When Rice stepped onto the gym mat, I knew I was in for more than a workout. Her lean, athletic frame moved with the kind of confidence that came from years of hard work—farm work, as she’d proudly mentioned before. At 172 cm and 60 kg, she was a wiry powerhouse, and her ash-blonde hair, tied neatly at the back, glinted under the gym lights.
At 45, I was no stranger to fights, but this one felt personal. Standing 162 cm tall, with my soft curves and long blonde hair cascading all the way to my feet, I was no athlete. But I was tough, and I knew it. My hair was always a wild card—both my pride and my Achilles’ heel. Rice’s eyes flicked to it more than once as we prepared to start, and her smirk hinted at what she intended to do with it.
The agreement was clear: submission wrestling with some extra spice. Hair-pulling, slaps, and dirty tricks were fair game, but no blood. The loser would have to admit defeat, either by tapping out or saying, “I quit.” It wasn’t just about strength—it was about ego, endurance, and pride.
“Ready for this?” she asked, rolling her shoulders.
I gave her a wry smile. “You tell me.”
We stepped forward and locked up, testing each other’s strength. My weight gave me an early advantage, forcing her to adjust and shift to maintain her footing. But as she pressed forward, I realized just how strong her core was. She suddenly ducked under my arms, slipping behind me, and wrapped her arms around my waist.
Our initial clash was like testing the waters, both of us gauging the other’s strength and weaknesses. When Rice lunged again, this time going for my legs, I barely had time to react. Her grip was firm, and before I knew it, she’d swept me off my feet.
I hit the mat hard, the impact jarring my spine, but instinct kicked in. As she scrambled to pin me, I grabbed her hair with both hands and yanked hard. Her ash-blonde locks tangled in my fingers as she let out a frustrated growl.
“Let go, you witch!” she hissed, her nails digging into my wrist to pry my grip loose.
“Not a chance,” I shot back, twisting her head to the side and forcing her off balance.
She fell to her knees beside me, and I seized the moment to roll onto my stomach, crawling out of her reach. But Rice was quick, grabbing my ankle and yanking me back. Before I could regain my footing, she climbed onto my back, her hands darting to my hair again.
“Oh, you’re gonna regret that,” she muttered, pulling my head back painfully.
I bit back a cry, twisting my body to shake her off. My scalp burned as she maintained her grip, her weight pressing me into the mat.
“Admit it,” she taunted, leaning close to my ear. “You’re already losing.”
“Over my dead body,” I spat, managing to buck my hips and roll us over.
Now on top, I didn’t waste a second. I straddled her hips, using my weight to pin her down. Her arms flailed as I grabbed her wrists and slammed them onto the mat above her head.
“Not so tough now, are you?” I said, my breath coming in short bursts.
Her response was a sharp twist of her legs, throwing me off balance. Before I could react, she snaked an arm around my neck, pulling me into a side headlock.
The pressure was immediate, her wiry arm tightening against my throat. I clawed at her arm, gasping for air, but she held firm, a triumphant smirk on her face.
“Tap out,” she said, her voice confident.
I shook my head, my pride refusing to let me give in. Instead, I shifted my position, bringing my knees under me and pushing up. With a burst of strength, I managed to lift her slightly off the mat, enough to loosen her grip and slip free.
Rice growled in frustration as I grabbed her hair again, yanking her head back and forcing her onto her stomach. This time, I trapped her in a camel clutch, pulling her arms back and arching her spine painfully.
Her cry of pain was music to my ears. “Ready to quit?” I asked, tightening the hold.
Her response was a defiant laugh, even through gritted teeth. “You wish.”
Rice twisted her body, her flexibility working to her advantage as she slipped one arm free. She used it to grab at my hair again, pulling me backward and forcing me to release the hold.
We both tumbled onto the mat, gasping for breath as we scrambled to our feet. Sweat dripped from our faces, our hair a wild mess from the constant pulling and struggling.
“You’re tougher than I thought,” she admitted, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.
“Same to you,” I replied, circling her cautiously.
This time, when we locked up, it was a brutal, full-body clash. Her hands shot to my hair again, yanking me sideways, but I countered by grabbing her waist and forcing her backward. We tumbled to the mat together, each of us fighting for dominance.
Rice managed to trap me in a body scissor, her thighs crushing my ribs like a vice. I gasped, the pain intense, but I refused to tap. Instead, I reached up, grabbing her hair and pulling it hard enough to make her loosen the hold.
“You’re not getting off that easy,” she growled, releasing the scissor and rolling us over again.
Rice straddled me, pinning my arms to the mat as she leaned forward, her face inches from mine. “You’re done,” she said, her voice low and menacing.
I bucked my hips, managing to unseat her just enough to free one arm. With a quick movement, I slapped her across the face, the sound echoing in the gym.
Her eyes blazed with fury as she grabbed my wrist and twisted it behind my back. I cried out as she forced me onto my stomach, her knee pressing into my lower back.
“Had enough?” she asked, pulling my arm higher.
“Not even close,” I hissed through gritted teeth.
Summoning the last of my strength, I pushed up with my free arm, twisting my body and throwing her off balance. She fell to the side, and I wasted no time in trapping her in a headlock again. This time, I poured every ounce of strength I had left into the hold, determined to make her tap.
She clawed at my arms, her nails leaving marks on my skin, but I held firm. “Give up!” I demanded, my voice filled with determination.
Her struggles slowed, her breathing ragged, but just when I thought I had her, she grabbed my hair one last time, yanking me backward and breaking the hold.
We were both on our knees, panting heavily, our hair a wild, tangled mess after the endless pulling and twisting. My scalp burned, my pride just as bruised as my body. Rice’s smirk told me she wasn’t done yet—not by a long shot.
Without warning, she lunged at me, knocking me backward onto the mat. Her hands darted to my head, seizing two thick handfuls of my long, blonde hair.
“Let’s try something new,” she said, a wicked grin spreading across her face.
Before I could react, she maneuvered around me, grabbing my hair like reins as she lay back onto the mat. With shocking strength, she planted her feet against my thighs and began to lift, using my hair to suspend my upper body.
I gasped as the pain shot through my scalp, the sheer weight of my body pulling against the roots. My arms flailed, but there was nothing to grab onto—no leverage, no escape.
Rice’s legs pressed against my thighs, forcing them apart as she hoisted me higher. My back arched painfully, the strain on my spine unbearable as she used my hair to keep me suspended in a brutal Ceiling Hold.
“How’s that feel?” she taunted, her voice dripping with mockery. “Still feeling tough, Doreen?”
I bit back a cry, my hands instinctively reaching up to try and loosen her grip. But the way she had my hair twisted around her fists made it impossible. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain through my scalp, and the sharp angle of the hold made my entire body ache.
“Tap out,” she demanded, giving my hair a sharp tug to emphasize her point. “Or do you want me to see just how far you can stretch?”
“Never!” I spat, though my voice wavered with the effort of holding back tears.
Her laugh was low and confident. “Suit yourself.”
She pulled harder, rocking my body back and forth like a rag doll. My long hair was her anchor, the hold completely under her control as she demonstrated her dominance. The ache in my spine deepened, and I could feel my resolve slipping.
Finally, with a grunt of satisfaction, she released me, letting my body collapse onto the mat in a heap. My scalp burned like fire, and my back throbbed from the brutal strain of the hold. I tried to crawl away, but Rice wasn’t about to let me off so easily.
“You’re not going anywhere,” she said, grabbing a fresh fistful of my hair and dragging me upright.
I stumbled, barely able to stay on my knees as she pulled me close. Her grip was unrelenting, her strength undeniable as she twisted my hair tighter around her fingers.
“Time to put an end to this,” she said, her voice soft but menacing.
Before I could react, she wrapped her arms around my head, pulling me into a suffocating breath smother.
The softness of her chest was deceiving, masking the iron strength of her hold. My face was pressed firmly against her, my nose and mouth completely sealed off. I gasped for air, but there was none to be found. I felt myself fading, as a result of her not allowing me to breath and I knew I was done. Within the last second before I would black out, I tapped out and she released me slowly, so she can show off a bit, dominating me.
I barely managed to get to my feet, every muscle screaming in protest. Rice stood nearby, triumphant, her ash-blonde hair clinging to her flushed face as she smirked at me. She wiped her brow with her towel, then flung it over her shoulder, her victory radiating in every move.
Before I could stagger away, her hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of my long, tangled hair.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, her voice sharp with mockery.
“Let go,” I growled, trying to pull away, but her grip only tightened.
“Not until you understand who’s in charge here,” she said, dragging me toward the locker room.
I stumbled, half-dragged, as she pulled me along. My scalp burned with every step, but I couldn’t fight back—not after the fight I’d just endured. The locker room was cool and tiled, the smell of chlorine and sweat hanging faintly in the air. She stopped near the showers, where an old, deep tub sat in the corner.
“I think you need to cool off,” she said, her voice dripping with cruel amusement.
Before I could reply, she yanked my hair sharply, forcing me down to my knees beside the tub. The cold metal rim pressed against my thighs as she leaned over me, her grip relentless.
“Time to wash off all that city-girl pride,” she said, twisting my hair in her hand for better control.
I struggled, grabbing at her wrist, but she was stronger. With one hard shove, she dunked my head into the icy water. The cold hit me like a shockwave, stealing my breath as my face submerged.
My hands flailed, splashing water everywhere, but she held me firmly, her laughter ringing in my ears even through the water. After a few seconds, she pulled me up, water streaming down my face and hair as I gasped for air.
“Say it,” she demanded, her tone sharp. “Admit who’s better.”
I glared at her, sputtering as I tried to catch my breath.
She smiled wickedly. “Wrong answer.”
Before I could say anything, she shoved me down again, holding me there longer this time. The water muffled every sound except the pounding of my heart. Panic set in as I tried to push myself up, but her grip on my hair was unyielding. When she finally pulled me back up, I was coughing and trembling, the icy water dripping off my chin.
“Ready to talk now?” she asked, crouching to look me in the eyes.
“You,” I gasped, my voice shaking. “You’re better.”
Her grin widened. “That’s more like it.”
She let go of my hair, and I slumped against the side of the tub, my body trembling from cold and exhaustion. Rice stood over me, wringing out her hair as she basked in her victory.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she said, her tone mocking. “You just needed a little… encouragement.”
I glared up at her, my humiliation burning hotter than the ice-cold water. She gave me a final smirk before tossing her towel over her shoulder and turning to leave.
“Better luck next time, city girl,” she called over her shoulder as she walked out, her laughter echoing in the empty locker room.
I stayed there for a long moment, water dripping from my face and hair, my pride in tatters. The weight of the fight—and the humiliation—settled over me like a lead blanket. But beneath it all, a spark of anger and determination began to flicker.
This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
I climbed out of the tub, every movement slow and deliberate. My legs were shaky, my scalp burned, and my long hair hung heavy, clinging to my body like a wet curtain. Wrapping myself in a towel, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the locker room mirror.
What I saw wasn’t just defeat—it was a challenge.
Rice had won this time, but her victory wasn’t absolute. She might’ve had the upper hand today, but I knew my own strength—and my pride wouldn’t let this rivalry end here.
As I wrung out my hair, the image of her smug smile burned into my mind. I’d make her pay for this. Next time, I wouldn’t just fight to win. I’d fight to prove her wrong.
With a deep breath, I straightened my shoulders and walked out of the locker room. The cold air hit me, but I didn’t care. The fire in my chest burned too hot to be extinguished.
Rice might’ve humiliated me, but she also gave me something I hadn’t felt in a long time: purpose.
