So I admit I’ve been thinking about my boxing ring name for a while, not that I ever admitted it to anyone. Er, until now. And I’m only confessing because I actually had to turn in a name for this fight in Atlanta.
I am telling myself that in roller derby I’d have had to register a name before I could hit the track, but in roller derby you’re supposed to be just a little bit wack. Just a little bit, of course. To take the edge off all that damned fine rough-and-tumble.
Boxers are soooo not wack.
Okay, I can hear the hollering and catcalls from here. You’re right, we’re wack, although we aren’t as cool as rollergirls. And yes, I’ve just convinced myself. Damn, I love blogging. Clarifies things, y’know?
So that’s me. Forty-four and punching the hell out of sh*t. Loving every minute of it and having no intention of stopping. Rusted and busted, maybe, but relentless. They need to consider giving me more than the official three rounds is what I’m saying.
Thanks for dropping by here, sharing the journey with me, and cheering like crazy people. Love y’all.