Punching Bag Book Novels & Stories

I hadn't used it again until the day I took off my wedding ring—the day I met Charli. In a more refined sport of abuse, after I changed out of my suit into sweats and a t-shirt, I donned a pair of boxing gloves. Though I was confident I could take either or both of the posturing peacocks currently in the ring, I concentrated on the bag. My training came back. Pay attention. Keep my balance. Only move my feet when I'm not punching. Punch the damn bag—don't push it. Breathe. Snap punches three to six reps. Move my feet. Find my rhythm. Before I even realized it, my punches were flowing. Sweat saturated my shirt as I moved effortlessly around the bag. My power built, the snap keeping my combina

What if my weakness got someone killed? I set the book aside and stood up, moving to the middle of the room. I tried to remember what I’d seen in movies…how to throw a proper punch. Thumb outside the fist, right? Power from the hips? I wound up and threw a punch at an imaginary opponent. My balance was all wrong. I stumbled forward, my feet tangling, and crashed to the floor in a heap of limbs and embarrassment. “Ow,” I muttered, rubbing my elbow where it had hit the hardwood.

One hour ago… The heavy bag didn't have a face but today, it felt like it had a name. Kieran. I could hear the name every single time I punched it. Thud. Crack. Thud. I planted my lead foot, rotating my hips to put the full weight of my frustration into a left hook that sent the hundred-pound cylinder of leather and sand swinging violently toward the ceiling. My knuckles burned through the hand wraps, a dull, grounding ache that was the only thing keeping me from losing my mind.

CHAPTER 164 : The Call Of Ember Third person’s POV: . The smell of sweat lingered in the large space, the sound of hard breathing rebounding the heavy walls of the room. Loud panting came forth, and then the colliding sound of fist to punching bag reigned supreme. A few drops of sweat fell from Steven’s face as he punched the bag with all his might, his muscles contorting against the pressure but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more, something more challenging but his mind kept whispering words to him:

_Ryker’s POV\ I stood in the gym, the sound of my fists pounding against the punching bag echoing through the room. The bag swung back and forth, its leather surface worn and cracked from countless hours of use, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before it joined the pile of broken ones on the ground. I hit it again and again, the impact sending shockwaves through my arms and into my chest.

Grabbing the boxing gloves and cloth, I tightly put it on and went to the boxing bag. Placing my hands in front of me, I thought of the face of Saul and Leanne. They fucked Iñigo up and I couldn't imagine people being that horrible. The ringing in my ears started and my breathing became ragged. Seeing the fleeing back of my husband, I punched the bag. The ringing in my ears intensified. I punched it again. And again. And again. I didn't know how long I was punching the boxing bag. All I know is the ringing in my ears has stopped, my hands are bruised and hands clapping echoed inside the room.

He walked to a punching bag and gently pushed it. "What?" I followed him, confused. He picked up a boxing wrap and carefully put it on my hand. "Here," he gestured to the punching bag, "Give it a try." I stood there, staring between the punching bag and my hands. I have never thrown a punch at anyone before. I wouldn't be surprised if I broke my wrist punching that thing. I took deep breaths, preparing myself before punching the bag. "What the hell is in that thing?!" I cried out, holding my hand.

As I faced the punching bag, I could feel my frustration bubbling up. With each punch, I let out some of the anger and stress that had been building up. The rhythmic thud of my fists hitting the bag echoed through the room, giving me a sense of release. My thoughts were a whirlwind: the news about Sylvia, Alice's harsh words, and the weight of everything happening. I punched harder, imagining each hit knocking down the obstacles in Sylvia's path. Sweat dripped down my face, but I didn't stop. This was the only way I knew to clear my mind and focus.

“Thanks, Niko. Today I wanna punch something.” “Girl, you always punch something whenever you visit.” He rolled his eyes. “Go ahead, punch the shit out of all the punching bags.” He declared. “I’ll do just that.” I painfully smiled. The gym was occupied by only three people. Two guys and a girl. They were engrossed in their activities to notice my presence. I put on a pair of red punching gloves and commenced throwing punches at a stuffed, black, leather punching bag. The image of Jake and Linda replayed in my head, fuelling my rage. The rage propelled me to keep throwing punches at the helpless leather bag.

After I put on my train gear, I went straight to the punching bag. After a few uncontrolled punches due to the constant movement of the bag, a man a little older than me approaches. - Do you want me to hold that for you? David looks at the man indifferently and shrugs. Contrary to expectations, the man doesn't care and holds the bag. My punches become more coordinated and, therefore, stronger. After practically half an hour of silence, where the only sounds were made by the other people and the punches I made, David bent forward, exhausted.