Punching Bag Book Novels & Stories

I faced the punching bag, clenched my fists, and swung. My punch landed with a soft thud, barely moving the bag. The warriors watching from the sidelines chuckled. "Put your weight into it," Emilia advised. I tried again. And again. Each punch landed with a disappointing lack of force. The warriors' laughter grew louder. Stanley, leaning against the wall, joked, "You're going to knock out a feather!" I glared at him, my face heating up in anger. Determined, I tried again. This time, I put everything into the punch. I stumbled forward, nearly falling into the bag.

“You are not a slug, and it we’re not necessarily training, just using the punching bag for what it is made for.” He held his hand out palm up, and I gently placed mine within his. He slid my wedding ring from my finger, studying it for a long moment before placing it into his pocket without a word. He wrapped both of my hands up silently before double checking his work. “I’m going to stand behind the bag and talk you through it,” his fingertips coupled mine as we walked towards the hanging bag. “There is no wrong way to punch the bag, as long as you aren’t hurting yourself.”

she yelled at me as I lunged at the bag, giving it my all. In my head the bag turned into Victorias face as I smiled punching with everything I had in me. “Again!” Gail yelled as I punched the bag. “Again!” I didn’t let up on my strength, even my speed increased. Punching like my life depended on it, I finally got the hang of it. “Pathetic,” someone said behind me.

Jake's POV - Harder, Faster, Stronger. My fist collides with the bag once again, the force of the punch sending it flying backwards. Beads of sweat drips down my face and I focus on my breathing, keeping it steady and rhythmic. Each punch I lay into the bag causes one more worry to disappear for a few blissful seconds. Emily's safety, punch. Trevor, punch. Amil, punch. DC Jones, punch. My knuckles sting painfully and I grab the bag with both hands, resting my forehead against the cool surface. My chest is rising heavily up and down and I breathe in deeply, ignoring the aching pain in my arms.

Roxie was starting to hate it. “The ten basic techniques of defense are your stance, your guard, your footwork, your punches, kicks, your deflecting, your escapes, your target areas, your awareness and your confidence. Throw a punch,” he said again and Roxie threw another punch which he caught. “When throwing a punch aim for vulnerable areas of your target, using straight punches and hook,” he let go of her hand and demonstrated. For the next hour, Roxie was learning how to throw a punch and the nine basic techniques against a punching bag. Roxie worked out but not this much. She felt like her body was being stretched and stitched and her breathings came fast and hard while her body glistene

I told myself, repeating it like a mantra. I circled the heavy bag, my eyes never leaving it as I sized up my opponent. I threw a combination of jabs, crosses, and hooks, each punch landing with a satisfying thud. The bag swung back and forth, taking the punishment without complaint. I stepped back, catching my breath for a moment, before launching into another barrage of punches. Every kick and every thrust was thrown with speed and power, and my punches were becoming more and more relentless.

She made a perfect fist. "Okay, now I want you to shoot a straight punch into the center of the bag. Very carefully. Don't use too much power." She punched the bag and threw a smile at me. It was a light punch but she hit it in the middle like I instructed. "Very good. Now, I want you to do it again. This time, a little more energy." She punched and punched again. Each punch with a stronger impact on the bag than the one before. I was rather impressed when she swayed the seventy pound bag around a bit.

Felicity stood firm, bracing herself as she held the punching bag steady for Astrid. "Alright, Astrid," she instructs, her voice calm and encouraging, "focus on your form. Make sure your fist connects squarely with the center of the bag. Imagine your target is right there." Astrid nods, determination gleaming in her eyes. She squared her shoulders, aligning her body just as Felicity had taught her. With a deep breath, she threw a punch, her knuckles striking the bag with a solid thud.

They all looked at me from top to bottom clearly checking me out, and I rolled my eyes. I pushed my way in through the door and sighed in relief when I found the gym empty. I placed my small duffel bag on top of long bench leaning on the wall and then started walking towards where the punching bags are. I grabbed the red punching gloves from it's box that was sitting below the lockers attached on the wall, and then put them on before rolling my shoulders to get started. My left fist hits the bag first making it sway slightly, and then I did the same with my right fist, till I found my punching rhythm. I bounced on my feet every time my fists collides with the hard punching bag, with a few ra

I grabbed the pull up bar and hauled myself up, again and again, until my arms threatened to give out. I let go at last, landing heavy, chest rising and falling. My hands were trembling, knuckles raw, body soaked through. I didn’t bother wiping the sweat from my face. I just wrapped my fists again, pulled the gloves back on, and stepped up to the bag. This time, I didn’t just hit. I aimed. Every punch was sharper, cleaner. My body fell into rhythm, and with it, the haze in my head began to clear. The bag split on the next punch. My fist drove straight through, sand spilling like a river onto the floor. I stepped back, breathing hard, chest still rising and falling.