Walker said as I recovered from his last blow. I was furious now. I lunged toward him on the mat at neck-breaking speed and landing a hard blow to his chin. He flew back, but recovered swiftly, sweeping my legs out from under me. “Getting mad about it isn’t going to help your case,” he chuckled, hitting me with a right and then a left on the ground before springing back to his feet. I was on my feet in seconds. I purposely slowed my breathing, blocking everything out. With the help of silent clarity, I stepped forward, waiting on Walker’s inevitable slip. As soon as he dropped his knee—a telltale sign of a right punch—I dodged it and brought my gloved fist around, resuming my fury. I landed one after the other, pounding my coach into oblivion. “Fuck,” he declared, spitting a mouthful of blood on the mat before narrowing his eyes. I braced myself for his body shot and took it with a grunt before he nailed me once again to the mat.
