Her years spent sparring had certainly taught Theresa a lot of things, but there was one lesson that always came back to her, again and again, like a nightmare that plagues your sleep.
You could look your opponents up and down. You could know exactly what training they'd done and how fit they were and what their style was. They could be boy or girl, fat or thin, weak, strong, weedy, tired; your opponent could be anything in the world, but the only time you were sure to win was if you wanted it more.
It was Theresa's one flaw that she tended to forget this simple fact.
The first day the team had met, Ares had organised them into groups. "In each group, I've put some strong fighters, and some weaker ones. I want you all to learn from each other today." He'd boomed, whistle in hand. Theresa surveyed her group: Jay, Archie, Herry and herself.
Unless Theresa was very much mistaken, she was definitely meant to be one of the weaker ones. She'd decided in that moment that it was Ares' turn to learn her lesson.
Jay had been up first, his blows uniform and boring, always straight to the chest or shoulder. This should be easy, she'd thought. But that first day, when they'd both found themselves puffing and sweating, eyes flashing determinedly at each other, she'd realised that an ability to learn from your errors and a dogged determination was as dangerous as any round house kick Theresa might send his way.
Not that she'd let Jay realise that, of course. A well placed kick coupled with a neat block and an elbow to the rib saw Theresa give a sigh of relief before she helped Jay back up.
Two to go.
Theresa's spar with Herry was a new ballpark again. For such a big guy, she'd gone in planning nothing but her best shots and the quickest tactics- no chances were going to be taken here. Immediately as they'd began she had been dodging quickly, her mind glued only to his next punch and where she would go. Her focus proved to be no match for the guy: maybe she was too quick or he was too gentle, but his blows always seemed easy enough to dodge and her hits met their mark all too quickly.
One to go.
Wonky ankle, pasty white kid, loose sandals: Archie was never meant to put up a challenge.
You'd have thought Theresa had learnt her lesson by then.
The first thing about Archie was that he was aggressive. Unlike Herry, whom was calm when he missed a punch, or Jay who didn't seem to put all his force behind his fist, Archie left nothing to chance. Every shot was meant to hit, and to win.
It had only taken two hits before Theresa realised she wasn't going to beat this kid easily. Her dodging that had so easily evaded Herry now occasionally copped a fist, and her combinations that pushed Jay off the edge were simply part of the fight for Archie. The right hook Theresa so prided herself on was a hit to Archie, but nothing he couldn't take.
But even Archie had his weaknesses.
It was as Theresa drew in another tight, desperate breath that she finally realised Archie's one fault. His eyes scanned across her, taking in her heaving chest, the sweat that dripped down her arms and made her hair cling to her face, her feet slower now with fatigue, arms shaking from being held up for so long. He realised it: he was the stronger one. As the thought flashed through his eyes and he went in for the victory, Theresa took advantage of Archie's one weakness: he thought he'd won.
She'd offered to help him up afterwards, but he'd just thrown Theresa a filthy look before getting up on his own, ignoring her outstretched hand and tired smile.
After all, Archie never lost. And never to a girl he'd just met.