Hooker Tuesday

 


It was a Saturday afternoon in Atlantic City when I met Tuesday. So, she said that was her name. This young twenty-something year old approached me in a prep room for fighters of the blue corner. I was helping my coach Phil Dunlap as he was getting our fighters ready.  He was wrapping the guy’s hands. And some of us were helping do pad work and the like for the MMA fighters in the room.

This unabashed young woman, all dolled up—appeared looking for love in all the wrong places. As this lady of the night chummily approached me. She batted her lashes,  gave me a toothy sexy smile—as she slid into my nearby personal space. I’d just gotten a second to breathe from running errands for the team. My fight had been cancelled three days before. Two other fighters had bailed on my fight and two more couldn’t get their medicals in on time to fight me. To top it off, two days later I’d just gotten injured which was the day before I now stood in front of Tuesday. I’d gone hard Friday night and sustained a leg injury that left me hobbled in pain. Phil didn’t think I could drive the near three-hour ride down to Atlantic City. I promised I wouldn’t fail the team, nor him. I’d promised hand holding as well with one of our newbies. Now here I was.

Tuesday was lucky I didn’t lose my shit and crack her one. For I was still in fight mode and on fire ready to kill. That’s just how I get. It is like a kill mode. I get psyched to throw leather. To the degree the fight itself in me feels as though there are over one hundred hours of energy I shove into just one fight in the cage. It’s that intense. I’m that intense. I get so psyched that right before my first fight I pretty much had ran ahead of everybody as the walkout song by CCR “Fortunate Son” played for me. I was bouncing off the floor, giggling to myself. I get super giddy right before the fight. My giddiness before a fight had gotten so bad one night, Phil had to tell me to stop laughing. Imagine being psyched, terrified and laughing all at the same time. That’s my intensity. And that’s why I have never invited any family to see me fight live and in person. I become someone they’ve never met.

It’s not that there’ll be blood. It’s that I don’t mind swimming in it. Been there done that. My sparring sessions have been bloodier than my fight nights. I’ve bled so much in training and have been so intense even then when I thought I was sweating. My coach has had to motion to me to stop and wipe blood off my face. It was all over the place that night and my sparring partner was avoiding the blood that was all over my face. I had no clue.

So, going back to Tuesday, our Saturday afternoon hooker. Yeah, phhhttt. She’s trying to show me how beautiful she is. I point to my wedding band, “I have a husband. No thank you.” Yeah, I thought she was soliciting me. The FBI was at least a few floors down in the casino area. They must be lonely. Why me? Then she follows up with, “You’re making a movie.” I pause, “Tuesday. It’s a fight movie. It’s a documentary.” She’s still not getting it.

Tuesday wiggles her body as if I’m suddenly going to say, ‘We’re going to make you a star.’ I look at her straight-on and say, “We break faces. You don’t want yours broken. You’re a young pretty girl. This is serious business. These guys have trained hard, and they’ve got fights tonight. And we are not interested in you. But thank you.” I kept a dead stoic stare through her. She slowly turned and sauntered off onto the next room, hoping to be noticed.---Jody-Lynn Reicher

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