Page 102 of Gym Bros
“Mixed martial arts?” I say, not understanding what he’s asking.
“Yeah, but I mean—how does it work? Where’s this going?”
“Oh. So this gym I train at—basically, I did one of their camps in LA last summer and they said if I was ever in San Francisco to come in and take a look. It’s a good gym—a lot of up and coming fighters, and the coaches know people—promoters looking to put together fights and other important coaches. Anyway—it’s all about being able to train with the pros and getting your name out there. Getting fights and getting noticed.”
“Was that supposed to make sense?” Calyx asks, turning off the burner.
I laugh. “Did it not?”
“No.”
“Okay.” I try again. “So, I’m considered an amateur. Meaning, if I fight, I don’t get paid, but I can compete with other amateur fighters and get noticed by promoters and other coaches.”
“So what happens when you get noticed?”
“Depends who notices me, but ideally, it’d be someone whocoaches more pro fighters, thinks I have potential, and wants to help me go pro.”
“That sounds really complicated.”
“I mean it’s kind of like everything—all about who you know.”
“How often are the fights?”
“Depends. I was hoping to fight at this expo type thing in November, but we’ll see.”
Calyx raises his brows at me in disbelief. “Wait, actually?”
“Late November. But my coaches haven’t set anything up, so I don’t know.”
He rolls his eyes. “Well, obviously you can’t do that,” he says.
Smiling, I look him up and down, trying not to get too hung up on the panties. “Oh no?”
“You’re injured!”
“I’m healing, and I’m rehabbing, and I’ll be fine by Thanksgiving.”
“You sound crazy. When’s thenextexpo? Do that one.”
“Probably December.”
Calyx scrunches his nose and shakes his head. “I’m thinking more like April.”
“Okay, mom. Listen.” I pick him up, spin him around and set him on the island counter.
He refocuses his dizzy eyes on mine.
“I’m assuming you think I suck because I tore my hamstring, but I actually don’t suck.”
“I never said that.”
“It’s very possible I’ll get a fight in November,” I tell him.
“How do you know?’
“Because before Mitchell came for my hamstring, I was dominating my sparring partners.”
“Meaning fighting other people,” he translates.
