Turn 67 of 226

Ask MArcus for tips on how to improve my weaknesses. Also I grew to 7'6"

The sparring session on day nine ends with Marcus on his back and Lena in side control and the position is the one she could not hold three cycles ago. She holds it now. Marcus taps the mat twice and she releases and they sit on the mat and the sweat is pooling on the rubber and the breathing is heavy and the heavy is the work. Marcus pulls his mouthpiece and spits into a bucket and looks at her and the looking is the looking of a man who has been in the ring with her six times now and has watched her close every gap he found.

"What am I still missing," she says. It is not a question. It is a request for data and Marcus reads it as data because Marcus is a fighter and fighters speak in corrections.

"Three things," he says. He holds up fingers.

"First — your jab is a range-finder, not a weapon. You throw it to measure distance. At your reach, the jab should be a weapon. Snap it. Put weight behind it. A stiff jab from someone your height is a straight right from anyone else." He pauses.

"Second — you telegraph the push kick. Your hips shift backward before the knee comes up. I started reading it in the second session. Cal's boys will read it too. Drill the chamber tighter. No wind-up. Knee straight up from the stance."

Lena nods. The nod is receipt. Marcus continues.

"Third — ground game is better. Much better. But you still default to guard when you should be looking for submissions. You recover guard and then you wait. You're defensive on the floor. You need to be hunting. Start drilling armbar entries from guard. Triangle setups. The guard is not a resting position — it's an attacking position." He stands and his knees crack and the cracking is the sound of a body that has been fighting for fifteen years.

"Also — you're taller."

The statement lands and Lena looks down at him and the looking is different. Marcus is seven-two and she is looking down at him and the distance is more than it was last session. The distance is an inch. She does not say anything. She goes to the wall where the cinder block has her marks and she presses her back flat and reaches up and the marker draws the line and the line is above the last line by an inch. Seven-six. The growth did not stop. The growth slowed and the slowing was not stopping. The body is still climbing.

She drills the corrections that night. The jab — she stands in front of the bag and throws it one hundred times and the first thirty are range-finders and the thirty-first she snaps and the snap puts her shoulder into it and the bag jumps and the jump is different. The push kick chamber — she drills the knee-up-from-stance fifty times per side and the hip shift is the thing she has to kill and the killing is a habit that lives in the muscle and the muscle resists. The armbar entries from guard — she drills them on the bag on the floor, the hip rotation that throws the leg over, the grip on the wrist, the pinch of the knees. The movements are slow and the slowness is newness and the newness will become automatic the way everything becomes automatic. She writes on the legal pad: '7'6". 390 lbs. Corrections: jab as weapon, tighten push kick chamber, hunt submissions from guard. Growth continues. One inch this cycle.' The marker letters are thick and the spiral tightens and the body is warm and the warmth says yes.