Girl Power

People can get used to anything. Even to a noose around their neck, as we clever Slovaks say. The boys at the the boxing club now mostly leave me be as I'm becoming a regular. We're certainly expanding women ranks at the club. There's five of us now. Me, my colleague and convert, whom I talked into joining, Magda from Poland, then a chubby young girl who hangs out mostly at the bar in the club, and two new additions: a fierce blonde roller-blader with a half shaved head with some funky patterns colored on it, and a fragile older woman in a soft grey sweatsuit that looks like she lost her way to the yoga studio.
Magda came with me three times. Boys are happy. Magda is a young pretty firecracker, she chatters with the boys and boys like to be chattered with. I kept to myself before, did my stuff and left, now I hang at the club more. It's better for the boys' workout too. When one or more of us watch, they go all out at the heavy bags or in the ring, until the trainer rips them apart. We came up with code names for the boxers, since we don't know their real ones. "My boyfriend" (Bosniak that wanted to "party with me") now flirts shamelessly with Magda, sends her air kisses and all. "Elephant boy" (fat kid who claims to be 14) picks on us constantly. Quite annoying little brat, if you ask me. "You are the most funny," he tells me amidst the huffing and puffing, when we try out combinations en masse. That throws me off balance somewhat, but I'm learning to phase him out. "Hop like a bunny," he tells Magda when she asks what the trainer said to do. Neither of us understands German well (me not at all, to be honest), so we keep getting lost in instructions. Magda shoots him a glare that could kill, but hop like a bunny we do. #18 (one of the older boxers who trains in the ring and wears a sweatshirt with #18 on it) and Mr. Serious watch us mess up all the steps and sweat our butts off at rope jumping from the side. One has to get used to the side audience. Frau Klaudia is a tough trainer - no breaks between rope jumping, we go 15 minutes straight. Same at the end of the workout, except every time she whistles, we have to do push ups, ab crunches, jumps or somethin along the line until she whistles again. Then we jump more. Then we sprint-jump. She's a sadist.
I'm still in the giddy stage. I get excited when I get a combination right, practicing my three and four-combinations and getting up to speed in my office, in the kitchen, in my head. I got my new gloves last week. Tried them on in the office. Naturally, the assistant from the Institute walked in to borrow a chair at that precise moment. Didn't even have time to pull them off. Ever tried to hide boxing gloves on your hands under your desk while maintaining a polite conversation? That ain't easy. Then the history researcher walked in on me air-punching in the little kitchenette while I was waiting for the water to boil. Hard to explain to someone you barely know... But that's part of the business. Tomorrow we have the main trainer, Johann, again, coming back with our star, our stallion, our trophy-winner Marcos, who is just 15, but wins all the championships in this part of the world. I hope all the wimmins come again, so that I can do my thigh crunches on the machines relatively unnoticed. The thigh cruncher faces the bar. It's somewhat disturbing to open and close one's legs while three guys watch, cigarettes hanging out of their mouths.