He held my throat, causing me excruciating pain, and each moment I felt my chance of victory grow smaller.

My strength was failing.

While I held his arms at his sides, I could keep him secure without much effort, but now with his fingers pressing in my windpipe I could not breathe.
I was slowly being strangled.
To be vanquished meant imprisonment there, perhaps even death.

Victory meant Elma's life, as well as my own.

Mine was therefore a fight for life.