Once you stop actively thinking about where your next blow will land, everything seems to fall into place. Jab, counter, dodge, feint, haymaker. Minutes stretch like hours as the two of you perform a deadly dance across the mats of the dojo.
Impressed with your skill, Bly takes on a look of concentration, and she pushes you back, forcing you onto the defensive, breaking up the fluidity of your combat with counter after counter. You move to throw a heavy punch, and suddenly Bly has disappeared, and you're falling, legs swept out from under you by a perfectly timed sweep kick.
Finally, when you can't imagine you can take any more, Bly lets her guard drop and motions for you to sit beside her. "I must admit," she says, winded, "I wasn't expecting you to pick up the art quite so quickly! I think I'll be able to work with you just fine from here on out."
You'd never admit it to her, but today's training has left you more sore and drained than you've ever felt in your life. But Bly's praise makes you feel good about yourself, and while your muscles may burn, there's a certain strength radiating from them under the hurt of the training.
Training With Jolon