Post by Abby Park on Dec 2, 2012 10:48:56 GMT -6
There was a wonderful sound filling the air, the sound of weights being placed onto bars mixed with the various grunts from lifters foolishly trying to handle more than they were able. The noise from the various people working out was, in a way, comforting. It reminded the woman running on the treadmill that even so far away from home, some things were constant. She was dressed in a plain black tank top and equally as plain black shorts. Her mouth hung open slightly and her forehead was drenched in sweat but she showed no intention of slowing her pace.
The woman, Abby Park, had come to this gym for the first time after weeks of searching for one that was both affordable on her salary and had all the facilities she required. The search had not yet borne fruit and so Abby had decided to simply try out any gym she could find and hope for the best. A workout was a workout, after all. And there was just something charming about a small, rather old facility like the one she now found herself in. Sure, the paint was chipping away, there weren't a lot of machines to go around, and the stereo was broken, but the atmosphere was perfect. No one wasting time or trying to impress each other, no bullshit section of the floor dedicated to Pilates.
The treadmill came to a stop and Abby along with it. Grabbing the towel lazily draped over the arm-bar, she stepped off and wiped the sweat from her forehead and down her body. Slinging the towel around her neck, Abby paused to momentarily catch her breath, bending down to grab her water bottle. The water had warmed considerably since her arrival; still, she drank from it as if she had spent a few days in a desert.
"Can you spot me?" came a voice from behind. Abby spun around, water bottle still pouring into her mouth. The voice belonged to a man wearing his true intentions on his grin. Were her mouth not currently full of water, Abby would scoff, turn her head, and laugh slightly.
"No." she replied after swallowing the water, wiping the droplets from the corners of her mouth.
"You're the only one not doing something. Come on. It won't take long. I just need you to spot me." The man was nothing if not persistent.
Abby looked at the man, her mouth slightly ajar. "Not interested." She gave him a small apologetic nod and stepped past him.
"What are you interested in?"
Abby paused. Luckily her back was to the man so he could not see the grin currently on her lips. She turned her head to look at him, the smirk now replaced with a curious expression. It had not been her intention, but an additional activity was suddenly on the agenda.
"Sparring," Abby replied, the briefest of smiles crossing her mouth.
The two of them made their way to the blue mats set up in the far corner of the gym. The man, who had introduced himself as Mark on the short trek, was strapping on hand pads. Abby was stretching her arms behind her head and bending to the side. Her hands remained glove-less.
"Are you ready?" Mark asked as he crouched, putting his padded hands to either side of him. "Let's see what you've got."
Abby did not need to be told twice. She stepped towards him, fists in front of her like a boxer, and delivered a punch toward his unprotected head. Reacting quickly, he met the punch with a pad. "What the hell was that?" Mark asked, standing.
"Your reflexes aren't bad," Abby replied, her fists still in front of her, "I can work with this."
"Are you trying to hit me?" Mark's voice was as incredulous as the expression on his face.
"Not that time. But that's the idea, yes. Try not to get hit."
Before Mark could respond, Abby was striking again, her left fist colliding with Mark's hand. Immediately following was her right hand, which was only barely caught by Mark, who staggered backwards. Abby took a step back, giving Mark just enough time to regain his footing before she pounced again. The punches came at a furious pace, jab after jab, right after left after right, each one being blocked, often just before making contact with Mark's face.
"You looking to fight someone?" Mark asked with a nervous chuckle as he blocked yet another wild blow.
"Nope. Already have an opponent," Abby replied with a stronger right jab, this one causing Mark's hand to get knocked back. The follow-up punch whizzed past Mark's ear. "You're slowing down," Abby gave him a smirk and momentarily stopped her assault while he regained his composure.
"Why are you fighting someone? Steal your boyfriend or something?" Mark was the only one to smile at his remark.
"It's my job," Abby gave a nod and resumed her attack, her punches swifter and harder. With each blocked blow, Mark began to wince slightly.
"Your job is to -ow- fight people? What kind of job is that?" Mark was indeed slowing down as more and more punches got through his defenses; however, not a single one had made contact with him.
"An incredible one. One on one. In front of an audience. The dream job." Abby hesitated, smiling as she spoke of her new career.
"Can I watch?"
Abby slapped her cheeks and resumed her offensive. Mark had not been expecting such a quick turn around and his face met Abby's fist. He staggered back but another punch connected with him, this one on the arm, and he fell backwards onto the mat. "I thought you had better reflexes, Matt," Abby said, returning to her arm stretches, "My mistake."
"It's Mark. And you don't take it easy, do you?" Mark climbed to his feet, pulling the pads off. His hands were reddened and he blew on them before shaking them as if they had just touched a boiling pot.
"Take it easy? Why would I come to a gym if I wanted to take it easy? No wonder I hit you," Abby was bending over to grab her water bottle and towel.
"So where can I see you fight?" Mark was still shaking his hands, poorly trying to hide the fact that he was pained.
Abby was wiping the excess sweat from her forehead and torso. Today was supposed to strictly be a running day, but she was pleasantly surprised by the turn of events. It wasn't often that she got to attack someone under the guise of working out. And her partner hadn't been entirely awful. Perhaps this old place could be her new gym. It wasn't without merit.
"The RIMAC," Abby responded suddenly. She checked the clock hanging on the wall behind Mark. Their little session had put her woefully behind schedule. Without so much as a wave, Abby turned around and started for the lockers.
"So who should I root for at the RIMAC?" Mark asked, bounding after her.
"Abby Park."
Abby tossed her towel backwards onto Mark and continued towards the women's locker room. Mark pulled the towel from his face and tossed it to the ground. "I'll be watching, Abby Park!" he called as he saw her disappear behind the locker room door. Behind those doors, Abby was smiling.
"So will the world."
***********
"You don't know who I am."
Abby Park still had sweat in her hair but her face was expressionless as she looked into the camera. Gone were her workout clothes, replaced instead with the two sizes too big plain t-shirt and jeans with holes all around the leg. She was holding a microphone close to her chin and was doing her best not to show her nerves by shaking the mic. She continues to speak, her voice soft and shaky.
"You don't know who I am, and that's fine. I don't expect you to. To you, to all of you, I'm just some little girl messing with the big kids. That's accurate. You don't have to know who I am. Not yet. You just have to know that the so-called 'big kids' are going to underestimate me. I get that a lot. Underestimated, I mean. Were it up to me, I would go after the biggest kid first. What better way to make a splash?
It isn't up to me."
Abby paused and turned her head away from the camera.
"No one will underestimate me anymore."
She turns her head back to the camera, her eyes narrowed and her expression one of determination. Abby's voice intensifies, showing no sign of the soft spoken Abby from before.
"My name is Abby Park. Roll it around in your head for a while. Does it sound good? Does it sound memorable? Good. Because you'll be saying it often. The same cannot be said of my unfortunate opponent, one Daniel Prophet.
I've got nothing against him, honest. I mean, he's not...all there, but other than that I'm sure he's a good kid. But you'd think that his guardian angel or whatever it is would have interfered and gotten him an opponent that he could handle. Mr. Prophet, I understand you hear voices. Or a voice. Either way, I have the perfect cure for that.
A wonderful new medical treatment called a concussion."
Abby now holds the microphone with more confidence, switching from holding it with both hands to holding it with authority in her right hand.
"That's what you're getting yourself into. You probably think I'm all talk or naive because I'm not nearly as...experienced. That's fine. Go ahead and think that, Prophet, go ahead and let that voice of yours give you the wrong idea. You'll be the first. And you'll be the last.
But let me be reasonable here. I'm not saying I'm the best. Hell, I'm not even saying I'm great. No one has any reason to think that about me. It is true that one day I intend to be the best around, because what else is there to strive for? But not now. Not against you, Daniel. Against you, I don't have to be the best. I don't have to be great. I just have to be better than you.
Daniel Prophet, I am better than you.
That's all I wanted to say."
Abby continues to glare into the camera, her eyes showing her full resolve. She continues to hold the microphone as the camera fades.
The woman, Abby Park, had come to this gym for the first time after weeks of searching for one that was both affordable on her salary and had all the facilities she required. The search had not yet borne fruit and so Abby had decided to simply try out any gym she could find and hope for the best. A workout was a workout, after all. And there was just something charming about a small, rather old facility like the one she now found herself in. Sure, the paint was chipping away, there weren't a lot of machines to go around, and the stereo was broken, but the atmosphere was perfect. No one wasting time or trying to impress each other, no bullshit section of the floor dedicated to Pilates.
The treadmill came to a stop and Abby along with it. Grabbing the towel lazily draped over the arm-bar, she stepped off and wiped the sweat from her forehead and down her body. Slinging the towel around her neck, Abby paused to momentarily catch her breath, bending down to grab her water bottle. The water had warmed considerably since her arrival; still, she drank from it as if she had spent a few days in a desert.
"Can you spot me?" came a voice from behind. Abby spun around, water bottle still pouring into her mouth. The voice belonged to a man wearing his true intentions on his grin. Were her mouth not currently full of water, Abby would scoff, turn her head, and laugh slightly.
"No." she replied after swallowing the water, wiping the droplets from the corners of her mouth.
"You're the only one not doing something. Come on. It won't take long. I just need you to spot me." The man was nothing if not persistent.
Abby looked at the man, her mouth slightly ajar. "Not interested." She gave him a small apologetic nod and stepped past him.
"What are you interested in?"
Abby paused. Luckily her back was to the man so he could not see the grin currently on her lips. She turned her head to look at him, the smirk now replaced with a curious expression. It had not been her intention, but an additional activity was suddenly on the agenda.
"Sparring," Abby replied, the briefest of smiles crossing her mouth.
The two of them made their way to the blue mats set up in the far corner of the gym. The man, who had introduced himself as Mark on the short trek, was strapping on hand pads. Abby was stretching her arms behind her head and bending to the side. Her hands remained glove-less.
"Are you ready?" Mark asked as he crouched, putting his padded hands to either side of him. "Let's see what you've got."
Abby did not need to be told twice. She stepped towards him, fists in front of her like a boxer, and delivered a punch toward his unprotected head. Reacting quickly, he met the punch with a pad. "What the hell was that?" Mark asked, standing.
"Your reflexes aren't bad," Abby replied, her fists still in front of her, "I can work with this."
"Are you trying to hit me?" Mark's voice was as incredulous as the expression on his face.
"Not that time. But that's the idea, yes. Try not to get hit."
Before Mark could respond, Abby was striking again, her left fist colliding with Mark's hand. Immediately following was her right hand, which was only barely caught by Mark, who staggered backwards. Abby took a step back, giving Mark just enough time to regain his footing before she pounced again. The punches came at a furious pace, jab after jab, right after left after right, each one being blocked, often just before making contact with Mark's face.
"You looking to fight someone?" Mark asked with a nervous chuckle as he blocked yet another wild blow.
"Nope. Already have an opponent," Abby replied with a stronger right jab, this one causing Mark's hand to get knocked back. The follow-up punch whizzed past Mark's ear. "You're slowing down," Abby gave him a smirk and momentarily stopped her assault while he regained his composure.
"Why are you fighting someone? Steal your boyfriend or something?" Mark was the only one to smile at his remark.
"It's my job," Abby gave a nod and resumed her attack, her punches swifter and harder. With each blocked blow, Mark began to wince slightly.
"Your job is to -ow- fight people? What kind of job is that?" Mark was indeed slowing down as more and more punches got through his defenses; however, not a single one had made contact with him.
"An incredible one. One on one. In front of an audience. The dream job." Abby hesitated, smiling as she spoke of her new career.
"Can I watch?"
Abby slapped her cheeks and resumed her offensive. Mark had not been expecting such a quick turn around and his face met Abby's fist. He staggered back but another punch connected with him, this one on the arm, and he fell backwards onto the mat. "I thought you had better reflexes, Matt," Abby said, returning to her arm stretches, "My mistake."
"It's Mark. And you don't take it easy, do you?" Mark climbed to his feet, pulling the pads off. His hands were reddened and he blew on them before shaking them as if they had just touched a boiling pot.
"Take it easy? Why would I come to a gym if I wanted to take it easy? No wonder I hit you," Abby was bending over to grab her water bottle and towel.
"So where can I see you fight?" Mark was still shaking his hands, poorly trying to hide the fact that he was pained.
Abby was wiping the excess sweat from her forehead and torso. Today was supposed to strictly be a running day, but she was pleasantly surprised by the turn of events. It wasn't often that she got to attack someone under the guise of working out. And her partner hadn't been entirely awful. Perhaps this old place could be her new gym. It wasn't without merit.
"The RIMAC," Abby responded suddenly. She checked the clock hanging on the wall behind Mark. Their little session had put her woefully behind schedule. Without so much as a wave, Abby turned around and started for the lockers.
"So who should I root for at the RIMAC?" Mark asked, bounding after her.
"Abby Park."
Abby tossed her towel backwards onto Mark and continued towards the women's locker room. Mark pulled the towel from his face and tossed it to the ground. "I'll be watching, Abby Park!" he called as he saw her disappear behind the locker room door. Behind those doors, Abby was smiling.
"So will the world."
***********
"You don't know who I am."
Abby Park still had sweat in her hair but her face was expressionless as she looked into the camera. Gone were her workout clothes, replaced instead with the two sizes too big plain t-shirt and jeans with holes all around the leg. She was holding a microphone close to her chin and was doing her best not to show her nerves by shaking the mic. She continues to speak, her voice soft and shaky.
"You don't know who I am, and that's fine. I don't expect you to. To you, to all of you, I'm just some little girl messing with the big kids. That's accurate. You don't have to know who I am. Not yet. You just have to know that the so-called 'big kids' are going to underestimate me. I get that a lot. Underestimated, I mean. Were it up to me, I would go after the biggest kid first. What better way to make a splash?
It isn't up to me."
Abby paused and turned her head away from the camera.
"No one will underestimate me anymore."
She turns her head back to the camera, her eyes narrowed and her expression one of determination. Abby's voice intensifies, showing no sign of the soft spoken Abby from before.
"My name is Abby Park. Roll it around in your head for a while. Does it sound good? Does it sound memorable? Good. Because you'll be saying it often. The same cannot be said of my unfortunate opponent, one Daniel Prophet.
I've got nothing against him, honest. I mean, he's not...all there, but other than that I'm sure he's a good kid. But you'd think that his guardian angel or whatever it is would have interfered and gotten him an opponent that he could handle. Mr. Prophet, I understand you hear voices. Or a voice. Either way, I have the perfect cure for that.
A wonderful new medical treatment called a concussion."
Abby now holds the microphone with more confidence, switching from holding it with both hands to holding it with authority in her right hand.
"That's what you're getting yourself into. You probably think I'm all talk or naive because I'm not nearly as...experienced. That's fine. Go ahead and think that, Prophet, go ahead and let that voice of yours give you the wrong idea. You'll be the first. And you'll be the last.
But let me be reasonable here. I'm not saying I'm the best. Hell, I'm not even saying I'm great. No one has any reason to think that about me. It is true that one day I intend to be the best around, because what else is there to strive for? But not now. Not against you, Daniel. Against you, I don't have to be the best. I don't have to be great. I just have to be better than you.
Daniel Prophet, I am better than you.
That's all I wanted to say."
Abby continues to glare into the camera, her eyes showing her full resolve. She continues to hold the microphone as the camera fades.
