The Glowing Edge

Category: Sparring

Relaxing in the Clinch

If given a choice, I prefer to keep an opponent on the far end of my jab, but like everyone with a lot of height and reach I’m frequently faced with an opponent who wants to bring the fight to me on the inside.

Every boxer should be able to fight on the inside.

I practice it whenever I have a willing sparring partner, because it’s a critical skill. When you’re fighting inside, the game changes. You need short range punch power, better use of small, quick shifts and pivots, and good use of your (and your opponent’s) weight.

The reason it’s hard to fight inside is that all your fight-fear rises to the surface; you can’t dance around and toss shots from the outside, you can’t pause to plan your next combo, and you don’t have the luxury of a breather. The fight has come to you and the clock is ticking: how long can you hold out in an incredibly tense, fast boxing situation?

Inside fighting is like the sprint within the sprint of a boxing round.

One of the secrets of doing well on the inside is to remember that shots on the inside frequently have less power. Most people can’t launch a bomb and land it with so little space. However, if you can get your legs beneath an uppercut and land it under your opponent’s jaw, you’re golden. The head snaps back, you follow it with a nice hook, or else pivot out and nail them from the side with a straight shot and you may just take the fight right then and there.

What usually happens to me during inside fighting is a clinch.

I was in the ring recently with an opponent who is slightly smaller and lighter than I am, and who lives for the inside game. She’s a great opponent to work with, because you know what you’re about to get. It’s like having to swim a long distance underwater: you get as much air as you can before you duck under, because you’re about to work your ass off, and the next oxygen you’re going to get is 3 minutes away when the bell rings.

There are only three ways to stop the inside game: great footwork or speed (evasion), a shocking punch or combo, and a clinch.

When I’m up against a teenager who is in top shape in her sport, I know my speed is not going to top hers. I can try the power, but in the end, I’ll end up in a clinch.

And that’s where we went, over and over again during our session. And I found that I was bleeding energy at an insane rate during every clinch — even more than usual.

And because we repeated the same pattern over and over again, I could see the reason for the power bleed. The shot she was throwing every time before we clinched was a left hook, and although it usually missed my jaw, it was still coming in behind my guard — essentially “threading the needle” into the little triangle of space created by my right arm in guard position. As soon as it came in, we clinched and her glove would be trapped against me. Then I would spend a tremendous amount of energy to pull away, popping her glove out of my guard like pulling a cork out of a bottle.

It wore. Me. Out.

I could see what was happening, but couldn’t muster the brain power to fix it. Until my coach told me, during the bell, what to do.

“Just relax,” he said. “You’re trying to hold your gloves high and tight and it’s working against you. Keep them high, but relax, and when you pull away you won’t lose so much energy popping her glove out of the tangle.”

This is why no boxer can succeed without a great coach.

You really need that third party watching and puzzling out with their brain power, not yours, what’s happening.

“Also,” he added before I headed into the fray once more, “what about a nice little shot on the exit? You’re in close, so dust off your hook and see what happens.”

Magic, that’s what happens.

I know it sounds terribly counter-intuitive, but relaxing in the clinch really does work. And so does that sweet little right hook on the exit.

Creative commons image by maxintosh on Flickr.

July 9, 2012
When Sparring is Magic

I can’t remember when I last had one of these days, but this week it all came back to me in one of those clear, beautiful, pristine experiences of pure sparring magic.

Sparring is always hard boxing work. It’s actually much more pleasurable than having a fight in many ways — less stress, less endless waiting, more actual time in the ring, and you often learn more as well.

But in the sporadic sparring experiences I’ve had in the past 6 months or so, I haven’t had one of these surreal days in the ring where everything came together like magic. This week they clicked.

Coach Massey was training a team of people in a different gym, and I wanted to get up there to see Eric, a friend of mine, who recently started competing. I also hoped to get some new and different work — working in a new gym with new people is a great way to shake up your training routine and test yourself. I hate it, and love it at the same time.

The dread that comes before

I woke up with the dread churning in my stomach. What if I suck? What if I humiliate myself? Have I been training hard enough? I have to stop slacking on my intervals. Etcetera. I forced down some bran flakes for breakfast and had a banana an hour or so later. I hydrated constantly. I stopped periodically during my morning to get mentally centered, rolling the tension out of my neck and reminding myself to relax.

And of course I took a wrong turn on the freeway and was abysmally late. Ugh.

But the moment I walked in, Coach Massey hailed me from ringside, and I immediately saw my friend Eric shadowboxing in the back. The place was filled with sunshine (unlike every other gym I’ve trained in recently) and the doors were propped open for the breeze. A former trainer of mine was working hard in the ring with a man holding pads and wearing a heavy punching vest; both of them glistened with sweat.

A pleasant surprise

And get this: two women were geared up and waiting to roll under the ropes next.

Two women! Both about my size. About to spar! In case you’re missing the import of this, let me assure you that this is unprecedented where I live. I rarely have the chance to train with one woman, and two is somewhat mind-boggling. I watched them for a moment and realized I was going to get a chance to get good work in — both of these awesome women were paying attention, working hard, and neither seemed out for war or bloodshed. This wasn’t going to be an ego session; it was going to be honest boxing labor.

I was so excited I could barely stand to warm up. I gave Eric a hug and put in a halfhearted round or two of stretching and shadowboxing before I eagerly geared up and stood ringside, waiting for my chance.

Do women box differently than men?

Just this week I had been having an email conversation with Adam Welsh (you’ve heard from him before here on TGE) about a comment pro boxer Anne-Sophie Mathis made recently about preferring to spar with men, because in her experience, “men are much more technical, their body language is more beautiful. The girls are certainly more vicious and aggressive, but they lack a little consistency…”

I’d been turning this thought over and over again in my head. ARE women more aggressive in the ring? If we are, it’s because we know that we have to fight twice as hard to be taken half as seriously. Or at least, that’s my feeling. But I hesitate to paint with so broad a brush, and say that all women are like this…

But I was ready to say that I preferred male sparring partners, too. Not for the reasons Mathis states, but because I’m more used to them, and they don’t seem to need to prove anything with me (most of the time). There’s not much respect to be gained by a male boxer from beating the crap out of a woman — but if she brings game, there can be a good sparring session for both partners.

But yesterday I changed my mind.

Both these women were so good to work with. Christy was — amazingly — a new Master’s fighter. I’m not sure I can name even ONE other female Masters boxer in North Carolina. My opponents are always out of state. Christy and I were exactly the same weight and height. This NEVER happens!

The second boxer, Erica, was perhaps in her early 20s, and had just won the Golden Gloves. A bit lighter than me, but same height.

I would work with both of these women any day of the week, any time. They gave good game, and I know I drew great pleasure out of our work and got some good stuff in.

Burning off the edge

First Coach Massey put me in with Nassir, a former trainer of mine, and he effectively warmed me up and burned off my nervous edge, although it’s hard to box with him because he’s so fast. He can stand in the middle of the ring and never move his feet and you still can’t seem to nail him with a solid punch. If you give him his feet, just hang up your gloves and go home; you don’t stand a chance of landing anything.

If I had to name his weakness it would be that he depends so much on his hyper-speed that he punches less than he probably should. But I wouldn’t be idiot enough to tell him that while I was in the ring with him.

Next I had rounds with each of the women, and suddenly the pace was slower and I could see everything that was happening (which I can’t do with Nassir).

The step-off

You know how boxers have a little switch-foot stutter step thing they often do in the ring? They’re in their stance, right foot and shoulder forward and left foot back. Then suddenly, they switch stance (left foot and shoulder forward) and step off? Easy, right? Yeah, everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face. My sparring partner Sinclair was working with me on this move a few weeks ago. And it was just not happening unless I expended superhuman effort.

In the ring with these women, it suddenly was there for me. I didn’t have to think about it, it was just magic. My brain worked on other things and my feet did the step off at the right moments entirely without my input. It was beautiful.

Coach Massey saw the first one and whooped. I had no idea what he was excited about. I could feel the glide, the move, the pure lack of effort, but I didn’t know he was watching my feet. Both of us paused in our round and looked at him.

“Lisa pullin’ the step-off!” he hollered, and I grinned, taking full credit even though I’d had no part in it.

Boxing is so like this. You work your ass off on something and NEVER get it right for AGES, then suddenly, it’s burned into your muscle memory and it comes together. Magic.

If you do it once, it’s a fluke. But I was doing it regularly, every round, with just the right timing.

What the hell? But I wasn’t complaining.

It made me feel great that Coach called over another boxer and instructed her to watch my feet to see how I was doing it. It’s just a good thing I didn’t have to explain it, because I have no idea how it got there, hah. I probably couldn’t have done it on command.

The slip

This was another muscle memory move that came together nicely, but this one happened because I wasn’t in with Nassir or Sinclair, or any of the regular guys I fight with who are blazing-fast. I was in with women closer to my own experience level, and I could Flat. See. And evade. Damn near everything.

Thank you, Baby Jesus and all those hours spent eating punches while struggling to overcome the hop back, flinch, blink, and turn away reflexes. It was worth every sweaty hour of that work. I was ducking under (!) slipping side to side, and keeping just inches out of range.

I did notice that I tend to slip right more commonly than left, but NEVER have I slipped so many punches that I noticed such a thing before!

Ahh, I love the magic.

The fuel

The last good piece about this awesomely awesome sparring experience was that I didn’t gas out. I had the fuel I needed to do what I was asked to do. Gotta tell you, I CURSE those intervals when I’m running steps, but I am SO glad I suffered through them when I perform well in the ring.

Your heart just needs that kind of hard training in intense, 3-minute bursts with 30 second recoveries in order to be able to show any kind of chops in the ring.

I hate intervals, but I’ll tell you now, I’m a believer.

And I’ll keep doing them.

Meanwhile, I’ll be curious to see if my next sparring experience goes as well as this one did. Can’t wait to work with Christy and Erica again! Ladies, I salute you; you were gutsy, beautiful, and I enjoyed every second of our work together…

Stay strong everyone, and if you’re struggling and wondering if it will EVER come together — it will! Promise.

March 16, 2012
Sustaining Damage During Sparring
A boxing sparring session is radically different than an actual match. If I had to choose between the two, sparring wins every time. It can be unbelievably beautiful to watch, particularly when the two boxers agree — implicitly or explicitly — to maintain a certain flow, to match and challenge each other but not overwhelm.

You see this kind of beauty in many professional fights, although not as much in amateurs since both fighters are jazzed on nerves and gunning for the knockout. It’s rarely as controlled.

Dave G. sent me the link to this incredible sparring session between Julio Cesar Chavez Jr. and Vanes Martirosyan, and I’ve watched it several times now, just soaking up how fabulous it is.

But it’s clearly between pros who are at the top of their game and ungodly strong. Did you see all those uppercuts Martirosyan landed? Holy sh*t. Of course he got his nose bloodied by Chavez, but I’d rather have the bloody nose than have to take those punishing uppercuts.

And these guys are working for the cameras… This is not your average-Joe sparring session. (I’m fighting the urge to add “Do not try this at home, kids.”)

Dave asked a question about sparring, as well:

What is the damage you sustain after an average sparring session?

I sustained a bloody nose and again a bruised lip this week. Since a lot of the fighters matching my skill don’t show up anymore, it’s slim pickings. People tend to drop out a lot in martial arts I noticed. 🙂 Anyway, if I want to spar I have no choice but to fight against the competitive fighter who is always around. I outweigh him about 30 pounds, but he sure is fast.

I am aware that you seldom get out unscathed from a session, maybe I should switch to headgear with a nose guard but those seem way too bulky.

I’d love to hear your take on this!

The main injuries are fairly simple.

I often have a headache the next day after a hard sparring match, but it’s usually treatable with an ibuprofen or three. I don’t really count that as an injury, but it’s part of the package.

My single most common issue is bruised lips, which isn’t surprising, since your lips and nose are the least protected parts of your face when you’re wearing headgear.

I have a friend (Hi, Eric!) who seems to get nosebleeds a lot, and that’s not too unusual for the same reason. We both hate the headgear with the bar across the face because they are so bulky and they obstruct your vision more, but it’s an option.

The black eyes are less common, but I’ve had a few. I would guess that heavyweights get them more than lightweights like me; our punches just don’t pack the same kind of power. I got every single one of my black eyes when sparring with a heavyweight partner.

I also got my broken rib during sparring, but that was more unusual. I’ve only seen that happen two other times in the years I’ve been boxing.

There are several things that go into determining how much injury you commonly get during a sparring session.
1. The weight match of the sparring partners. I typically expect bigger partners to control their shots so that I don’t get hurt, but it doesn’t always happen that way.
2. How hard you both agree to work. It’s best if you can be explicit, but sometimes you think you have an agreement, but one person starts to increase their power. You have to continue to communicate — either with words or with force — or you can get in trouble here…
3. Experience level (whether or not you have good control of your punches). Newbies are notorious for causing damage, but more experienced boxers should be able to move faster and avoid the damage. Sometimes this works, sometimes it doesn’t.
4. What kind of gear you’re wearing. Like I mentioned, I hate the face-savers, but I love a no-foul. You can see that both boxers in the video above are wearing groin protectors and both of them got shots that landed on them. These take the edge off rib shots, too, not to mention the dreaded liver shot.
5. The number and length of rounds you spar. I like being a part of a team session where we’re trading off rounds; you can endure for longer and get a lot of learning in. But there’s great value in sparring the same number and length of rounds you do in a fight, too. I almost never get to do this since I’m usually the only woman in the gym, and men’s rounds are 3 minutes rather than 2. But when I’m getting ready for a match I insist on 2 minute rounds so I can get used to the rhythm.
6. What kind of trainer you have. Sometimes one or another coach who is overseeing the sparring is out for blood, and is urging their fighter to rip you to shreds. I hate being in that situation, but I’ve definitely been there. I try to avoid this kind of session and this kind of trainer; I don’t respond well to being screamed at. But you do see it in boxing gyms, that’s for sure.
The truth is that I try to avoid bad sparring matches, although I’ve had a few, and I will go out of my way to set up sessions with partners I know I can trust and get the best work with. I’ll travel to another gym if I can’t get good sparring where I am, and I really try to maintain good relationships with several area gyms so that I can do this.

I also don’t spar all that frequently, since it’s pretty hard on the body. At my last gym we sparred every Friday, and you better believe there were plenty of people who showed up once or twice for a Friday, then dropped out completely or only came on other team nights.

There’s a huge (huge!) difference between training for boxing and actually boxing, and it’s definitely a big hurdle for people. I completely understand why lots of people would not want to spar; I really do. It’s not for everyone.

But I think it could be for more people if gyms would set the right tone, and help make the matches better.

I’d love to hear what everyone else has to say; leave a comment below and let’s mix it up!
January 13, 2012
What You Should Know Before You Spar

I have written about what you can expect the first time you spar, but my friend Amy Scheer — also a boxer — recently asked me what I thought a new boxer should know before getting in the ring for the first time.

She also framed the question this way: Which Comes First, the Learning or the Doing? You should definitely click through and read about her experience. The post below is my response.

There are two schools of thought in boxing.

The first — and the one through which I came into boxing — says that you have to earn the right to get in the boxing ring.

The second says throw ’em in, knock ’em around, wait to see if they are “man” enough to come back for more.

I’m sitting here trying to think of a justification for the hard knocks school, and I can’t. I think it’s bullshit, to be honest. I think it’s usually a way for the guys who are already “in” to keep all the others out. It’s all about who’s king of the hill. A boy’s game, not even a man’s.

But the way I came in isn’t easy either. Anyone who has ever rolled under the ropes knows just how frightening it can be. You don’t know what will happen, how you will hold up; you may not even know who you’ll be in with and whether or not you can trust them. That’s why I say again and again that the single most important thing you can have going for you in boxing is an outstanding, trustworthy trainer.

A good trainer trumps everything else

From the outside, boxing looks like an individual sport, but that isn’t actually the case. Not only do you need a great trainer, you also need a crew of boxers around you to encourage, support, challenge, and work with you. But even if you don’t have a team, you must have that trainer.

My trainer made sure I had several things before I got in the ring for the first time. And since I had such an outstanding trainer and such a great experience coming in to the sport, I’ve naturally copied her in pretty much all of my basic approaches to boxing. (Any mistakes I make, however, are my own!)

A rant, before I move on

I need to get this out there. Putting two inexperienced boxers in the ring for the first time together is minimally useful at best (what can they possibly learn?), and dangerous at worst.

Would you ask someone who doesn’t know how to swim to get in the pool and help your child learn to swim? Of course not. That’s ridiculous.

Sure, they can both splash around in the shallow end and maybe they’ll be fine, but did they learn to swim? Did they gain skills? Have they moved forward?

About the only good thing you can say about that situation is that they both got to get in the water. How much better it would be if they both got to get in the water with someone who can teach them something and also keep them safe?

Okay. I feel a little better. Onward.

Have some basic conditioning

Before I began sparring, my trainer ensured I had a basic level of conditioning. I had come to her gym with what I thought was decent cardio (I’d been running regularly), but I didn’t realize that boxing is more like a series of hard, three-minute sprints rather than a lovely string of 10 minute miles.

She got my cardio up enough to make it through a single round my first time. Ever try to sprint for 3 minutes without stopping? Yep, that’s pretty much what it felt like.

She wanted to instill in me from the beginning a principle of boxing that sounds easy but is actually incredibly difficult: you fight until the bell rings. You don’t quit partway through. You come out working and you finish the round. Period.

Bonnie made sure I could go a round before she put me in for one.

Use your jab

Before I got in the ring for the first time I had a crappy but dogged jab.

I knew from repeated drills that a jab was the foundation for all of the punches in boxing. I didn’t yet know how to advance on the jab, but at least I had something to get out there in front of me so that I could force my opponent to stop an advance.

I know a jab can also be offensive, but most new boxers need some basic defense before they worry about offense; chances are that they’ll be in the ring for their first sparring experience with someone who is — hopefully — much better at boxing than they are. A solid jab will help protect you in this situation.

Keep your gloves up

It was the one piece of advice Amy got before she rolled into the ring for the first time, and it’s good advice. “Cover up,” her trainer said. “Protect yourself.”

This goes with a defensive jab; you need to bring that glove right back to your chin and keep it there, parallel to the other glove. It’s like having two big pillows in front of your face; they will deflect and dilute the power of a punch to your face.

It’s also good to keep your elbows in and your chin down, but that’s more advanced. Still, a tight guard is what you need for protection, because slips, ducks, and other evasive moves won’t come until later.

Never mind about footwork

I’d love to say that a first-time sparring student should have footwork, but it isn’t likely that they will. You might have practiced some footwork, and you should certainly understand the basics of stance, balance, and how to move without crossing your feet, but chances are that once you get in the ring for the first time all that will fly out the door and you will mostly forget about your feet because you just have too many other things screaming for your attention.

The four biggies, and knowing what’s coming

So there are basically four things I think a boxer should have before getting in the ring: a good, trustworthy trainer, some basic conditioning, a jab, and a tight guard (gloves up, chin down, elbows in).

The thing for a new boxer to know is that they are going to hit and be hit.

That is a crazy thing to get your head around for someone brand new to the sport; especially if they’ve never hit anyone in their entire lives up to that point.

Bonnie didn’t actually throw any punches at me the first time I was in the ring. She just let me throw them and feel what it was like to be in, moving hard, working my jab. The second time she threw easy punches, let me feel about half of her power. It was terrifying at first, but once I realized I could take it — and give it! — I was amazed. It was invigorating. I loved it!

Sticking with it

It got harder, of course, and I nearly always dreaded sparring nights, but I went.

Because I knew what every boxer knows after a while: you can work the drills and train for cardio all you want, but the real learning happens in the ring.

Image by Steve Tolcher

September 15, 2011
What to Expect the First Time You Spar in Boxing
Whether you started boxing for fitness or because you want to compete, one of the most scary and exciting things you’ll ever do is step into the ring for your very first sparring session.

Depending on how long you’ve been training, who you’re stepping into the ring with, and how trustworthy your trainer is, your first experience in sparring may be vastly different than someone else’s, but there are several common factors that you are likely to encounter.

First of all, your conditioning sucks.

I have had to say this about myself at many stages of boxing, not just when I started sparring. It seems like every time I take things up a notch (going a lot of rounds in a row for the first time, sparring with a pro boxer, having my first real fight, shifting to a more competitive gym) I quickly find myself panting and heaving, wondering why on earth my conditioning is so bad when I thought it was so good.

But nearly everyone who gets into the ring for their first time sparring finds — very quickly — that they simply aren’t in the kind of anaerobic sprint condition that a short little 3 minute round of boxing calls for. I promise this gets better as you spar more, and as you begin to do more sprints and intervals in your training.

The urge for “flight” is really, really strong.

The whole “fight or flight” system in your body is pretty serious, and when someone is throwing punches at you this will become very apparent in short order. Some of your biggest mistakes, which will be overcome with practice, will be that you tend to look away or shut your eyes when a shot comes straight for your face, you have an overwhelming tendency to flinch, and you may even turn your back on your sparring partner in the ring (that last one is a massive no-no, by the way; your trainer should stop the sparring session to tell you this if she or he sees you doing it).

Your shots will be wild, and you may hurt someone.

Brand new boxers are the absolute worst at controlling themselves in the ring. Typically a trainer will put very experienced boxers in with a newbie, because there’s a pretty good chance that the new person is scared, hasn’t had a chance to learn how to manage the adrenaline pumping through their body, and simply can’t know the difference yet between getting and giving good boxing practice versus surviving in the ring.

All the nice footwork, pretty shots, and well-practiced combinations that you were able to do while working on the heavy bag just fly out the door when you step into the ring, leaving you swinging wildly and without much thought. Learning to think and plan under this kind of pressure takes time. It’ll come.

Ideally, you want to get in the ring for the first time with your trainer, or another very good boxer who can evade your wild shots and help you find some calm in the storm as you learn.

You’ll start thinking seriously about your gear.

You never really need to put a lot of thought into your boxing gear until you start sparring. But this is where it becomes important. With a little preparation, you can avoid some of the newbie problems.

Gloves: Any old gloves from the gym’s common supply will do for a beginner’s work on the heavy bag, but in the ring you should be wearing big, puffy 16oz gloves so that no one gets hurt. That’s what you’ll use in amateur competition, anyway. I used the gym gloves only once or twice before buying my own. I started with cheap gloves and moved up after those wore out about a year later.

Wraps: You’ve probably figured out what works by the time you start sparring, but if you are over the age of 30, you may want extra protection, because your hands ache after boxing. I used to cut up a beer cozy and tape the foam strips across my knuckles under my wraps. Now I just wear gel gloves (like the MMA fighters use) rather than wraps. Wraps and gels can both be washed, too.

Mouth guard: Fortunately, my trainer had been having our team train with mouth guards in for weeks prior to my first time in the ring, which meant I got over my gag reflex and also learned how to breathe comfortably with one in.

Mouth guards are made for men, so unless you’re a guy your first mouth guard may not fit well. If the regular size is too big, try a youth size. I’ve bought and tossed several, and always go back to the Shock Doctor gel guards. I don’t like the double (upper and lower) guards, but I find the regular guard that covers just your top teeth is perfectly adequate.

Get it in advance because it has to be boiled and formed to your teeth before sparring.

Headgear: Common headgear problems have to do with fit: either it obscures your vision or slips around under fire. My first headgear was common gear from the gym’s pit, and it had a metal or plastic bar through the chin pad which gave me a monster bruise the first (and last) time I wore it. I bought a cheap $29 headgear from Dick’s Sporting Goods after that, and it served for a while even though it was very thin definitely not competition grade.

If you can, buy only USA Boxing approved headgear. Be willing to send it back over and over again until you have a perfect fit. It should be tight when you’re cold, because once you start to sweat it has to stay in place.

I’ve found the best kind of headgear has an adjustable lace top, velcro or lace-up back, and NO “Master’s” padding on the cheekbones.

Shoes: I boxed for a year or so before investing in shoes. I bought wrestling shoes since they’re pretty much the same as boxing shoes. The advantage that boxing or wrestling shoes gives you is that they fit tighter and don’t cling to the canvas like running shoes. They help you make tiny, quick footwork moves. You can feel the canvas, pivot easily, and bounce lightly on your toes.

Boxing or wrestling shoes have almost no padding or arch support, no matter what they advertise. They can’t be loaded down with it and still be light and flexible. So don’t wear them all the time, just for working in the ring.

You may be ridiculously self-conscious.

I was terribly nervous about my first time, and really wished I could suck in private, rather than embarrassing myself publicly for all the world to see. I didn’t blog about it, I didn’t allow photos of it, I tried not to let people know exactly when I was going to do it. But the day came and I had to get in and be every bit as terrible a boxer as I expected.

Listen. Everybody starts here. And yes, people are going to watch and see and think what they think. The truth is that everyone who has boxed before will understand, and everyone who hasn’t boxed before will be so glad it’s you and not them, hah.

You’ll come out feeling like a superhero.

If you have the right kind of trainer and gym (and not one of those crappy places where they beat you up in order to feel like they are bad ass and way cooler than you’ll ever be), you will be so grateful to have survived without weeping, puking, or dying! Your brain will be firing all kinds of crazy messages like
- “Did I really just do that??”
- “Damn, I rock!”
- “Wow, my conditioning sucks.”
- “Damn, I rock!”
- “I am so glad I didn’t puke!”
- “I really did do it, didn’t I??”
In fact it was a post by a friend of mine (and regular TGE commentor) Amy, who got me thinking about this again. You definitely need to read her thoughts on her first time sparring.

The next day, say hello to your sparring hangover!

It’s not unusual to be pretty worn out and have a headache the day after you spar. I typically don’t do serious sparring more than once a week because it’s fairly hard on the body, especially if you are working 8 or 10 hard rounds (which you can work up to, but shouldn’t be doing right off the bat). Ibuprofen should take care of most of your head and body aches.

You may have other, more specific pains. The first time I sparred I threw a slew of hard rights that didn’t land, hyper-extending my right elbow pretty painfully. For that I needed a big, flexible icepack, which for me was a bag of frozen peas. I later invested in two good icepacks, so I could use one while the other re-froze.

In my opinion, regular hard training hurts more than sparring.

You rock. You really do rock! Now go do it again.

You’ve done something most people would never dare try. Once you’ve cleared that first monster hurdle, you need to do it again. It was terrifying, but you didn’t let that stop you. Now don’t let the long road to getting good in the boxing ring intimidate you. Most new boxers bail out of sparring sessions now and then, especially after a particularly bad sparring session; the fear factor is pretty high for quite a while, and maybe it never goes away entirely. I’ve been boxing for several years and I still get serious jitters.

Don’t let that stop you. You have accomplished a pretty incredible thing. Keep building on your success!

Superhero image by Gomez-C on Flickr; the rest are (of me on a sparring night) by Ken Hall Photography
July 8, 2011
Taking a Knockout Punch

I haven’t been knocked out yet, but I’ve been rocked hard plenty of times in the boxing ring. The only reason they haven’t been knockouts is because when you get hit hard enough to stumble dizzily around or hang off the ropes with a head full of stars, a sparring session will pause until you can recover. In an actual fight, your opponent would swing again and you would go down, without a doubt.

It’s actually pretty important to experience a knockout-strength punch during sparring because you need to be somewhat familiar with how it feels and what happens to your body. With enough preparation and practice you can actually manage pretty well in an incredibly adverse situation.

Once upon a time I would have been horrified to think about — much less experience — a knockout punch. But this is important information to consider if you are going to pursue boxing with any kind of seriousness.

The trick is to convince yourself, with whatever wits you can scrape up, that you must and will keep fighting. Periodically when Bonnie would rock me hard she would coach me through the resulting fog, reminding me to breathe, keep on my feet, and not show how bad I was really feeling. Jay, who hits hard and holds back little, also works with me on this.

I had one of my hardest ever single rounds of sparring recently.

I had already been in the ring for four intense rounds, but had been out while a couple of others got some work in. We had some fighters visiting from another gym, and they were incredibly good. Fast, strong, ferocious. Very polite and easy to talk to, but massively powerful in the ring.

We’d had several incidents of blood and rounds paused because of knockout punching, and even a minor brawl when one young man let his anger at being bested get control of him.

I had already decided, watching them work, that I wasn’t interested in sparring either of the two power players. I was filled with mixed feelings; wanting to have a chance, but also thinking that perhaps I wouldn’t be able to hold my own. And I’m still a bit new at looking after myself in the ring — getting out mid-round if I need to, or telling someone in very strong language to lay off the heat.

But midway through the session there was an odd pause between rounds, and all eyes fell on me. I looked up to see one of the visitors — Reggie, a peer coach from a gym called Second Round — bouncing in the ring, waiting for another opponent. Our team’s coach tipped his head toward me. “You’re in,” he said.

I groaned and closed my eyes briefly. Then I sucked in a deep breath and pretended to be nonchalant. I slipped my mouthguard back in and climbed up on the ring apron and ducked under the ropes.

We waited on the bell and I did a mental check-over. I was warm, the normal boxing jitters had been dispersed by my first 4 rounds. Well, until 10 seconds ago. But I’d rested a few rounds. My body felt okay, even though I’d had an 8 round sparring session two days before and a 4 mile run the day previous. No serious strain anywhere, I thought. All systems go.

“Let’s do it,” I said, as the bell rang and he surged forward to bang down my glove in the boxer’s salute.

He stayed in my range as we circled, so I accepted the opening and fired off a rapid series of testing jabs. He sent them back with incredible speed, but didn’t dance out. So I slammed in my first combination, putting the bulk of my power behind it: one-one-one-TWO, slip to avoid the returning punch.

A grin bloomed on Reggie’s face. “That’s some shit!” he crowed. “I like that shit! Bring it on.”

I couldn’t supress my own grin, even as I bobbed under his jab and set up a left hook-jab-two combination. All my power was loose and available in my body; I could feel it thrumming in response to the challenge — a race car fully fueled, warm, and accelerating.

Reggie stayed in range.

We began to exchange a furious series of punches; I’m not sure I’ve ever worked so hard and fast. My feet and head seemed willing to move for me so that my brain was free to formulate strategy. His shots were hard, but so were mine. A minute into the round he commented, perhaps with a bit of surprise, “You kinda loading up, aren’t you?”

I was in full-on kickass mode. “Too much for you?” I inquired, slamming him with a double right power shot. He slipped the first, but the second clipped him nicely above the eye.

“That is some shit,” he called happily, and we bent to our work.

The best thing about working with him was not only that he made me fight my absolute best, but also that he didn’t hold back too much on me. He let me have it, but it wasn’t more than I could take. And even better, he didn’t stay constantly out of my range. Sometimes a superior boxer will simply not allow the less experienced fighter to land a punch. It’s exhausting for the newer person, and irritating as well. You want to get work in the ring, not run a race.

With a minute to go he landed the mother of all rights to my unguarded chin. It powered straight through in a split second. I didn’t slip it even a little bit, but took the full brunt of the knockout punch. My head spun to the right and my body followed. I staggered toward the ropes, and muzzily heard him saying over and over, “My bad, my bad.” I felt his two muscular arms wrap around my waist and hold me upright.

I struggled to find my balance, but with him holding me up, my body could coast while I worked to clear my head. Slowly the world quit swinging madly from side to side and the grey mist cleared. I pushed him off me irritably. “I wanna finish,” I slurred. “Just gimme a second.”

He withdrew to a respectful distance and I made myself walk the ropes, straight line, straight line, to my corner. Everything was shockingly silent. I felt like I was wrapped in wool batting, but I also felt pissed, and I was hungry for the rest of my round.

I shook my head gently to clear it, and motioned with my glove for him to engage. He nodded solemnly, put up his guard, and stood his ground. He was going to give me some free shots in payment.

So I launched every bomb in my arsenal, as fast and as hard as I could. He shouted encouragement and sent out a handful of combinations, careful with his power. His shots increased in intensity as my own faded. The thirty second bell rang.

My feet gave up before my arms did, so I shoved him into the corner, pinned his shoulders and laid into his midsection. I began to hear calls from ringside, my teammates getting into the action and eager for the hard and bloody finish. I drove my fist savagely toward his liver and heard him grunt; I felt a surge of satisfaction. He was banging me with short, ineffective punches to the head and shoulders, but I refused to give up the dominant position. He didn’t use his weight to push me off and pivot out of the corner, although I know he could have.

The bell sounded, and I had my victory. I staggered off of him, but he came toward me and threw his arms around me in a fierce hug.

“That was some good shit, I’m telling you!” he shouted.

It was.

Image by JD Hancock on Flickr.

May 8, 2011
New Lessons in Boxing

I’m making my way back from the Christmas holiday slouch — a much-needed break — and I’m doing okay. And the first challenge of the new year was sparring with a group of young men from the UNC boxing team (yep, they have a boxing team! No women, though.), who joined us recently at the gym.

Sparring with the UNC Team

It is admittedly nerve-wracking, having a bunch of big, muscled, fit young college men show up at your ring. You never know how all-out the mix-up will be. The first time I ever experienced this I completely bailed out, the level of testosterone and terror was so high.

And that’s precisely what happened for our younger and newer team members. This time, though, I was determined to stick in there.

The UNC guys came in with almost no entourage and a good attitude, joining in our warm-ups, joking and friendly. And even though there were some politics and a small amount of drama involved, we had some good sparring together.

Sparring with the Second Round Team

So I was feeling much better when a week later, another boxing team showed up at our gym unexpectedly (detail mix-up) for sparring. This team’s rather extensive entourage arrived before they did, and it completely set us all off guard. We eventually learned that this was the team we were expecting to meet the next morning at another location for a three-gym sparring session.

But, given that our two gyms were here on the night before, we did our best, and amazingly (given my discomfort and nerves), I boxed well that night. I worked primarily with my own team mates, but also did three rounds with one of their up-and-coming young female boxers, as well as a very memorable round with their 6-time national champion Olympic hopeful (male).

I was confident and strong, and I went home at 9:30 pm, showered, changed, and went out to for a few drinks and some local rock music with my husband.

The next morning he woke up with a fever. One of our sons had just been sick, and so I braced myself for the inevitable domino effect to run through my family. And I checked myself constantly — was my headache due to boxing, drinking, sleep deprivation, worry, or was I getting sick too? Was my muscle soreness from the hard workout the night before or did I feel feverish? I had promised to be at the 3-gym sparring session, but was I well enough?

I went anyway. I was nearly an hour late, arriving dehydrated, exhausted, and anxious. Bad mix.

Sparring with Second Round and LA Boxing Raleigh

There were a ton of boxers there, mostly experienced and strong, but a few greener boxers as well. It was probably one of the highlights of my boxing career to date that when I was called into the ring, my coach told me to “hold back” and the opposing coach told their fighter to “go all out.” It’s so rare that I get to be the superior boxer! But I felt like crap, though, and even before the bell rang I knew I was in for a whuppin’.

And I took my licks. The two boxers (both women) that they put in with me were certainly greener, but that didn’t mean they weren’t hitting me with every ounce of power they had. I stumbled once, early on. My feet refused to move. My head refused to think. My gloves rode low and I took hit after hit to the head. Once I was so ungainly that I got head-butted — her head to my chin — and I have a whopping bruise and a sore jaw as a result.

Absolutely 100% of the damage I took was my own damn fault.

I was slow, tired, and unprepared. I am easily the better boxer and yet I let the newer boxers take me down. I barely made it through four rounds. I deserved every bit of my pain, and I’m doing my best to call it a lesson well-learned.

Here’s my recap:

Lesson One: Hard sparring two days in a row is advanced.

If you decide to do it, you need solid cardio, good sleep, no drinking, and plenty of hydration. Eating right is essential. Fuel your body in all the right ways in advance. As one of the coaches ringside said to his miserably flagging fighter, “Anybody can box when they’re in shape.” Avoid the misery. Be ready.

Lesson Two: Sparring with another gym takes a greater toll than sparring with your own team.

People are scared and uncertain and some have things to prove. Everyone fights harder; there’s never “light” sparring. It’s often harder than an actual fight, because you’ll have more rounds and more opponents. Be aware that the next few days you will need to pamper yourself and recover. Also you’ll want ibuprofen.

Lesson Three: Always protect yourself.

If someone is throwing heat in their rounds, you need to be able to tell them to cut that shit out before you start your own rounds with them. Don’t mice words, don’t be polite. Be direct and forceful. I only did it once with the UNC boys, and it was entirely effective. He pulled the heat and after we sounded each other out, he gave me good work.

Yes, your coach or trainer is also looking out for you, but frankly, you should be doing this for yourself. Boxing is a dangerous sport, no lie. It’s also very individual-oriented. There’s no team of players in there with you who can protect you if you falter. You can’t call a time-out and ride the bench for a few minutes — you’re in there until the bell rings. Every boxer has to evaluate the danger and operate within risky boundaries. You don’t want to screw around with this, or leave it to someone else.

Lesson Four: You can learn a shit-ton of new things if you are willing to do it.

The young up-and-comer from the unexpected sparring night was incredibly fierce. She constantly came forward on me, bringing me game. She had a high punch output and made me use a little more power than I should have in order to hold her off of me. I want to work with her again in order to practice blocking more of her shots.

The Olympic hopeful dude was a sheer joy — his coach put him in on defense only with me (which I often hate, as it makes me feel like a baby) but he was so good that I could hardly lay a shot on him. His foot speed was great, but he really shone when he stood still and let me throw combos; his ability to evade my shots with fades, slips, leans, and ducks was amazing. Once I tried to pin him in a clinch and he simply wrapped my arms and turned me neatly 180 degrees with a quick spin. Utterly illegal, completely hilarious. I loved it.

And damn, I can hardly wait to get back with those girls from the three-team day of sparring! One of them was incredibly effective at pinning me to the ropes with her wide hooks. She was shorter than me but she was great at using her extra weight to wear me down. The other was quick with her right, and I don’t think I blocked a damn one of her power punches. I want her again, too. Both of those girls would make me use my feet and responses to evade their combos.

Lesson Five: Facing fear needs practice.

It’s incredibly useful to go spar with new people because it lets you experience the adrenaline dump, the fear, and the nerves, which are all a part of an actual fight, and a part of life. Part of me thinks that if I can just go through it enough in boxing, it will quit having so much debilitating power over me. Who knows.

I do know that I have some mental work to do, to build myself back up after sucking so bad on that third sparring event. Mental and physical. But for now I’ll take a couple of days off, ice what’s sore, and take another dose of aspirin. I have new lessons to assimilate before I go hunting for more.

North Burnaby Boxing Gym on Flickr.

January 16, 2011
Boxing Royalty

My trainer is getting ready for her next pro boxing fight.

The fight event, prosaically called “Mama Said Knock You Out,” will be held at the Raleigh Convention Center on May 8th, 2010 and is sponsored by Rapid Fitness and Jawbreaker Promotions. I was stoked when I heard she had secured a spot on the card, had begun training, and had an opponent lined up. I pressed for details when she headed into the tight schedule of training with her coach, the famed Anthony Bradley, three-time USA Olympic Men’s Boxing coach.

“What’s it like?” I demanded to know. “What does he have you do?” One day Bonnie dragged into the gym looking like dog meat. She had two words for me.

“Thirty. Rounds.” she said, with a grim sort of smile.

I was scandalized and thrilled. This is the kind of training that separates the weekend warriors from the Real Deal. “Some time you gotta let me come watch,” I told her, with same kind of rabid interest massive highway wreckage and Nascar flameouts draw from onlookers.

Me and my big mouth.

The next week I got a text message. “Can you spar on Saturday at Rapid Fitness?”

I didn’t remember her official training regimen including Saturdays, so at first I thought this might just be the two of us. But it wasn’t at our regular gym, so I suspected it was something more than usual. My heart began to pound. I sent three letters and three exclamation points via text: “Yes!!!”

I woke up Saturday with my heart pounding. I double-checked my gear bag and found my way to the gym. Bonnie and I started our regular warm-up routines in silence amidst the gym regulars. I held back as much as possible, but my heart rate was still through the roof.

Her coach’s assistant Rick arrived and watched us closely through the ropes as we stretched. Simple introductions were made, we kept warming up. It was oppressively hot. Rick began to coat our gloves and head protectors with a special lubricant that is designed to help minimize abrasions and enable punches to slip off the gear. Be sure to give me a double dose of that, I thought crazily; I could be in trouble here. I was about as relaxed as a sheet of plate glass.

A couple of other trainers and a boxer or two settled into the corners of the tiny room, which was hardly large enough to house the ring, four punching bags and a few metal folding chairs. I tried to pretend they weren’t there while my brain produced nightmarish statements like, “They think you’re an imposter.” My own worst enemy.

Then Coach Bradley walked in. This man is serious boxing royalty, and the fact that he lives and works and coaches boxers — including my trainer — here in North Carolina is pretty cool. Bonnie introduced us and I tried to smile. “Howya feeling?” he asked.

I didn’t even consider faking it. “Very anxious,” I replied, bumping my fist over my heart as if that might convince it to quit hammering so hard. He smiled and said wonderful lovely soothing things (I assume) but my brain was having none of it. I really, really needed to start boxing before my nerves drained every last ounce of energy I had and I shamed myself by falling down on the canvas in a dead faint before the first bell rang.

Bonnie and I worked through four rounds of shadowboxing when yet another boxing great crowded into the tiny room: Paul “The Italian Hit Man” Maranaccio had arrived with a small entourage to begin warming up for his own training session, which would start after ours ended. Bradley is training Maranaccio for the May 8 fight as well.

“Bonnie, look who’s here,” I whispered, hating the way my voice squeaked. She grinned.

“Hey Paul,” she called. “You got a fan in here.” He laughed kindly, bumped my fist through the ring, and I thought about how I was about to utterly humiliate myself in front of witnesses.

But thank God the bell rang and Bonnie and I went to work.

The ring there sucks. The padding has started to buckle in the center, making footwork in the middle of the ring utterly treacherous. Bonnie saw me looking at it, knew it was throwing me off, and mostly kept us working the edges of the ring, which is not the greatest idea in the world. You don’t want to get pinned in the corner or on the ropes by a better boxer.

I found myself panting by the end of the first round. Too many people watching, too much pressure. But Rick was kind, pouring a sip of water into my mouth and gently talking me through the basics. “Don’t go in unless you go in behind a jab,” he said, “and stop chasing her. Dart in and cut her off. Don’t just throw one punch, double them up. Get a combination and get out.”

This is all stuff I know, but there’s something wonderful about hearing it when your brain is in crisis mode and refuses to let you think clearly. He talked until the bell rang and we were at it again.

I found that Bonnie and I were closing regularly for in-fighting, and I began to hear Coach Bradley’s voice now and then. “Uppercut,” he called, communicating with one word the single punch that would get her off me and possibly convince her to stop tying me up and tiring me out with her weight advantage. I tried for a couple, but nothing landed; she was effectively pinning my left glove every time. So I worked for a right hook to end the clinch and was mostly able to avoid her answering hooks by leaping out quickly. I was spending huge amounts of energy to do it, though, and moving backwards rather than to the side. Sometimes the flight reflex is unstoppable.

By the fourth round I was out of gas but not out of pride. I wanted two more, desperately. I’d expected to be able to last at least six rounds (which I’ve easily done before) but anxiety and nerves had taken a heavy toll. Coach Bradley looked at me. “Can you do one more?” he asked. I nodded yes.

“I’ll stay covered up,” I promised him. And I did. There were far fewer punches thrown in that round, and I kicked myself for not keeping my punch count lower early on to reserve my energy. But I wanted so much to box well that I threw everything I had into every round, not allowing for my overtaxed system.

We boxed five rounds. I took one straight right to the face (walked into it, ouch) and felt two pretty solid body shots (this is why I wear a belt). I was thrilled to get a second “mouse,” a minor black eye caused by a pinching of the skin between the eye and my headgear. I know for a fact that Bonnie felt a few of my punches as well, including one particularly satisfactory left hook. I doled out plenty of shots even though I didn’t have the energy to stay the distance.

Best of all, I was in a room full of boxing royalty; everyone in that room understood exactly what I’d just gone through. Paul Maranaccio clapped me on the shoulder with a sincere “Nice work,” and Coach Bradley gave me some pointers on form and was incredibly encouraging. One of the older men who had been watching came over to give me tips on breathing and side-pivots; he was 90 years old and had come up in the old school ways of training. He pointed out something all the other trainers had completely missed: I was breathing out on my shots but not in afterward. Duh. No wonder I had no air.

I finished out with five rounds on the heavy bags, cooled down, watched Maranaccio and his sparring partner shadowbox for a few rounds, then packed up my gear. Despite my nerves, it was one of the coolest experiences I’ve ever had in my life. It was the equivalent of getting to ride with Lance Armstrong, run with Florence Griffith-Joyner, or sit in on a recording session with Madonna. It was unforgettable.

And the best part of the entire experience was being told as I headed out, “See you next Saturday.”

Image credits: aribakker on Flickr (top), and Rapid Fitness

April 16, 2010
Give Heat to Get Heat

After one of my trainers told me to take the week off (except for running a few miles), I came into sparring on Friday night and felt incredibly rested and strong. I did rounds with everyone on the team, but had some especially interesting rounds with Ryan, who is notable partly because he is one of the few sparring partners I have who is close to my weight. (Of course, he’s half my age, but they all are.) I call him Harlem, since that’s where he’s from, with a boxing family legacy to boot. That’s us squaring off in the photo.

We went in easy, testing each other out. I spent a fair amount of the first two rounds flitting in and out of his range, seeing if he was going to let me land shots on him without taking serious collateral damage. Ryan has one of the longest reaches on the team, and I frequently lose on points with him because so many more of his punches land.

This night was different.

We were both playing it safe, landing mostly touches since I wasn’t willing to fight in close with him. I worked my ass off to stay out of range, but it was resulting in low-score rounds, and I knew it would take more energy than I had to dart in and out forever. I was boxing strong and wanted to trade punches; I wanted to see if I could outslug him before I got too tired to move my feet.

I started calling him out. “Bring it,” I told him. “I’m not feeling your jabs. Fire something, man.” He ignored me and we circled.

So I decided to move in. The coach wasn’t going to give us many more rounds like this, and we’d already had quite a few that night. Go ahead and spend what you have, I thought, and go out with guns blazing.

So I brought some heat. Straight down the pipe, gritting my teeth and pivoting out quickly to evade the inevitable reprisal. Another one, and a double. His head snapped back and I once again danced out scott-free. “I can take what you got,” I told him evenly, like it wasn’t costing me anything to chatter.

Harlem never talks to me in the ring. Not with words, anyway. But he’ll bring the heat if you dish it up yourself.

He rocked me one to the face, hard enough to make me grunt. “Hah!” I told him, biting down on my mouthguard and shoving my headgear back into place. “Nice one,” I commented, and unleashed my own fireworks. And we were on.

It was our last round, and we ripped into each other. I kept my guard tighter than Fort Knox because I was taking damage now. I leaned into my rights, punched through. There was no time between exchanges; the punches were flying nonstop. We were sucking for air and splattering sweat onto the canvas. We started to hear the calls and comments of our teammates ringside, who were getting into the spirit of our brawl.

Damn, it feels good to go all out once in a while.

Saturday morning my forearms were bruised all to hell (a sign of a tight guard), and scraped raw from the relentless pounding of leather against flesh. Next time I may coat them with Vaseline so that some of those monsters will slip better.

I smile every time I press my fingers against the bruises. Sometimes you just gotta do it.

Image by Ken Hall Photography (Thanks again, Ken!)

April 5, 2010
Three-Way Death Match in the Ring

We were training hard and had each had several rounds of sparring already. I had just finished a round in the ring and was tired, slow, and at the end of my strength when the coach called someone else’s name and I rolled under the ropes and out of the ring with a sigh of relief.

“Wait,” the trainer called in my direction, as he ducked into the ring. I turned and peered up at him. “Where you going?” he asked, grinning broadly.

“Toward the shower quickly?” I asked hopefully, sweat dripping off my headgear onto the canvas.

“I didn’t send you out,” he continued, “Get in here.” The two guys in the ring with him looked at each other and stared at me.

One of them began to smile; he was the freshest of all of us. “Three-way death match!” he hollered, and I laughed.

“The three of us against you, Coach?” I inquired politely, like a lady at tea. One lump or three?

“You better hope not,” he said, shaking his head, “You people would get hurt. Just get in here and stick close.” He held down the ropes and I rolled back in, riding on fumes and now, a spurt of interest.

Our trainer Nas promptly turned toward the other two guys and set them to work sparring each other. But this time he was in the ring, right in their space, calling combinations, barking commands, and critiquing form as they went. We both worked to stay out of the way, but I found my excitement rising. You don’t often stand right in the ring with a trainer and two men boxing; it’s rather like watching a basketball game from the center of the paint during a furious scramble for the shot.

He pushed them on while I watched and paced them, trying to match footwork and throwing a few shadow combinations as Nas called them. The bell rang to mark the end of the round but no one received permission to stop. The boys circled, blocked, and threw punches on command. Nas kept a constant stream of instruction running, adding a periodic shove to tilt someone back into form, or a nudge to remind someone to keep their elbow in tight to the ribcage.

Mid-round he pulled one of the guys back and pressed me forward and I was suddenly at the center of our tight, quickly moving knot. “One, one, left hook,” he called, “Two, three, two.” And I threw them, doing my best to fire my shots as soon as the words left his mouth.

My opponent was tired, but still moving lightly on his feet. I quit registering the sound of the ring bells; I only heard our trainer’s voice as he put us through our paces. Everything became a blur of shots thrown and feet shuffling across the canvas. I circled out to let someone else work, then circled back in. Exhaustion became the baseline; we boxed anyway.

I began to sense Nas’s irritation with my performance; only about half my punches were landing. Then less than half. My young partner of the moment was doing incredibly well at blocking everything I threw.

“Snap ’em off,” Nas called to me. “You’re gonna have to throw them faster.”

No, I thought irritably, You’re gonna have to send your requests in by telegraph, Joker; my partner here can translate your offensive calls into his defensive movements. Dammit, I added mentally, grinding my teeth against my mouthguard and throwing the hook to the head, hook to the body, both blocked.

For some boxers it takes years to be able to translate an opponent’s offense into your own defense faster than the speed of a punch. With deep fatigue and — I hate to admit it — age, it grows even more difficult. My two death-match partners were 21 and 26 years old. Once in a while I envy them their youth, speed, and power.

But most times I don’t care. I don’t care than my punches that night were blocked, slipped, evaded. I don’t care that the next day I had a bruise or three over my ribs because I failed to keep my elbows in tight. When you’re past the end of your strength and you’re still in the ring swinging, punching, and sweating, there’s a deep satisfaction that can’t be found any other way.

Oh, and regarding the next three-way death match at the end of a long boxing training session? Count me in.

Image by Stefan on Flickr

February 16, 2010