Dad was a boxer.
Even in his seventies, his big hands were lightning fast.
After all, he had spent most of his career running circles around teenagers, motivating and leading them.

Dad told me that his boxing career ended when he was put up against a huge French-Canadian fighter who outweighed him by 50 pounds.
He said he was doing pretty well, that is, until his opponent sunk his fist up to the elbow in Dad's stomach. Dad said he thought he'd never breathe again.

I can tell you that I once pissed him off pretty good in my 20's and he was on me in the blink of an eye. He never hit me, but his hands moved so fast that if he had let go, I would have been hit 20 times before I knew it.