I fight because it feels damn good and, more importantly, because I can. But there is another, more sinister, reason I rock out on the daily. I took up boxing, in part, because of the Krav Maga trainer who sent me an unsolicited ‘dick-pic’…of someone else’s penis.
dick pic*
1. A picture of your dick.
“Hey dude, I took a great dick pic last night for my girlfriend!”
“Dude, why did you dick pic my grandma?”
2. The male version of “sexting” (sending naked and/or nude pictures to another person by way of picture messaging). A naked picture of one’s penis sent to another person.
3. A picture of a dick, usually your own, sent to a girl via text.
(TIP FOR GUYS: girls DO NOT think your dick is sexy. Don’t send one unless you’re asked for one.)
*From Urban Dictionary
What he sent, in reality, wasn’t quite a photo; it was more of a video and pic mashup. Some call it a ‘meme‘. The shoddily stitched-together short featured a plane landing in a nondescript location. After thirty seconds a still frame with a Polaroid replaced the video.
A man in a blue football shirt stood in the photo. He was somewhere hot. Equatorial. Palm trees swayed on the horizon. Sand littered the foreground. The skin of the man glowed, burnished like mahogany. He struck a pose, biceps flexed, completely undisturbed by the fact that he wore no trousers. Or that his enormous dick hung limp against his thigh.
It was the centrepiece of the composition.
Far from a prude, I still have limits. Is there ever a good time or place for a crass nude? I highly doubt it. The battle lines were irrevocably drawn the second my trainer chose to overstep all the boundaries. We’d known each other five weeks (maybe six?) when he direct messaged the video-pic that wasn’t even of his own penis.
Obviously, I had questions in the wake of receiving this Trojan horse. What are you trying to say? Is this a come on? Am I missing something? Why the plane? Is it funny? Do you send nudes to all your female clients?
Wait, why does a white guy send a pic of a big, black dick to begin with?
After sleeping on the matter I composed the following:
His answer arrived in under three minutes.
It’s a joke. Chilex.
(I assume ‘chilex‘ is his version of ‘chillax’, which is wrong on so many levels.)
I held the comeback in the palm of my hand and laughed—partly out of incredulity, partly out of rage. After giving this man a chance to explain he slapped me upside the head with the ‘Haha! It’s a joke’ card, plus a word no one worth their salt still uses.
The next day I scoured the city in search of a new discipline to master. No borough was off limits. In total, nine weeks were spent biking, subway hopping, and schlepping around with Lyft and Uber. I explored some of the deepest parts of Queens, Manhattan, and Brooklyn.
I met countless people at dozens of gyms. Name a place. I likely tried a few classes there. My bloodlust compelled me to spend hours, before and after work, looking for someone who didn’t treat women like objects. A trainer who operated with a modicum of self-respect—someone I could build a rapport with.
I happened to find Coach in the eleventh hour, minutes before I was about to give up and return to the humdrum of running and yoga.
Two seasons have passed since I received that photo and, on the rare occasion, I think of the man who sent it. I catch a whiff of him when I’m harassed in the street by a stranger. Now and then, I feel his presence as I deflect off-colour remarks from men who believe their advances are witty and charming.
But the only time I consciously bring ‘Dick Pic Man’ to the fore is mid-session—when the exhaustion peaks and pain becomes blinding. I hear his voice. I conjure his face. On my tongue sits the bitter aftertaste of his puerile and unrefined vocabulary.
I use such moments to think of him and the others I have encountered. Men who knowingly intimidate and bully. Men who confuse praise with harassment, or blur the line between creeping and flattery. Instead of dropping my arms I consider them all and lean in, shouting and throwing punches, flirting with the edge of my limits.
My jab is like a bullet in the chamber of a sniper rifle. It is best to give me a wide berth.
You and your dick pics should stay out of my way.
NOT MADE OF GLASS 