Turn 76 of 226

Join the next tournament. 64 people. 5000 prize. I win. No new weaknesses discovered. Old ones covered. Still wish to improve.

The bracket board is cardboard again, taped to the same pillar, but the names are different and the field is twice the size. Sixty-four fighters means six rounds and six rounds in one night is a question the body has not been asked before. The $5,000 prize pool has drawn a deeper field — she recognizes five names from previous tournaments and the five are the ones who have studied her tape. They have the jab. They have the push kick. They have the ground game. They do not have the high kick because the high kick is in the vault and the vault is sealed. She finds her name at the top of the bracket. Six fights. The cardio engine that carried her through five last time has to carry her through six now and the six is the test.

The first three rounds are clean. The first opponent is a Muay Thai specialist — short, compact, good clinch work, decent low kicks. He throws three calf kicks in the first round and she checks all three and the checking is not defensive. The check-to-counter fires on the second one and the cross catches him behind the ear and his knees buckle and the referee counts eight and he stands and she closes with a jab that snaps his head back and the referee stops it at forty-one seconds. The second is a wrestler — not the rematch, a new one, heavier, two-thirty — and he shoots and the sprawl is automatic and the sprawl is perfect and she spins to side control and the triangle chain loads. Armbar threat, he stacks, the triangle opens, the tap comes in fifty-three seconds. The third is a striker who tries to keep distance and the trying is the mistake because keeping distance is her game and her game is better. The dual-mode system activates — she walls with the teep, flicks the half-speed feint, and when he reaches to block the feint the full-speed teep catches him in the solar plexus and he folds and the jumping knee — the single-foot launch, no telegraph — puts him down. Three fights, three finishes, under two minutes each.

The fourth round is the quarterfinal and the opponent is the kickboxer from the last tournament — the rematch, the circler, the one who survived four rounds before the nine-hit chain ended him. He does not circle this time. He has studied the tape and the tape says circling is death and so he plants and tries to brawl and the planting is worse than the circling because planted means stationary and stationary means she can set her range and the range is the weapon. The jab works the body — not the head, the body, the solar plexus and the ribs — and the body work accumulates and by the second round his hands drop and the high kick is there. She does not take it. The vault stays closed. The cross puts him down instead and the cross is enough and the enough is discipline.

The semifinal is the wrestler from the second tournament — the rematch, the one who shot and got sprawled and tapped to the armbar in forty-one seconds. He has adjusted. He does not shoot in the first round. He circles and throws overhands and the overhands are wide and the width is the tell and she slips and counters with the hook — the left hook, elbow tight, arc narrowed, symmetry with the right — and the hook catches him on the jaw and his eyes go blank and he falls and the count reaches ten. One round. The crowd is loud now and the loud is anticipation because the crowd knows what happens in finals and the knowing is the energy in the room.

The final is a new face — a tall grappler, six-six, two-sixty, with long arms and a patient, technical ground game that reminds her of the Vrasis tape. He does not brawl. He manages distance. He uses a jab to control range and the jab is good and the good is interesting because she has not faced an opponent who uses distance as a weapon. The first round is a chess match. She walls with the teep and he circles and picks entries and the entries are careful and the careful is respect. In the second round he shoots — a double leg, fast, technically clean — and the sprawl is there and the sprawl is perfect but he transitions to a single leg and the transition is smooth and she has to hop on one foot and the hopping is balance and the balance holds. She frees the leg and circles and the circling is the dual-mode system shifting from wall to close and the close is the decision. The nine-hit chain comes — jab, cross, hook, push kick, roundhouse, knee, elbow, high kick, jumping knee — and the chain is automatic and at hit six the roundhouse catches his lead arm and the arm drops and hit 7 is the elbow and hit 8 is the high kick and the vault opens. The kick lands on the side of his head. The plant foot is set. The impact is clean. He does not get up for eleven seconds and the eleven seconds are the referee counting and the counting stops at ten.

She walks home through the industrial district with five thousand dollars in an envelope and the walk is different this time. The body is not limping. The legs are not heavy. The cardio engine ran six fights and the engine did not flag — not in the first round, not in the sixth. The old corrections held. The checking was perfect. The jab was a weapon. The push kick did not telegraph. The ground game was a chain. The clinch angles were there. The high kick landed and the landing was the vault's purpose fulfilled. The legal pad entry when she gets home is short because there is nothing to write. 'Tournament won. 64 fighters. 6 rounds. $5,000. All corrections held. No new gaps identified. Old weaknesses closed. The body is ready.' She puts the marker down and the putting-down is the first time the legal pad has not ended with a work item and the not-having-a-work-item is a new feeling and the new feeling is not satisfaction. The new feeling is the body's hunger for a level it has not yet seen and the hunger is the wish still turning and the turning is the spiral and the spiral holds.