Bloodsport

In high school I worked at Boston Market for ages. One day I was making pot pies before the store opened and I felt really sick, like, please somebody-stab-me-so-I-can-stop-feeling-so-sick sick. After my boss yelled at me about the pace with which I was pouring pot pie mix into little tin containers I nearly passed out, then drove home and actually did pass out. Turns out I had pneumonia. I missed three whole days of school.

That's the most days of school I ever missed in a row.

The first time I gave blood I ran out to the field half an hour later to play ultimate frisbee. I saw spots in front of my eyes, but I made the best catch ever to end the game in our favor.

In other words, it's kind of my way to not admit that my body has limits.

Lately I've been feeling pretty down. For the past two weeks I've had three emotions: angry, sad or slightly less sad. Lots of things have been piling up and I've had difficulty getting excited about anything. I started worrying that I'm not really me anymore. I didn't know who I was, but I was afraid it wasn't me.

Then yesterday was bloodmobile day. I gave blood at 1pm despite the ridiculous hoops I had to jump through to prove I was over 17 since my ID and blood donor card were both in the purse that was snatched. Anyway, I gave blood. And as the nice lady slid that needle into my arm I realized it was Tuesday. Tuesdays I work out with Trainer. While all the other boys and girls were passing out and throwing up I jumped up and ate my Cheez-Its on the way to fourth period, convinced that I'd be ready to punch things by the time I got on my boxing gloves.

At 5 I was all ready to go at the gym and Trainer and I started our workout. I did some pushups and stuff and kicked the bag and excitedly showed Trainer the double elbow I learned on Human Weapon and I was fine.

Then came punching time.

I got on my gloves and punched Trainer's mitted hands for about one minute, then something went horribly wrong. I felt my inner-elbow throb where the needle had been four hours earlier.

Trainer looked at me as I weakly threw my arm at his mit, my mouth wide open.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Do I look that bad?" I said.

I looked down at my elbow. Blood was leaking from my needlestick and running down my arm.

"You want to do kicks?" Trainer said.

"Sure," I replied enthusiastically as I wobbled and slid to the floor.

He ran and got me some paper towels then sat on the floor next to me.

As I blotted up the blood now gushing from the bruised hole in my arm Trainer offered to give me a free session later in the week.

"You don't have to do that," I said. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have given blood."

"No, I was on the phone a lot earlier and you've had a bad week. I'll give you a free session," he said.

"You don't have to-"

"Emily, shut the fuck up. Tomorrow at 6."

"Ok," I said. Then I looked at my bloody arm and started laughing hysterically. That's the moment when I knew I'd be okay.

"I feel better," I said through cackles.

"I think you're delusional," Trainer said.

"No," I said. "I'm gonna be okay. Look at me. I'm an idiot! I gave blood and then tried to kickbox. Who does that?" More laughter.

"That's because you're a charger," he said.

Then he bought me Chinese food because I have nothing in my refrigerator.

It was a good day.