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The cold hard cage wall pressed against her back and Dara Camacho found herself reconsidering some of the choices she'd made over the past minute: She could have held something back in the tank after she caught Breanna with that hard side kick. She could have banked her points, let the taller woman escape, and reset back into the striking exchanges that clearly favored her in the first round. She could have worked harder to switch up her combos instead of falling back onto her familiar favorites. But it was hard to think clearly in the middle of a fight, and harder still to pivot once she fell back on what felt comfortable.

She'd pushed and pushed and pushed, certain that each flurry would be the deciding one, until she finally came up for air and found Breanna Rhodes still standing in front of her, still conscious and only a little more bruised than she'd been at the start of the round. Dara hadn't quite panicked as she fought the burning sensation in her lungs, but she could admit that the round kick she'd thrown was ill advised at the very least...

Now she had to fight out of a deficit, out of a tight clinch, while being pressed into the cage. "Damn... this kinda sucks. Fu-" Each time she paused to frame up and take a deep breath, the Louisiana native punished her with a fist or an elbow or a knee. The more she struggled to free herself, the more her lungs burned and the heavier her limbs felt. It sucked and she wanted out.

"I don't know what you're talking about; I'm finally having fun." Breanna snarked, scoring with another elbow.

Dara ignored her and contemplated her next move. A sweep, or a shift, or a punch; there had to be some way to dislodge herself and get back to the fun, high octane parts of fighting.

If only she could catch her breath and remember what it was.

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The cold hard cage wall pressed against her back and Dara Camacho found herself reconsidering some of the choices she'd made over the past minute: She could have held something back in the tank after she caught Breanna with that hard side kick. She could have banked her points, let the taller woman escape, and reset back into the striking exchanges that clearly favored her in the first round. She could have worked harder to switch up her combos instead of falling back onto her familiar favorites. But it was hard to think clearly in the middle of a fight, and harder still to pivot once she fell back on what felt comfortable.

She'd pushed and pushed and pushed, certain that each flurry would be the deciding one, until she finally came up for air and found Breanna Rhodes still standing in front of her, still conscious and only a little more bruised than she'd been at the start of the round. Dara hadn't quite panicked as she fought the burning sensation in her lungs, but she could admit that the round kick she'd thrown was ill advised at the very least...

Now she had to fight out of a deficit, out of a tight clinch, while being pressed into the cage. "Damn... this kinda sucks. Fu-" Each time she paused to frame up and take a deep breath, the Louisiana native punished her with a fist or an elbow or a knee. The more she struggled to free herself, the more her lungs burned and the heavier her limbs felt. It sucked and she wanted out.

"I don't know what you're talking about; I'm finally having fun." Breanna snarked, scoring with another elbow.

Dara ignored her and contemplated her next move. A sweep, or a shift, or a punch; there had to be some way to dislodge herself and get back to the fun, high octane parts of fighting.

If only she could catch her breath and remember what it was.