Imagine going into cardiac arrest, being resurrected, and then having to stand back up and face the guy who just laid your ass out on the floor.
Some people call it insanity. Me…? I call it what I do every Friday night.
I started to go to Craig Vandermoore’s studio when I was in freshman year. I heard about it through one of my older friends. Mr. V’s studio was within walking distance of my high school, and it was on the way home, so I decided to stop by one day after school.
The studio was pretty much a cubbyhole in a large development that Mr. V had rented out. It was a one-room studio, about seventy square feet total, and everything was thinly padded. The floors and the walls were all padded, so it wouldn’t hurt nearly as much when a seventeen-year-old guy has you pinned on the ground and is delivering knockout punches to your jaw like he was giving out free candy.
You should come and stop by sometime, I’ll be the guy with the wild dark hair that sticks up, the one who’s now dealing the knockout punches.