i do a 1pm private with oron. it's already paid for so i tell myself it's mandatory. i get there right at one and wrap my hands slowly. i napped briefly but it didn't change that everything hurts like few things have ever hurt. "skip, skip," oron mimes. i skip and my brain throbs every time i hit the apex of my one inch high jump.

oron comes to get me and we start. every time i throw a kick my left hip feels like it's grinding in a socket of broken glass. we clinch and my biceps hurt where he grabs them to the point where i flinch. i don't even realize places hurt until they come in contact with this tiny smirking monster and then they feel like they're clamped in a vice.

i don't remember how the hour passes; i remember blocking some kicks and eating some kicks and then clinching and oron being satisfied with me throwing him around more than i usually do (which is to say he only threw me down on the mat a few dozen times). a few minutes before 2pm another guy dislocates his elbow clinching in the ring with pot. it's a grim reminder that no matter how much fun this game is in the gym, we're not playing video games here. oron has me work some more on the straight push kick into flying knee combo but i'm not even heartened by oron's occasional exclamations of approval. when 2pm finally hits i'm thankful and collapse. oron makes a noise of disapproval but it's far away.

i get back to my place and go through waves of shivering and sweat. i turn the air conditioner off and the place stifles; i turn it back on and try to set it to 25 celsius but even the sound of it gives me chills. i feel tired and sick and the aches throb with my heartbeat. i'm finally convinced this isn't from overtraining when i consider eating and my stomach rolls instead of rumbles-- the ultimate litmus test. i briefly remember telling oron i would see him tomorrow which has become a standard parting but now i have my doubts and a dark green cloud of guilt washes in over the right hand side of my head behind the ear. i note it without feeling the emotion or experiencing it; it simply hangs there. i touch my palm to my temple and the skin feels like it's molten but a living, squirming thing that shrinks from my touch like an insect trying to escape notice. i rub my joints; knees ankles elbows all tell the same tale of inhuman heat radiating from inhuman flesh but it's totally surface; i've turned the air conditioner off and still i'm shivering under blankets in a hoodie and sweatpants. i hear oron singing somewhere over my shoulder and try to steal a reassuring glance at his smirk but the strange cloud of guilt blocks him out.