The Glowing Edge

Category: Training

  • The Most Critical Boxing Rule Every Fighter Should Follow

    The Most Critical Boxing Rule Every Fighter Should Follow

    If you ask any ten boxers what the most important rule in boxing is you’ll hear things like “wear the right protective gear,”  “find a coach you can trust,” or “learn the straight punches.” And all of those are important in learning to box.

    But as I work each week with the new fighters at my gym, I see one major factor dividing the up-and-coming boxers from the ones who will never make it far in boxing…

    These things are important

    In no way am I trying to diminish the critical nature of the boxing advice you hear online, from other coaches, or even here on The Glowing Edge. Boxing is an enormous, complex sport, and there’s just no way to accomplish much in it without years of solid training and practice. Here’s a list of some great boxing tips, and you’ll get plenty of oil to grease your boxing engine if you follow them:

    But THIS is the dividing line…

    So day after day I’m in the boxing gym, training, coaching, and watching other boxers. And there is one factor that tells me whether or not someone is willing to do the real work of boxing. One single thing.

    And that’s training to the bell.

    I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen guys belly up to the heavy bag, fire off a handful of full-power combos, and then sit back in sheer self-appreciation and deep personal satisfaction.

    Of course it feels great to blast the bag a few times. And there are plenty of days when you want to use every ounce of strength you have, play it all out to see what it feels like.

    But being able to throw 15 hard punches means absolutely zero, zip, nada in boxing.

    Strutting around the gym dabbling here and there is worse than useless — you’re actually in the way of serious boxers and you’re a distraction and bad example to other beginners. It would be better for everyone if you’d just go home and nurse your boxing fantasy in front of your mirror while the rest of us get the real work of boxing done.

    (I so wanted to find a picture of a guy posing in front of his mirror at home, enjoying his boxing superstar fantasy. Go find one and post the link in the comments so we can have a good chortle.)

    If you want to box, train to the bell

    If you can’t go a single full round (2 or 3 minutes) of doing something — punching, footwork, jump rope, shadowboxing, padwork, running, agility dots, slipping, rope work, ring slides, planks, or some other fight-related action — you have not even begun to work at boxing.

    There should be a round timer going in your gym most of the time. If there isn’t, get yourself a timer, or learn to set your watch/phone/music player to time your rounds. Do every single training exercise in rounds of 2 or 3 minutes, with 30 second recoveries. If your round timer has a 30-second bell (which rings to indicate there are 30 seconds left in the round before it ends), use that time to double your efforts and power your way toward the bell.

    If you take a round off, be back at the bags, on the mat, or in the ring and ready to roll when the bell rings. That bell going off should not be your reminder to put down your water bottle and saunter over to the speed bag to resume your work; you should already be there ready and waiting to get the first shot in.

    If you’re running or jumping rope and planning to go multiple rounds, keep going during the 30-second recovery period, but slow down to an easy coast. Then rev back up when the timer sounds the new round.

    If you can’t do a single serious round out of the ring, you have no business getting in the ring.

    If I have any single rule at the very top of the pile, it’s this one. Drill in rounds, practice in rounds, sprint in rounds. Do all your training in rounds, and your transition into the ring will be much faster and better.

    Yes? No? Maybe? Fire away.

    Your turn. What’s your top rule for boxing training? Leave me a comment below!

    Photo Credit: kizette via Compfight cc

  • 4 Ways to Improve Your Boxing Starting Today

    4 Ways to Improve Your Boxing Starting Today

    Sometimes you get in a rut at the gym. You work your way through the same tired-ass routine and come out feeling like you’re not making any major moves forward in your game. Sometimes it just takes a simple suggestion or a new idea to get you moving again. Check out the four tactics below for a refreshing change from the same ol’, same ol’. (Skip straight to number four if you love pain.)

    1. Four Punch Combos

    My sparring partner (and pro fighter) Yvonne gets credit for this one. Most new boxers throw one punch at a time. Even experienced boxers can easily default to single- and double-punch patterns. It’s so common, it’s a cliché: Give it the old “one-two.” The jab-and-a-right (if you’re an orthodox fighter) is as common and predictible as shave-and-a-haircut (two bits).

    To be sure, you can win a fight with ones and twos. But what if you trained yourself to throw three or four punches at a time, rather than one or two? Not only would you significantly increase your potential score, you also throw your opponent off her game, and interrupt the two-punch tradeoff rhythm. Now you’re in control, racking up the score, and forcing your opponent to move and defend.

    Train in four-punch combos. Do it for an entire round. Hell, do it for FOUR rounds. (Can you tell I’m getting off on this whole “four” thing?)

    Don’t make all your shots right-left-right-left; that can be the fastest way to get your shots off, but it can also get predictable in the ring. Mix it up, badass. Toss in a slip, or throw two in a row from the same side now and then.

    I like the guy in the video below, although some of his “crosses” look like straight rights to me… Still, he’s got some shit, right? I would be motivated to stay outta his way.

    2. Four Punch Combo Slip Drills

    It’s easy to work four punch combos into a drill. Ditch your gloves so that you both remember to work for speed rather than strength. Now shadow box with a partner and trade off four-shot combos. She throws four (and moves her feet), then you throw four. Don’t work for touches, work to ingrain the habit of throwing four in a row. Then practice it in sparring later.

    3. Video Yourself

    I hate this one; there’s nothing worse than seeing yourself suck on the replay. But, it also helps you improve. If you’re neurotic like me, try not to pick everything apart. Just get your four shots while moving down.

    Btw, Coach’s Eye is a great app for capturing boxing video, because it lets you slow down the motion and markup the replay.

    4. Four Punch Tabita-Style Sprints

    Wanna kick your own motherfuckin’ ass? Dude, dial summa this up. When my coach is feeling pissy, he has us do these for an entire round. You know, like at the end of a workout. Uh-huh.

    Photo Credit: kate.gardiner via Compfight cc

  • How Many Rounds Does it Take to Shake Off Ring Rust?

    How Many Rounds Does it Take to Shake Off Ring Rust?

    I lost my most consistent sparring partner to 6 months of overseas travel this year, and while I got rounds here and there when I could, there’s nothing like sparring two days a week, every week, to keep you in boxing shape. NO amount of conditioning (running, weights, etc.) can make up for straight-up ring time.

    So I was looking pretty sorry when she finally got back to the States, and was thankful (in a sick and twisted way) that Yvonne had not been sparring every week while she was gone, keeping in ring shape while I wasted away.

    A tiny bit of good news, if you’ve been out of the ring…

    Minor segue: I’m pretty sure boxing is at least a little bit like riding a bike. If you’ve been doing it a while, then you are out for a few years, it’s not nearly as difficult getting back in the ring as it would be if you were stepping into the sport for the very first time. Some stuff sticks with you. This is pure speculation on my part, but it’s 100% true, hah.

    Anyway, when Yvonne and I got back to the gym together after half a year, we were eager to test out our sparring.

    How sparring looks, after several months out

    One word: ragged.

    Okay, more words: rusty, sloppy, wild, uncontrolled, messy.

    Since I have weight on Yvonne, it’s particularly important for me to control my punches during our sessions, although having been a pro fighter for more than a decade, she can certainly take a punch. But if I’m doing good work, she shouldn’t have to feel all of it.

    Sigh. It was ugly. I couldn’t control my shots, wasn’t relaxed, and felt cardboard-y and frustrated. Intensely happy to be back to regular sparring, but annoyed at how ugly my work was.

    We slogged through the rounds anyway, knowing that the only way through the slop was… through the slop.

    Set your round goal and start low

    My goal was to get five rounds of good sparring every time I got in the ring, no matter what. So on our first day back the two of us set the round timer to 2-minute rounds with 30-second rests.

    We wheezed and groaned our way through and were damned happy to quit. Who knew two minutes could be so excruciatingly long?

    Well, we did. And we had suspected as much.

    Other things that help

    Other than having an experienced, trustworthy sparring partner, there’s not a damn thing that truly helps, that first time back sparring. Maybe not the first two times. But I found that one thing that did start helping was moving back to some basics.

    After getting in the first time, I decided I needed to work in three places:

    • Keeping my feet moving
    • Punching in combinations (rather than one or two shots at a time)
    • Slipping

    Sounds basic, no?

    Keeping your feet moving has to do with conditioning, and this kind only comes with training with sprints, agility dots and ladder drills, and, well…sparring. So I started doing some dot exercises when I could, and adding intervals on the bike during non-boxing days.

    For me, punching in combos comes back in when I practice in slow motion. Which NO ONE wants to do in the gym, because you feel like an utter ass when you’re doing it. But I tried to slow down during shadowboxing and think/move my way through combos, rather than delivering one or two punches at a time.

    This actually helps with slipping, too, because if you throw a one (jab), followed by a power two, you’re in position and weighted to throw a hook. You’re already shifted to the side. Voila, slip.

    In fact many of your shots go from one side of your body to the other in a rocking rhythm, and the boxing becomes  a kind of (in my case, sort of ungainly) dancing.

    The problem for me with slipping is simply that Yvonne’s shots are very (very) fast. She punches faster than I can see or anticipate. BUT, when you have this situation, you slip anyway, and sometimes you deflect the blow slightly, which is still a positive outcome.

    The magic moment

    After our first time sparring, we moved back to three-minute rounds (holy shit that was grueling). We sweated and struggled our way through a total of 20 solid (and by “solid” I mean we worked our asses off) rounds.

    And on our fifth time back — round 21 was suddenly golden. We floated through our five that day like dandelion seeds on the wind. Violent and mean-ass dandelion seeds, dammit!

    We both marveled at the difference. For me, it was primarily about feeling relaxed. I was relaxed, loose, and comfortable in the ring. It was awesome.

    20 rounds, Jack. It took us 20 to get back.

    That’s just four sparring days, y’all. That is do-able. So next time you’re feeling all “there’s no way I can get back in the ring,” remember that it may only take you about 20 rounds to get to golden.

    Warning

    After our golden-rounds-with-badass-mermaids-singing session, we were sparring for the first time with our team again, in front of our coach.

    It was a mix of clunky and golden. I was more tense, trying harder to please, and working more rounds, too. So it wasn’t all roses, but I was intensely thankful that Coach Massey hadn’t seen me for the first 20 rounds.

    Now you

    Everybody has seasons out of their sport. Leave me a comment below and tell me how long it took you to shake off the rust and get back in the golden groove. What tricks did you use? Were there any shortcuts? Did you have any “ah-ha” or “oh-fuck-no” moments? Spill.

    Photo Credit: Marco Crupi Visual Artist via Compfight cc

  • How to Get Back Into Training

    How to Get Back Into Training

    We played flu dominoes at my house. First my youngest son, then the middle son, now me. I wrote down a bunch of my whines about it here, then deleted them because they were so onerous. Having the flu sucks.

    And type A that I am, I’ve spend a fair amount of my laying-miserably-on-the-couch time thinking about how hard it’s going to be to get back in the gym, how intensely difficult it is in general to come back after a period of inactivity.

    How fast do you get out of shape?

    I’ve read and heard lots of conflicting opinions on this. Some say that you have to be out for two months before you lose your conditioning. My guess is that they mean ALL your conditioning, because I feel a significant reduction of fitness in two weeks (or less).

    Maybe I’m wrong, but getting in shape feels like climbing a mountain, and if you’re only halfway up, you’ll get back down to the bottom faster than if you’re standing on the summit. Just my non-scientific view.

    And I always thought everyone slides down the mountain at about the same rate, but this old article in the Chicago Tribune says veteran exercisers lose their fitness level at a slower rate. (See, I tried to do at least a little research.) Thank the good baby Elvis something’s working in my favor here.

    First the lungs…

    Fewer mitochondria means less oxygen to your muscles, and the longer you’re out of the game, the faster your mitochondria count plummets. How to build more mitochondria? Err, aerobic exercise. Dammit.

    Then the muscle…

    I barely have the power to shove my 6 pound dog Rocky out of my way so I can shift positions on the couch. Ugh. And according to this guy, you not only start losing muscle fibers when you’re out of your workouts, but your slow- and fast-twitch muscle fibers freaking convert to “couch potato” muscle types. I’m screwed.

    So what’s the plan, Stan?

    Life is no fun without spreadsheets. So I have one, even if it only exists in my mind. I’m planning my return to boxing, you better believe it. How do people NOT box? Life is no fun with out boxing. Spreadsheets and boxing. And little dogs. But I digress…

    Truly, I do have a plan. It’s a four-point plan, which is easy enough for my fatigued brain to hang on to. Here ’tis. (more…)

  • What I Learned from Hot Yoga (Since I Didn’t Die)

    What I Learned from Hot Yoga (Since I Didn’t Die)

    Let me just say how gratified I am that several people congratulated me on staying in the hot yoga room the entire 90 minutes without passing out or puking. It made me feel sincerely understood.

    Damn, that hot yoga business is hardcore.

    And I’m a boxer, telling you that. Yes, I want to go back and try again, you know, since I survived, but I will definitely do things differently next time. Here’s what I learned.

    1. Drink a metric ton of water in advance.

    I screwed this one up. Well, I screwed up a lot, but this one was my most wretched and dismal failure.

    I had heard all the “you have to stay in there the whole 90 minutes; you can’t leave the room” warnings, and I very sensibly decided — just like I did before I sat through all 2 hours and 46 minutes, not counting previews, of The Hobbit — Hey, I won’t drink any water before it starts or I’ll have to pee, thus leaving the hot yoga room and being labeled an idiot and an annoyance (for the rest of my life).

    What works for The Hobbit most emphatically does not work for hot yoga.

    Here’s why. You pee through your skin during hot yoga. Buckets. Right there in front of everybody. Of course, they’re all peeing through their skin, too, so it’s all good, but my point remains. Drink PLENTY of water in advance, and don’t go in already dried out, and you’ll improve your chances of getting through the class without hurling.

    (Btw, I lost 3 pounds of water weight in that 90 minutes.)

    2. Take some plain water with you into class.

    I was utterly dried out when I went in, but boy howdy I had my liter sized bottle of Ultima water mixed up and ready. Electrolytes! I thought.

    What I didn’t count on was how feeling so nauseated would make me loathe to swallow even a mouthful of flavored water. This compounded my dehydration issue.

    3. Boxers are puny weaklings.

    So yes, I can punch you in the face and you will hurt. I can actually take some shots, too. But I can’t stand on one leg, cup the heel of my other foot in both hands, then extend that foot straight out in front of me. No indeedy I can’t.

    I can get my Warrior pose on (and it’s side-angle relatives), thank God, and I did one curl-up-and-die pose called The Rabbit and the instructor said “Like you’ve been doing it all your life.” I wasn’t sure whether to be proud or humiliated.

    But you can forget the Balancing Stick pose, the Bow pose, this lay-back-y thing, and many, many of the others that EVERYONE in the room except me did. Those people are insanely flexible, strong, and balanced.

    I spent most of my time sitting on my towel, wringing wet, dizzy, and nauseated. At least I didn’t whine. I waited until I could blog my whines. I bet none of those guys can blog like me. Pansy-asses.

    4. Set up your insulin levels in advance.

    I’m not a diabetic, but I control my weight very closely and eat a clean diet with few processed foods or fast sugars. If I want to, I can go all morning without starting my body’s natural insulin drip with zero problems. Nothing happens (although eventually I start to feel hungry) if I don’t start the “machine.”

    Since my hot yoga class was at 9 am, and I was going to be there by 8:30 am (leaving by 8 am), I figured I would wait until I got home to eat my first small meal. I didn’t want to risk eating before going and feeling ill in the heat.

    Colossal mistake!

    Low blood pressure (from not being hydrated) and low blood sugar made a terrible combination. Next time I’ll go ahead and have oatmeal and apples, or something similar, about an hour in advance. Nothing that seems even a little bit greasy (like eggs).

    Next time.

    5. You can do more than you think you can.

    One thing the instructor (who was marvelous, by the way) did was constantly talk to us about taking our efforts just a touch farther. “One more centimeter,” she kept asking, and by Elvis I wanted to do it for her. I tried.

    And even though I didn’t manage it during my yoga class her voice stayed with me during my regular workout the next day. “Can I do a little more, go a little further? One more centimeter?” I asked myself, over and over again. And I found I could.

    You have reserves you don’t even know about, reserves you haven’t tapped. You just need someone to call it forth. And that someone can be you!

    In the end…

    Yes, I want to go again. I really liked the Open Door Yoga Studio and the instructor, and they have a unique “pay what you can” model that feels incredibly life-giving.

    But before I go again, I want to improve my flexibility so that I have a fighting chance of accomplishing some of the poses. I’m thinking a beginner’s class, 60 minutes, room temperature. Or just practice the poses I can remember on my own some.

    So if you Skype and I don’t answer, I’m probably Threading the Needle or something.

  • How to Train FASTER

    How to Train FASTER

    I’m officially about 8 weeks out from my next fight, which is just the right amount of time I need to set up my training goals. About a year ago I started categorizing the main areas of my boxing training, and since then I’ve refined my system enough to find it pretty useful as I plan my workouts.

    (It would be fair to say I’m a bit compulsive about organization. Obsessed, even. But people hire me for it, so I’m allowed. Note to you: try to get paid for the stuff that makes you weird.)

    The acronym I use to lay out my goals is FASTER, although if you want to be picky about it — which I generally enjoy doing — you could also say FASSTER, because it stands for Form, Anaerobic Conditioning, Strength, Speed, Timing, Eating Clean, and Resting.

    But first, a note about training hours…

    How many hours of training each week?

    Remember those awesome gold star stickers from first grade? I’ll still do damn near anything for those suckers.

    So when I’m in my normal routine, I use a “medal” system for every week of training. This means I give myself a mental bronze medal for every week in which I train three times, a silver for four good training sessions, and a gold for getting in five training sessions for that week.

    I used to train two hours or more at a time, but now that I’m more efficient, I train about an hour to an hour and a half each time. If I’m focused and not jacking around, I’m finished inside of an hour.

    I know plenty of people who put in far more training hours, but I just don’t have that luxury. And anyway, I would die of boredom spending long, slow hours on a trail or treadmill; besides, that sort of training doesn’t produce the kind of conditioning you need for boxing (see Anaerobic, below).

    I average about 4 hours of training in a normal week, but when prepping for a fight, I try to stay consistently in a 5 workout-per-week mode.

    Form

    Ideally, you get your form cleaned up by shooting video of yourself sparring or working the heavy bag. That way you can watch yourself and correct the sloppy stuff. You can also watch yourself in a mirror. Either way, make sure you always have a form goal you’re working on.

    Here are a few examples of good form goals:

      • Keep your guard high and tight
      • Launch your jabs from your chin (don’t cock it or your opponent sees it coming)
      • Launch your hooks from the inside (or they won’t land)
      • Keep your knees soft (slightly bent)
      • Stay balanced on the balls of your feet
      • Keep your head moving
      • Turn your punches over
      • Fully extend your jab
      • Put your hip and rear leg into your straight right (or power hand)
      • Don’t square up; keep your lead shoulder toward your opponent
      • Keep your chin down

    Anaerobic conditioning

    Anaerobic (coined in 1863 by Louis Pasteur, from the Greek: an – “without” + aer “air” + bios “life”) is very different from aerobic conditioning. Anaerobic conditioning means you’re teaching your body to function at high levels for very short periods of time with a shortage of oxygen to your system.

    The win here is in interval training. Nobody cares if you can run five miles because what you need to be able to do in boxing is sprint hard for two (women’s rounds) or three (men’s rounds) minutes, recover in one minute, sprint another round, recover, and sprint again.

    You can do interval training on pretty much everything. Weights, jump rope, treadmill, stair runs, box jumps, tire flipping, elliptical, rowing, sprints, you name it.

    Boxing Interval Training: Do as much of your training as you possibly can in rounds or two or three minutes each, with 30 second recoveries between. Work crazy hard during the round, and keep moving during the recovery. Don’t slouch over or put your hands on your knees during your rest period. Stand tall and get plenty of oxygen back in to your system.

    Tabata Interval Training: I generally keep my intervals to boxing round times, but that’s not the only way to do it. Tabata interval-style training was founded by a Japanese scientist named Izumi Tabata, and someday soon I’ll write a post on Tabata training, but the basic gist is this: After your warm up, you do 8 intervals of 20 seconds all-out intensity exercise followed by 10 seconds of rest. Sound short and easy? Check out these killer Tabata-interval burpees. (Note he slouches to breathe at 2:30; Tabata will do that to you.)

    Strength

    For fight sports, speed and strength go hand in hand. When I do strength training I typically use light weights and high reps because I’m working for quickness and explosive power as well. Although I also slow it down and work heavier weights now and then because it’s so good for your bone density.

    I’m not a huge exercise gadget person, but I do make use of dumbells, freeweights, tractor tires, sledgehammer, and medicine balls, and if I were in a fancy gym I’d be using slam ball, kettlebells, heavy rope, balance rings, and harness pulls as well.

    Speed

    You can build your speed by focusing on agility, explosion, and sprinting exercises. I have an agility ladder, but I’m just as likely to work along a sidewalk line or parking lot stripe. I also use dot drills, box (or wall or bench) jumps, and my general interval training to train for quickness.

    You’ll definitely want to build up a set of reaction drills to use in building speed, too, and for some of those you need a partner. Practice letting your partner throw jabs at your head while you slip and duck. (good for Timing too, see below). Tie up a slip rope and work your way down it, moving quickly and lightly as you duck under and bob up on the other side.

    Timing

    If there’s an area in which I shortchange myself, it’s in timing. I do regular rounds on the speed bag (which really should be called a timing bag, because that’s what it trains), and once in a while I get on the double-end bag, but most of your practice in timing will come by way of regular sparring.

    There’s just no substitute for learning to get out of the way than by having someone come after you with a blazing fast combo. And when you are getting regular sparring in, you’re also building timing by looking for the open shot and trying to land it consistently.

    Eating Clean

    My dietary outline comes mainly from the Dr. Sears Zone Diet, but I also incorporate Paleo once in a while. Above all, I work pretty hard to avoid the Forbidden Five foods (white bread, white rice, white pasta, white potatoes, and high fructose corn syrup). If you’re subscribed to my emails I love to send out recipes (as well as workout plans, training stories, playlists, random shenanigans, and free books once in a while; sign up here if you haven’t already).

    And yeah, I cheat. You should too. Make your goals for eating sustainable, not ridiculously lofty. My goal in this area is usually to eat 80% clean every week. Which leaves room for spinach, mushroom, sausage, and onion pizza once in a while. (With extra garlic, yeah baby.)

    Rest and Recovery

    You’ve probably already heard the newsflash that you don’t build muscle while you’re training; you build muscle as you’re recovering. I have never been a train-every-day person anyway, but since I’m in my forties I’m particularly aware of a) being efficient with my time and training, and b) not getting injured by overtraining or making stupid mistakes.

    Your turn…

    What’s missing? What do you include that isn’t listed here? Leave me a comment below and share your ideas, additions, and training secrets.
    CC image by Andrius Petrucenia 
  • The Geography of Boxing Guts

    The Geography of Boxing Guts

    There is a visually simple way to understand where you are — and change your position — on the fear scale in boxing.

    Sparring can be scary, of that there’s no doubt. And there’s always dread to overcome when making the decision to roll under those ropes. But there’s actually a very physical way to shift yourself forward and make it into the ring.

    The first thing you need to understand is the difference between a regular sparring night and a hard sparring night, because if you are going to see the absolute truth about where you stand and make real progress in shifting yourself forward in boxing, you need a hard sparring night.

    On a hard sparring night, things get very clear, very quickly.

    A single look at the gym will tell you everything, and you can make your decision about whether you decide to fold and watch or play and win.

    And you absolutely will win if you play.

    Because just being willing to get in the ring during a session like that will move you forward, no matter how you actually perform during your sparring.

    But there’s more to it than that. Let me see if I can explain…

    The typical sparring order and match-ups

    In most of the gyms where I’ve trained the littlest boxers typically go first in sparring. Maybe it’s because they’re small or young, and their parents will be waiting to get them home, fed, and off to sleep.

    After the younger ones have their ring time, the rest of the team begins to work, not necessarily by rank, but simply based on what the coach wants to achieve with each boxer. I might get paired with someone who is a fast puncher because the coach wants me to practice my defense, for example. Or a heavyweight will get put in with a visiting heavyweight because the home boxer rarely gets a chance to really unleash as well as experience the power and pain that another person of the same weight brings to the ring.

    If a boxer is behaving poorly, refusing to take instruction, and allowing their emotions and issues to cause them to brawl rather than box, the coach might put them in with someone who is technically better and who can pound a physical lesson into them. Incidentally, that lesson is called “get yourself under control, boy” and it’s still hard for me to understand, but my husband says it’s a guy thing. It looks like a street fight, and it’s often bloody, but it seems to be a part of the way boxing works.

    And as I mentioned earlier, there are also different kinds of sparring nights. Some are more easygoing and filled with stops and starts, and some are all-out war.

    War nights are good to have on occasion, because a real boxing fight is not about patty cake. It isn’t you and your buddies, messing around. It’s serious hard work, and it can be  brutal.

    Every gym has war nights. My gym had one recently, too.

    What happens on a war night

    There were maybe 15 to 18 boxers training in the gym when the coach sent everyone to gear up and went and took his place ringside on a painted wooden stool.

    The young kids did not go first.

    Instead, Coach put in two of the top boxers in the gym, instructed everyone to ignore the bell, and calmly uttered the one word that causes every fighter’s engine to roar to life, “Box.”

    Those are the first two clues to a hard sparring night. Different order of business, no bell boundaries. Your gym might keep to the bell, but no bell means you’re about to work quickly all the way to failure (and then you’ll work some more).

    The top boxer stayed in the ring as multiple fighters rotated in and out. I’ve been in that “stay in” position in other gyms (with less skilled people than Second Round) and it’s something everyone should experience once in while.

    When the coach puts you in and makes you box to the end of your ability with a string of fresh fighters, you not only feel great to be in that position, you learn a lot about your strengths and your limits. You find out what areas of training you’ve been neglecting. You discover how long you can last. You learn how to defend once you’re played out.

    The top boxers at my gym went in, one after another. The shots were not training level. No one pulled punches. No one messed around. Everyone threw full power, all out.

    About 5 minutes in, someone went over to the boom box and turned the volume way down until all we could hear was the relentless slam of leather against flesh, the bright pop of a glove against headgear, and the dull thud of a perfectly executed body shot.

    The church of boxing had been called to order, and the supplicants focused all their attention on the ferocious litany in the ring.

    This is the time when you can see, visually, exactly where you are on the fear scale.

    Where boxers stand

    On a hard sparring night like this, the unspoken code is: watch or leave.

    Every heavy bag hung undisturbed. The constant chatter of speed bag was silenced. There was no intermittent clang of weights being racked. No one skipped rope, or shadowboxed, or chatted aimiably on the ragged, garage-sale couches at the back of the gym.

    And if you find yourself in a holy moment like this, look around to see where everyone stands. Physically.

    Most of the fighters were ringside, leaning up against the ring apron, watching the action through the lower two ropes.

    One man stood, jump rope in hand, about 6 feet back. Periodically he would wander over to the heavy bags. I was fairly certain he would not get in. (He didn’t.)

    A thin young teenager stood nervously next to the freestanding pull up machine. I thought he might not get in, either. (He didn’t.)

    Anyone further back than that is most likely doing their best to avoid the battleground and stay out of the fight.

    Which is perfectly acceptable.

    But the phrase “know where you stand” is particularly useful here. If you want to shift your fear, you need to walk forward. If you want to tell your body that regardless of what your brain says, you intend to spar, you need to stand where you are actually touching — connected to — the ring.

    And here’s another piece of that same puzzle…

    Are you ready?

    Last night I suddenly realized, during this moment, that although I was leaning against the ring apron, peering intently through the bottom two ropes at the action, I had not geared up.

    In fact, neither had the guy with the jump rope in hand, by the heavy bags.

    It’s true, I was late coming in, and was only warming up as everyone else was getting ready to spar, but now that the game was on, what did my relative unpreparedness say about my willingness to get in the ring?

    It was clearly a war night. I’ve been here before; in fact, the first time I experienced it I bailed. I needed to take stock and make a decision about how much I would allow my fear to rule me.

    I turned and walked to the back of the gym, quietly gathered my gear, and returned to the side of the ring and began to gear up.

    The unspoken request

    If you expect to be put in the ring on a night like this, you have to mentally request it. Your posture, your attitude, your engagement level all have to tell your coach that you are willing to get in if he calls your name. He’s not going to call everyone, because the stakes are higher, and there needs to be room for people to keep themselves out of the fight even if they stay in the gym.

    This is about eye contact. About listening intently to whatever comments and instruction the coach is giving the fighters. It’s about leaning in, both mentally and physically, no matter how much the edge of the ring feels like the edge of a blade.

    The test of fire

    The coach at Second Round is phenomenal.

    A former pro boxer himself, Coach Massey completely understands the dynamics of fear, and the geography of boxing guts. He works with, rather than against his boxers. He rarely raises his voice, but instead trains us to hear his voice anywhere in the gym (no matter the din) and respond to his instruction. He will take me farther than I would go on my own, and I can count on him to judge accurately when to push and when to leave be.

    Last night there were many other issues to be worked out among our top fighters before I could get a chance to box, but I was ringside, I was geared, and I was mentally asking to fight, despite my fear. I knew he would call my name, and finally I heard him say, without even looking in my direction, “Lisa. On deck.”

    I swallowed hard, levered myself up onto the ring, and waited outside the ropes for his signal.

    As it happened, I was in pretty good shape for my challenge. I’m keeping up with my workouts and doing my sprints. Earlier in the week I had gone 6 rounds or so with no bell, working on inside fighting only. Trey, a beautiful, powerful light heavyweight had given me plenty of hard work, forcing me to stay knee to knee, leaning into me and making me bump him off with my shoulder and dig in with right and left uppercuts before finishing with a left hook to his head. Over and over. Slowly I shed my fear of his powerful shots to my body, and quit hopping backwards to my more comfortable outside fighting position.

    On war night my gas was good, I wasn’t already tired out, and I felt mentally as solid as you can in these situations.

    My first opponent was a fierce young man named Shaq. He’s fast, but he’s smaller than I am, so I knew I could take his power. I intended to give him a taste of my hard right, and I was primed to stick with the inside game if he forced the issue. I planned to employ every illegal tactic I could (our coach is pretty lenient on this issue) to tip the scales in my favor. I’d already seen some damn messy (and bloody) brawling, and I’d heard the coach tell us  that just because a shot was ugly didn’t mean it wasn’t effective. I was ready.

    No bell, just the word from the coach. I rolled in with guns blazing, and Shaq let me dominate the first minute or so.

    He’d already been fighting and I was fresh, but I started to suspect he was “going easy” on me, so I pinned him to the ropes and growled at him. “You better bring me something to work with, dammit,” I told him, and before I could finish up with a suitable threat, he had spun out and rocked my head back with the most beautiful, crispest jab ever thrown.

    “Nice.” I commented, “Thank you.” And we were on.

    We worked a couple of rounds I think (no bell, hard to figure it), before the coach switched up fighters again, and I ducked out feeling wonderful. I knew he would put me in again (he did, with a very tired Trey), and I might not look as fresh or fight as well, but I’d already won the real victory.

    I’d gone forward. I’d shown I was ready. And I got in.

    And that’s the most beautiful part of boxing.

    Photo by Official U.S. Navy Imagery, creative commons license

  • Boxing After 40 With a Bad Shoulder

    Boxing After 40 With a Bad Shoulder

    I took 6 weeks off of boxing lately, mostly just to rest, focus on work, and give myself a break after my last fight.

    I’m not crazy, though — I kept up my runs and weights at home. I just didn’t do any boxing-specific work. No heavy bag, no sparring, no punching drills. I didn’t even show my nose at the gym.

    When I went back for the first time this week I carefully stayed out of the classes that were training in the gym and did my own slow and careful workout: warm-up, shadowboxing, 10 rounds on the heavy bag.

    The next two days showed me the muscles I had not been training while out of boxing: forearms, lats (although I swear I did lats!!), and some obliques. Also my neck was sore from carrying all the tension of the first workout back.

    But amazingly, my shoulders were good.

    I’ve had chronic bursitis in my hips and shoulders for as long as I can remember.

    You gotta have shoulders to box.

    You gotta have everything, I guess, but I never would have guessed that I could actually find work-arounds for the issues I have to deal with in my body’s performance, and still box well.

    I was over 40 when I started this sport, and I was astonished that I could box well even though my hip joint issues meant I couldn’t run distance (for me, that means more than 4 miles).

    Now I’m learning that I don’t have to punish my shoulder joints, either, in order to compete in the ring.

    At first I sweated hard to learn to do dozens of standard push-ups, along with burpees, pull-ups, and the other shoulder-intense exercises. For several years I dealt with a level of everyday pain that I thought I would have to live with, if I was going to box.

    Then I tore the rotator cuff in my right shoulder (doing unassisted pull-ups), requiring 3 months of physical therapy and a lot of time out of the ring.  That shoulder became — and still is — the single body part I most have to favor.

    My physical therapist — a pro fighter a few years older than me — told me to cut back on the heavy shoulder work. “You’ll still box just fine,” she assured me. And I decided to test it out.

    So I stopped obsessing about building the number of push ups I could do, and I started re-working my personal training workouts.

    And my pain levels started to recede…

    But the real challenge is in what to do when the whole team is working out together.

    I began by thinking up a few alternate exercises.

    For example, when the team is doing entire rounds of toe-taps on the medicine ball, I do steps instead, which hurt my hips less. When the team is doing burpees, I do deep lunges instead. If the command is for 50 standard push ups, I’ll do knee push ups.

    It’s extremely difficult to be doing something different from everyone else on the team, but I try to tell myself that I’m 46 and they are 20, and I’m allowed. I can still meet them with a nasty-ass right when the bell rings.

    This one single thing — not doing what everyone else is doing — is the absolute hardest part of my sport. I must have a big pride thing going on, because I absolutely *hate* having to do my own thing. But I’ve finally decided to do it anyway.

    And I’ve found that my results in the ring are just as good, which is why I am sticking with it.

    The second thing I’ve changed is to lower the weights, reps, and impact.

    If the call is for 50 arm lifts with weights, I’ll do 30, or lighten the weight. I don’t shadow box with 5-pound weights, I use 1-pounders instead. Believe me, I could do all this stuff full-bore before, but I paid a heavy price in pain levels and injuries.

    And there was simply no need to do that.

    The third thing I’ve done is test the time limits.

    By testing, I’ve found that I can do as many 1 minute (not 3 minute) sets of toe-taps as everyone else and still be relatively pain-free.

    I’ve been working actively on that particular exercise, so I haven’t yet tested 2 minute rounds, but the 1 minute rounds are solid.

    I can’t change all my time limits, but I change the ones that hit my hips and shoulders the worst. Amazingly, sparring is not affected at all. Which is probably further proof — if I needed it — that just because I’m not starting every workout with 100 push-ups doesn’t mean I am going to suck in the ring.

    When I was back in the gym this week for the first time in 6 weeks, I was struck by how many shoulder-intense exercises both training groups were doing.

    One coach had the team doing literally hundreds of dips, followed by alternating-hand push-ups on a medicine ball. (If you start with your left hand on the ball and your right hand on the floor, you do a push-up, then shift quickly so that your right hand is now on the ball and your left is on the floor. Repeat. It takes balance, speed, and lots of shoulder strength.) Anyone who fell behind was assigned 50 more push-ups.

    That session would have been a total loss for me.

    As it was, I did my own workout, which involved exactly zero dips or push-ups. I’ll put some of those in there as I get going again, but it will be far less than those guys are doing.

    In the end, my lesson has been — once again — that I have to know my own body and look out for myself. Even in the face of pressure from a coach or the team.

    So I’m passing it along to you. Boxing is an incredible, joy-giving, empowering sport and with a basic level of fitness, you can do it. Even if you’re over 40. Even if you have cranky hips and shoulders. You can do it!

    And so can I.

    Image by walleydog

  • Two Schools of Padwork in Boxing

    Two Schools of Padwork in Boxing

    I’m a “train for what you are going to do” kind of person.

    Yes, I put in road and trail work, stadium stairs, jump rope, and so on, and none of those things are what I actually do when I roll into the boxing ring. They do give my muscles the kind of balance that only comes from cross-training, as well as a foundation of good cardio conditioning.

    However.

    And this is a big however…

    I do most of my non-boxing-specific training in boxing rounds.

    For example, here’s one of my current favorite workouts. All the work (except for the mile) is done in three minute rounds with 30 second recovery periods. And even that I sometimes do in three minute bursts, like a fartlek run, with 30 second recoveries.

    1. Three rounds stairs
    2. Three rounds hurdles (The hurdles are so intense I actually don’t make it continually through 3 minutes yet)
    3. Three rounds jump rope
    4. One mile to finish (are you happy I didn’t say “to recover” like your coach does? Heh.)

    The point is to work hard for 3 minute segments and recover in 30 seconds, and then do it again — because that’s what you do in the boxing ring.

    So I see these guys doing incredibly lengthy memorized padwork routines and I think, this doesn’t help me. It looks super-shonuff cool, it does! But it doesn’t look like what I end up doing in the ring.

    I hear the arguments that it develops fast hands and punches in bunches, but the situation seems so forced. You memorize a sequence and move through it (like a kata in martial arts). But in boxing you aren’t throwing 32 punches in a single offensive. You have to think, watch your opponent, strategize on the fly.

    Maybe I’m just jealous. I don’t have those long combos memorized, and they do seem to carry some cool cred in gyms. I wanna be cool, just like other people.

    But I’m gonna stick with training that looks and feels like actual boxing. Check out the video below. THIS is what I think padwork should look like.

    One of the things I like about this padwork training session is that the trainer is not smacking down the punches; he lets the punches come to him. The two of them move, stay loose, and circle just like you would in a fight. It’s the real thing, not a show.

    Well, okay, it IS a show, it’s part of a press conference, obviously, but you get the feeling that they actually train like this on a regular basis. You know, minus all the reporters crowding the ring.

    Padwork is one of the things I love best in boxing.

    You get one-on-one time with a trainer or peer who is working on your game, your form, your boxing. You don’t have to share a coach with dozens of other fighters when you’re doing padwork, and you don’t have to factor in a sparring opponent. It’s aaaaalll you, baby. Whipped cream with a cherry on top.

    I don’t get much padwork, but when I do, I’m intensely grateful for it, particularly when I feel like it’s going to really move my game forward.

    Image by icantu on Flickr

  • I LOVE Not Being the New Person in the Gym

    I LOVE Not Being the New Person in the Gym

    It is so incredibly hard to claw your way up the learning curve — and I’d rather say the straight-up learning cliff — in boxing. You can put years into it, and still feel like a beginner.

    But once you’ve gotten solid enough in boxing to get in the ring and spar (for me that took a few months), you’ve made it to the first big ledge. You can stand there for a minute and try to catch your breath.

    Every time you spar is an exercise in overcoming fear, but it actually gets easier (did I just say that??) if you are doing it regularly with people you know and trust.

    The next ledge up is your first official fight. What a life-changing experience. I was terrified for the ten days leading up to my first match, and the fear multiplied by about seven bazillion once I actually rolled under the ropes and took my place in the blue corner, waiting for that first bell to ring.

    But once you get to this stage on your climb, it gets ever so much better, I promise. It is never, never easy — this is boxing, after all — but it does get less terrifying, and it’s that first fight that really makes a significant difference in your mental attitude about the fight sport you hate and love.

    There’s a certain amount of boxing cred you get when you’ve been in the ring, particularly if you’ve had official fights. And that cred goes such a long way in helping overcome the natural suspicion and stress involved in shifting to a new gym, getting a new trainer, going to spar at another gym, or having another boxing team coming to spar with your team.

    Twice this week I’ve enjoyed the peace that comes with not being the new kid in the gym.

    On Wednesday I traveled up to NBS Gym to spar with Amy, who is a 25 year old technical writer who will kick your ass for you if you let her. Amy has had a couple of fights like I have and helps condition the team at NBS. I have sparred with her once before, and I really like getting ring work with her because she’s pretty near my weight (she’s actually 10 pounds lighter, so I actually have an advantage, which is nice for a change) and she has a fantastic, let’s-go-get-em attitude.

    But the absolute best part of our work, which included me finally getting my first good sparring in a while, was that I wasn’t a bundle of nerves walking in this time.

    I wasn’t a new boxer and I wasn’t unaccustomed to the ring. Damn, but that’s nice.

    Last night I went to train at my own gym and noticed the same general effect.

    I drifted in around 6 pm, and saw that there were three new guys training with a team boxer. A couple of my teammates were getting through their stretches and I fell in with them. After a few minutes, the coach put us all to shadowboxing 6 rounds together in front of the two old busted mirrors that are leaning against the cinderblock wall opposite our ring. The new kids were sloppy and tired by the end of the 6, which didn’t bode well for them. Shadowboxing is the warm-up.

    And at the end of the 6 rounds, the coach called everyone over. “You, you, and you,” he said, jabbing his hand in the direction of each of the new guys. “Far end of the gym. Heavy bags. Work some jabs. Team, get on your circuit. You know the drill.”

    The new kids eyed us enviously — and maybe with a little resentment — as we went our separate ways.

    And I felt that silent thrill that I wasn’t banished to the shadows, and the parallel misery that comes with knowing that I would be working with no round breaks for the next 15 three-minute rounds under the eagle eye of the coach, being constantly evaluated, hounded, and corrected.

    And it was miserably, damnably hard work. At the end of 15 rounds (heavy bag, angle bag, headache bag, rope ducks, and toe-touches on a medicine ball) with no round breaks (did I mention the “no breaks” part?), we were put into the ring for mitt work rounds. After which we were graciously allowed to rest by jumping rope for four rounds.

    Thanks be to all the boxing deities that I can do this without puking.

    It’s usually only the new kids who puke.