The Glowing Edge

  • Don’t Give Your Brain to Boxing Zombies

    Don’t Give Your Brain to Boxing Zombies

    It’s been a busy week. I spent most of it on the road, driving the seven hours to Atlanta for the pre-fight press conference and photo shoot for Atlanta Corporate Fight Night. Before that, though, I scrambled madly to make sure I had all my work sent out to clients, so when I hit the road I was already a bit spazzed.

    The multiple days of shenanigans in Atlanta went fine; I drove back home, had a glass of wine and jumped in the hamster wheel to catch up — no time for workouts, barely even time to breathe. In the end, I went an entire week with no solid workouts (I did run a few rounds of steps when I got into town in order to pull the worst of the road kinks out), and certainly having never entered a boxing gym for anything other than a photo shoot.

    Your brain on fear

    So I was facing my regularly-scheduled sparring session with a fair amount of gut churn. Here’s what was going through my head. No filter, no prettification, my actual thoughts:

    • I can’t spar.
    • I’m going to get my ass kicked.
    • I won’t be able to breathe.
    • I’m fat.
    • I shouldn’t go.
    • I suck.
    • Cancel, cancel, cancel!
    • Red alert! All systems shutting down.
    • I’m not feeling so good.
    • My ________ hurts. (fill in with anything from eyelash to toenail)
    • I hate boxing.

    When I caught that last one flying past I did a double take. WTF, self? You LOVE boxing, you’re practically married to boxing, you have a fight coming up in January, and you’re writing multiple books about boxing. What is your problem, dumbass?

    The problem was that I had willingly handed my brain over to boxing zombies who promptly ate the offering and left me with a giant head sticky with brain remnants and crawling with fear maggots. (Disgusting enough for you? I got more.)

    How fear multiplies

    My single biggest problem is that the longer I’m away from the gym, the higher my fear factor goes.

    It doesn’t seem to matter how long I’ve been doing this boxing thing, I still want to hand over my rational mind and operate on terrified reflex when it comes time to get back in the ring.

    Here are some of the other issues that go into the fear factor:

    1. There are a lot of unknowns in boxing.
    2. Sparring demands a great deal, physically and mentally.
    3. Performing poorly can get you in trouble.
    4. There’s always the potential for injury.
    5. You don’t always remember what your specific goals are.
    6. An emotional setback is hard to overcome.
    7. There’s no crying in boxing! (Hey, just like baseball.)
    8. You demand a lot from yourself in boxing (or your coach demands a lot).
    9. It’s critical to “fight until the bell rings” at the end of a round. Can you make it?
    10. Your gear may or may not be in great shape, clean, or performing well.
    11. Your sparring partners are depending on you to give good game.
    12. You don’t always know who your sparring partner will be. Can you trust them?
    13. People are watching, dammit!
    Add up just a few of those, and suddenly you are out of your game. Which sucks, because the longer you’re out, the harder it is to get back in.

    What really happened

    So I took my freshly de-brained head and drove (very slowly and carefully, like a heavily sedated geriatric asylum escapee hoping to avoid the attention of the fuzz) to the gym.

    I stretched, loudly bemoaning my limber-as-a-stack-of-timber muscles, making sure everyone in earshot would be hearing my (excellent!) excuses well in advance. I got through jump rope rounds, ring slide rounds, rope slip rounds, and shadowboxing, and then the time was at hand.

    And I was fine.

    A brainless idiot, but fine.

    I did three or four rounds, starting seeing the specific things I needed to work on, and took a round off with my partner in order to do some drills, then got back in for some more rounds.

    And I drove home, mentally rolling my eyeballs at myself and feeling sheepish.

    How to avoid this mess in the first place

    I’ve written before about overcoming reluctance to train, but the zombie days are a particular challenge. Here’s my take on it today.

    Train regularly. Obviously, my main goal is always to keep my training up. Going more than two days without moving my ass off the couch is verboten. It doesn’t have to be furious interval training, but I can’t sit around and suck on Tootsie Pops while the boxing zombies lurch nearer and start to salivate over the giant slimy loops of brain I’ll soon be handing out, for free!

    Get a goal! Even if it’s just a small goal. You don’t have to trade a non-essential body part for one, goals are lying around unused EVERYwhere. For me, it was as simple as finally remembering (while doing slip rope) that I needed to explode up from a dip with a ready shot. So I worked on that.

    Keep your gear in shape and ready to use. Mine is sweaty, stiff, and stinky. I haven’t washed my mouthguard in so long it tastes like Dempsey Dumpster. But everything works. Eliminate the gear excuse in advance.

    Make a Reese’s Pieces trail. Put on your workout clothes (or underclothes) before you go to work. Promise yourself that if you just get your ass to the gym, you don’t necessarily have to spar, you can just do a good warm up and some rounds on the heavy bags. Tell yourself that you only have to do one round of sparring. Because once you do that one, you might just feel good enough to do two. And so on. Lead yourself a merry little chase, straight into your workout.

    Develop solid relationships with great sparring partners. The more you trust your sparring partners, the better your really horrible zombie-feeding days will be. Which reminds me: Thanks, Alex, for the good sparring work today, even after the boxing zombies ate my brain.

    Celebrate your wins. I’m having a giant bowl of steamed kale (which is a personal fave, and a damn fine zombie repellant), a glass of red wine, and a couple of Paleo chocolate-peanut butter balls (If you’re subscribed to The Glowing Edge you’ll get the recipe! If you’re not already subscribed, click here, get a free book, the inside story, recipes, workouts, and more embarrassing stories about boxing, monsters, and such. Yay!). And just to cap my celebration, I’m writing a post, which makes me happy even though I’m willingly exposing my grade-A idiocy.

     Your turn to spill your guts

    But not to zombies, hah! Leave a comment below and share your stories about having given your brain to boxing zombies, or how you masterfully took out a shambling pack of them with your beautiful, brutal, and efficient zombie-conquering skills.

    It means SO much to hear other people’s stories, doesn’t it? They remind us that we are not alone, that we ARE fighters, and with just the right chainsaw, we can WIN, by Buffy.

    Wait, she’s vampires, isn’t she…?

    Awesome CC image by Juliana Coutinho on Flickr

  • Interview with Catherine J. Howard

    Interview with Catherine J. Howard

    Catherine Howard doesn’t sit still very often. Her love for traveling keeps her from settling down in one place, and she’s about to head off on a 13-country art collective journey, but for a few weeks now the two of us have been training together in boxing.

    These few weeks have been her very first experience in the sport, but in high school her best friend, Joshua Tufte, trained intensively in kickboxing. He went on to become a professional boxer, and is currently blazing through the competition on an undefeated streak of 10 wins and no losses. Inspired by her friend and the timing of an invitation to train together with me and another woman new to boxing, Catherine decided she just might try to surprise Josh one day by showing off her own powerful body shots, or a quick couple of stinging jabs…

    I’ve enjoyed watching Catherine soak up boxing. She showed up the first day pretty fit, but has learned a whole different kind of fitness in taking on this crazy sport. She also was almost immediately interested in sparring, and just recently had her first experience in the ring. She’s fiercely energetic, and woe to anything that gets in her way.

    I wanted to capture some of her story while it was brand new and still fresh for her, and she graciously agreed to be interviewed…

    What sort of responses did you encounter when you first started boxing?

    My parents and my partner have all been very supportive. They all just smiled knowingly — “Ah, of course you are doing that.” The only voices of dissent have been from friends who see me as too sweet. (They haven’t seen my jab yet.)

    Share a little about how you are training right now.

    In the past, I’ve trained for a marathon, taught both yoga and pilates, and completed multiple rounds of p90x. However, I find the most satisfaction from workouts that stress my entire body for a functional task. That is why I particularly enjoy the killer Beachbody Asylum routine. It’s designed specifically for athletes to become better athletes by focusing on agility, speed, and plyometrics.

    My current schedule is

    Mon: Asylum and shadowboxing on my front porch

    Tues: Asylum and shadowboxing

    Wed: Sparring with Lisa

    Thurs: Asylum

    Fri: Asylum and shadowboxing

    Sat: AM Boxing technique training with Lisa, PM Pullups and core

    Sun: Bikram yoga

    You just had your first sparring experience! Tell us about it. 

    First, I made the mistake of watching a series of pro women boxing fights the night before, and in the final bout, a girl who was obviously outmatched had her nose broken in the first round. A good way to give myself the jitters. To cope, I arrived at the gym 30 minutes early to run sprints on the treadmill. I was still talkative and jittery, but I was slightly more at ease in my skin with the endorphins raging.

    Once we warmed up and I stepped into the ring, the nerves disappeared. I was there to learn, and I knew that I was going to be terrible, and that was perfectly okay. And I was terrible. And it was okay.

    My cardio gave out much more quickly than I had anticipated. Anaerobic exercise is no joke. But because I am already decently fit, I was able to jump back in after a few rounds and go again. I was slow and awkward, but the experience of working offensively and defensively simultaneously was exactly what I needed to understand if I was going to continue shadowboxing and working with pads. I needed to know how punches would be thrown, what an experience with a live opponent feels like. If I had continued training just in technique, I have every expectation that I would have given up, either out of anxiety or sheer boredom.

    I left the ring feeling more determined than ever.  I am going to figure this out.  I am going to be good at this.  Not because I am especially talented.  I am just, like with everything else in my life, doggedly stubborn.

    Were there any “ah-ha”s or “oh, no”s that you can share?

    After working in the ring, all of a sudden the footwork and punches started to work together. The full-body nature of boxing clicked, and that is what I will be focusing on as I continue working on my own.

    My “oh, no” came when realizing how much energy I was losing by automatically tensing my whole body when the punches started flying.  Have to focus on maintaining a calm stream of breath so that I don’t burn out after two rounds. Yoga is a good compliment to boxing for this very reason!

    Got any advice for someone thinking about taking up boxing?

    Don’t be afraid. Your body can handle anything. All you have to do is remind your body (through exercise, meditation, and nutrition) every day of how it should be reacting – with speed, with confidence, with power.

    Find someone who is patient and willing to teach you the techniques. And then, always respect their time and expertise. Always arrive early. Always put in 500% more work outside of the gym than you do inside the gym.  Never allow them to regret their decision to help you for even a second.

    What are your goals, now that you’ve sparred for the first time? Why do you want to box?

    Catherine and Josh Tufte. This guy better watch out!

    One of my goals for my boxing training is to be able to surprise Mr. Tufte with a powerful body shot. And then laugh at him.

    More seriously though, I want to box. Boxing is what I have been seeking; I bound out of bed, excited for my workouts. I want to train with focus, to continue sparring, to build my speed and power so that I can go toe-to-toe with boxers much more experienced than myself.

    I want to box because I feel more confident in my own skin after just three weeks of boxing than I have felt in my entire life.

    What is something you already love about boxing?

    I love the seamless integration of strategic planning and instinct. I love feeling strong. I love feeling connected to all parts of my body.  I love the experience of connecting to another human being as equal opponents.

    What’s your biggest fear related to boxing?

    Giving up.

    What do you feel like you’re missing in boxing right now?

    The confidence that comes with trained muscle memory. That’s why I box on my own every day. Muscles just need to know how to move reflexively rather than consciously.  All that requires is time and dedication.

    What phrases are starting to come up on your “Boxing Manifesto”?

    • Stop. Clenching. Your. Shoulders. BREATHE!
    • Always approach your opponent with grace and respect.
    • Do it again. And again. And again. Until your arms literally fall off. If they are still miraculously attached to your shoulders, then do it again.

    I know you’re new to this, but have you begun to see ways that boxing relates to life, in your experience?

    As creative individuals (artists, musicians, writers, teachers, thinkers, doers), opportunities come barreling our way all the time. We watch those opportunities approaching as we shift our weight in our shoes in anticipation.  Feeling the ground underneath us, shaking our arms to loosen our shoulders, gnawing on our mouthguards. Once the bell rings, if we allow our creative selves to spring into action, and allow our creative instincts to autopilot, then we will find ourselves capable of more than we ever imagined.

    You can follow Catherine’s 13/13/13 Sketchbook project on Facebook and Twitter, or on her website.

    I hope you’ll leave a comment below and ask Catherine your questions, or just offer her your cheers and encouragement!  — Lisa

  • How to Succeed in Boxing

    How to Succeed in Boxing

    Success in boxing isn’t always measured by the number of “W”s on your passbook. It’s something hard-won over time with plenty of blood, sweat, and the right attitude.

    Take a look at the following 11 keys to success in boxing, and join in the discussion by leaving your ideas and additions in the comments below.

    1. Don’t ask who will let you learn to fight. Ask who will stop you.

    This was my very first lesson in learning to box, and not coincidentally, in learning to live the life I dreamed of but didn’t have. The voice inside your head that says you can’t do this is a liar. If you want power, fight for it. If you want love, fight for it. If you want your art, your career, your relationships, your health…there isn’t someone you need to ask permission from. But there may be people, roadblocks, and personal limitations you’ll have to push past.

    2. Find a coach you can trust.

    Great boxing coaches almost always have boxing experience of their own. But just because someone was a boxer does not mean they’ll make a good coach. You want someone who understands how to teach boxing by careful increments, not the “throw ’em in the ring, beat ’em up, and see if they are ballsy enough to come back” school. Avoid any trainers who teach by routinely belittling, cursing, bullying, or humiliating their fighters. Certifications are overrated; what you want is someone you feel can bring out your best game. You can’t always put a certification on that.

    3. Accept that blood happens.

    Black eyes, bloody noses, busted ribs, torn muscles, knockout punches, and even serious ass kickings do happen in boxing. No, boxing is not all about beating someone up or getting beat up, but if you try to get through this sport without your fair share of pain, you may be knitting but you aren’t boxing. As it happens, the same is true in life. Sometimes you get punched in the face, hard. It’s far better to have some experience with that so that you know how to respond to it.

    4. Play to your strengths. Train up your weaknesses.

    As you start to learn to box, you’ll discover that you have certain strengths and liabilities as a fighter. You may have great reach, but you don’t like the inside game. Maybe your punches pack power, but you can’t seem to get your feet to move lightly in the ring. You never manage to land an uppercut, but your jab stings like a bitch. Figure out what you’re good at, and put it to extra use in the ring. Accept that you have vulnerabilities, and seek training partners who excel in those areas and will help you train up your weaknesses so that they don’t present a fatal crack in your armor.

    5. When you can’t do something everyone can do, train until you get it or find a workaround.

    I learned a long time ago that as a boxer in her 40s I can’t always do the same things in training that the teenagers do. I’ve learned to come early to warm up more, find alternate exercises when one they’re doing won’t work for me, and modify some of the “routine” training patterns of my boxing team so that I can do the same work in a way that fits my body. For example, if the call is for 40 push-ups, I’ll do mine in sets rather than all in a row. One size does not fit all in boxing training; push yourself, but make it work for you and not against you.

    6. Keep climbing back into the ring.

    Learning to box takes years. It isn’t something you can try this week, and be “naturally” great at. Street fighters do not have an advantage. Muscle-bound tough guys do not have an advantage. Football players, rugby players, hockey players or other athletes do not have an advantage. (MMA fighters have an advantage.) Boxing is its own game, with unique challenges and rewards. The only way to become good is to train consistently over a long period of time. Set goals and work to achieve them, but remember the scale of this sport and allow yourself time to improve.

    7. Fight until the bell rings.

    Your first rounds in sparring are a real eye-opener as far as showing you exactly what’s required in this sport. Even once you have lots of experience, you’ll go in the ring some days thinking those three tiny minutes last about a hundred years each. But giving up mid-round sends the message that you just aren’t serious.

    8. Cross train.

    Going to your boxing gym three or four times a week may make your game good, but throwing in regular cross training will take you to the next level. And if you can make your cross training fit the rhythms of boxing (for example, fit exercises into 3 minute intervals with 30 second rests when possible), you’ll make your game the best it can be. Cross training strengthens the muscles that boxing doesn’t hit, alleviates boredom, and opens you to new experiences, coaches, and communities.

    9. Seek out experienced fighters and listen to what they have to say.

    Learn from the boxers who are already good. They know a lot, and can show you things you haven’t figured out yet. Watch them when they’re in the ring. Ask them questions. Train alongside them. One way to get good is to copy someone who is already there.

    10. Seek out new fighters, and listen to what they have to say.

    If you’re new, they will make you feel less alone. If you’re experienced, they will keep you on your toes and even teach you things you’ve missed or forgotten about. It’s always valuable to have the perspective of someone new to boxing. It’s also important to give back by listening to newbies and offering what counsel and encouragement you can.

    11. Remember to breathe.

    This sounds ridiculous until you’ve gone your first few rounds in the ring. Holding your breath while punching, forgetting to relax while in the ring, taking tiny, shallow fearful breaths… There’s so much strain and fear and work in boxing you can frequently find yourself fighting without breathing. A good coach and corner will constantly remind you to breathe, and you will have to work and focus hard to obey them. (You’ll be glad you learned it, though.)

    I know there’s plenty missing from the list. What you would add? And I’m curious to know how well you think these keys translate to other sports as well. Leave a comment below and weigh in!

    Photo of me training by Melissa Eggleston

  • What Happens When You Get Punched in the Face

    What Happens When You Get Punched in the Face

    It’s easy to work out in a boxing gym, pounding the heavy bag, focusing on your combinations, power, footwork, and cardio. You can do round after round on the speed bag and double-end bag, getting your timing and coordination right. But when you get in the ring and get punched in the face that very first time, pretty much everything you’ve worked so hard to learn flies straight out the window.

    Mike Tyson said it well. “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face.”

    When you’re working with newer boxers, it’s not hard to accidentally tag them hard. Even if I’m pulling punches, working for touches rather than hard hits, sometimes they walk into one. And it is no fun, I know from experience. That damn glove pops you bam! on nose and you think, Shit! What the hell was that!?

    You immediately drop your guard, your plan, your everything, and try to figure out whether or not you’re bleeding, whether this is important, whether or not you intend to keep boxing.

    I did this to a friend in the ring recently, so it’s fresh in my mind. And I’m remembering my first few (dozen, hah) sparring rounds and how much of a shock it was to actually be hit, hard. Not necessarily because someone has it in for you, but come on, this is boxing. It’s going to happen. I knew that. My sparring partner who took two heavy straight rights from me this week (in the very first round, ugh) knew that. But it can still put a hard stop on operations.

    What happens in your head, when you take your first hard shot

    The first thing you experience is outright shock. You know you’re boxing, but being punched in the face is just not something we’re used to. How could it be? The shock is what causes you to falter, to stop working and stand there in disbelief.

    This is the first and greatest hurdle to get over in boxing, and of course there are lots of people who say “Why would I want to get over that hurdle? What an insane sport.” And I understand those people, I truly do. But the simple fact is that learning to take a punch taught me a much bigger lesson about myself, and about life.

    Let’s admit it, life is not an insulated little nursery school play yard. If you don’t grow a pair (ovaries or balls, you choose) NOW, you are actively, knowingly putting at great risk all the good gifts you’ve been given and the future you deserve to have. There are things in life you must fight for, or they’ll be taken away from you by force.

    Learning that I could take a punch and not be stopped in my tracks by it was one of the most empowering moments of my entire life.

    The pain sets in a second after the shock. And it’s tempting to let pain derail your plans the way shock can. Pain is powerfully persuasive. A straight shot to the nose stings, makes your eyes immediately well up, and sends a jolt of sparks across your whole face. Your nose feels squashed, although it won’t swell for another minute or so. Sometimes you bleed, sometimes your nose simply drips. It’s hard not to believe you’re seriously injured, but usually you aren’t. You simply aren’t used to it.

    What happens to the rest of your game

    Nothing, that’s what. You drop your guard and paw at your face. You stare at your sparring partner as if you’ve never actually met before. You shake your head and try to figure out what to do next. You swear over your mouthguard.

    If you have a good sparring partner or trainer, they’ll pick up the slack for you by telling you to get your guard back up and get your ass back in the game. The bell hasn’t rung, and it’s your job to keep working until it does.

    Why it’s important to get punched in the face, hard

    If you intend to box you are going to take some hard damn shots. It’s a thousand times better to experience this in the ring with a trusted partner than it is to learn it for the first time when you’re in a real match against an opponent who really is trying to knock your head off.

    The simple truth is you get experienced at taking shots. You find out what it is going to feel like, you begin to understand how to avoid the worst of the pain, you learn how to deal with the shock and keep fighting, blood or no blood. That’s a hugely valuable lesson.

    One time I was driving on the interstate when I saw a powerline suddenly snap loose and drop down across the highway, and a policeman on a motorcycle (right in front of me) hit the cable and went flying off his bike, right into oncoming traffic. It was a damned miracle that he wasn’t killed outright. I immediately pulled into the central lane that divided the highway and came to a quick stop, as did several other cars whose drivers saw it happen.

    I distinctly remember standing in the middle of the highway in shock, staring at the downed officer laying in the middle of a lane of traffic. It was exactly like being punched hard in the face. I was in complete shock when I should have been working with the other people jumping out of their cars to stop traffic, get to the officer, and call for help.

    Fortunately, others on the scene were more experienced than I was, and the end of the story is that the officer and the motorcycle were banged up but essentially okay. There were no other wrecks. The power line was taken care of.

    If I were to be in a similar situation now I know I would do a better job of shaking off the shock and working through a plan. Maybe I wouldn’t perform with style and grace, but I’d at least have a chance at it.

    One last truth, one secret joy

    My husband is reading Moneyball: The Art of Winning an Unfair Game, by Michael Lewis. (You may have seen the movie with Brad Pitt and Jonah Hill.) The author talks about how the major leagues are great at chewing up and spitting out hitters. You might be able to hit in the minors, but when you come up to the show, every pitcher in the game has studied your weaknesses, and if you don’t like ’em high and inside, that’s what you’re gonna get. They’ll find out exactly what you can’t hit, and pitch it to you.

    Sound anything like life? It’s definitely true in boxing. You have to get good at being punched hard in the face, because that’s exactly what someone is going to be doing to you. And the better you can shrug it off, slip it off, let it slide past without stunning and stopping you, the faster you’ll move up in the game.

    And the secret truth that every boxer holds tight in his or her soul? It’s empowering. It feels fucking awesome to be able to take a hard shot and keep fighting. No other way to say it than that.

    It’s a high cost, perhaps, but well worth the pay out.

    What do you think? What was it like, the first time you took a shot, in the ring or in life, and how did you do? Would you do better now? Leave me a comment and share your story!

    CC image by ennuiislife on Flickr

  • Boxing and Deafness: Interview with Sarah

    Boxing and Deafness: Interview with Sarah

    Boxing offers challenges enough for pretty much anyone who considers taking it on. Which means most people who try it have guts… and plenty of great stories. In my last post I talked about the critical nature of training yourself to hear your coach, and received some very interesting input from a boxer who has never actually heard her coach. Because she’s deaf.

    Meet Sarah. She’s 40 years old, living in Chicago with her partner and her 4 year old daughter. She’s been deaf since the age of three. Sarah has been boxing off and on since 2003, and recently had her first competitive boxing match. She graciously agreed to let me interview her about boxing, about training, and about the challenges she faces in the ring.

    How did you get started in boxing?

    I always wanted to learn a martial art, even as a young child. I remember putting on red mittens when I was in grade school, trying to convince my sister to “pretend” box. In 2003, when I was going through a difficult time, a friend said “Tomorrow, do something you always wanted to try.” So I called Spears Boxing went the next day. At the time, I thought I was too old to start, which is hilarious to me now. I loved it, and have boxed on and off every since.

    What does your family think about your boxing?

    It varies depending on who you ask! My partner supports it, she always says “I see how happy it makes you, so I want you to keep doing it.”  My mother doesn’t like it, and forwards me articles about head injuries. My sister trains with me, although she doesn’t spar. My daughter knows that I “go to boxing” but she doesn’t know it involves hitting actual people.

    It is very hard to balance family and boxing. I have to have child care arranged (either from my partner or someone else) for every minute I spend in the gym. That really limits how much time I can devote to it.

    How does being deaf affect your training?

    If I wear my hearing aids, I can hear my coach a little bit in regular training, but I don’t always wear them because sweat is not good for them. Being deaf affects me the most in sparring, because I definitely can’t wear my hearing aids under head gear. I generally do not hear any of the bells. I don’t know when to start or end a round, or when the 30 second bell rings. I don’t hear the coach yelling instructions at me. So I miss that aspect of coaching. I also I can’t lip read anyone wearing a mouth guard!

    For sparring, I always am careful to let any new sparring partner know I can’t hear. They have have to keep their guard up until I realize the round is over, because I can’t hear the bell to stop. Usually the person will just step back and wave me off. When I had my one actual match, the referee had to break us up more physically because I can’t hear them yell “break!”

    Are cochlear implants a possibility?

    My audiologist advised me to look into cochlear implants. But one problem with the cochlear is that I would have to stop boxing, at least sparring. To me, that is a major drawback for the cochlear at this time. When I told one doctor that was a factor in my decision not to consider cochlear right now, she looked baffled, like I had made a weird joke.

    What does your training look like currently?

    The class I take is for 90 minutes twice a week and I try to make both. I don’t always. I am trying to work in a day of weight training but haven’t done it yet.I always do jump rope, heavy bags, and medicine drill balls with my sister. Ideally, I would always do the speedbag but it has been broken in our gym. I almost always spar.

    What do you find most rewarding, and/or most frustrating in boxing right now?

    The most rewarding thing is feeling like I am improving. Boxing skills did not come naturally to me, it’s not something I have learned quickly or easily. So to start seeing that I am finally doing better is the best feeling. The most frustrating thing is feeling slow. I am not a very  fast or coordinated person, and it is difficult to see how I can get to a higher level without some speed.

    What exercises do you absolutely hate, dread, or refuse to do? What are your faves?

    I hate sit ups of any kind.  My favorite is sparring, it just is. However, I also really like the speedbag, it is very meditative. I like practicing uppercuts on a bag, that just makes my arms happy.

    What made you decide to compete?

    It was a bucket list thing for me! I never did it and I felt like I would regret it if I didn’t try. I also wanted to experience the whole thing…coach taping your hands, a referee, spectators….

    Tell us about your recent fight! And what’s next for you?

    It was a blast! I lost a match to a firefighter in a Chicago Park District fight. She was a lot more experienced, although I had a size advantage (I’m 5’9). I actually saw a news video of her training before one of her fights and I knew that she would be very tough to beat. She looked so strong, she had the arm advantage!

    However, I enjoyed the whole experience…weighing in, wearing the shorts, warming up with my coach. My sister got to be my corner person, which was about the coolest thing ever.

    Chicago Park District fights are 1 minute round, and that was way too short to me. It was hard to get a good rythmn. As far as the actual fight went, I was more defensive then I would normally be, and wished I had been more aggressive. I felt like I did not get a lot of punches in.

    However, the goal for me was to get in there and box, and I was happy I did that. It was just a really fun, positive night. Someone took a picture of the moment my opponent’s hand was raised in victory, and even in that picture I am smiling.

    I hope to have more fights in the future within the Chicago Park district system. My opponent  has already asked if I would rematch.

    Ideally I would like to fight someone who is more similar to me in experience level. Now that I’ve done the fight, I want to do more.  Having a fight coming up motivated me in training and eating better more than anything else. I felt like training to be fight-ready was great for my mental health.

    What goals are you currently working on in the ring?

    Right now, I would like to work on being a more complete boxer. At Spears, we mostly sparred with guys, offense only. So when I got to Loyola Park, I was aggressive, but incredibly sloppy and terrible about defense. Learning to simply keep my hands up has been a challenge in itself. Now I would like to learn more about footwork and strategies. I would like to be confident doing more than 1,2 combinations in the ring.

    What’s the ONE THING you wish you had right now that would really help move your game forward?

    TIME!  I wish I had more time train more seriously and focus on boxing. It is good to know that others like you have succeeded at boxing, even with a “late” start. This gives me hope that I can keep at it and keep getting better.

    Thanks, Sarah, for sharing some of you story with me and everyone else at TGE. I’ll look forward to hearing about your next fight! – Lisa

    Image: Sarah, her sister, and her coach after her first fight.

  • Listening to Your Coach: The Mind-Body Connection in Boxing

    Listening to Your Coach: The Mind-Body Connection in Boxing

    Seventeen young men, most of the court-ordered to be there, are standing with me in lose rows in their boxing stance, guard up. Coach “One Bad Jab” Massey calls the shots.

    “Jab, jab, jab, squat. Jab, pivot…jab,” he calls, never raising voice overmuch, mixing up the timing of his commands, and watching us with an eagle eye. The shots are called slowly, with plenty of time in between for Coach Massey to walk among the rows with a boxing glove that is stuffed and taped to one end of a long shovel handle. These are standard tools in boxing gyms.

    The trick here is that if he jabs that thing in your face you DO. NOT. FLINCH. You don’t duck, you don’t do anything. Unless he shouts “Squat!” to the group, and then you better get low or risk having your head popped by his glove-on-a-stick.

    “I did NOT say ‘squat,’” Massey comments calmly to a young man who saw the glove coming and wrongly anticipated the coach’s command. “Give me 15 pushups.”

    The young man drops and the rest continue. This isn’t an exercise in jabs, or squats, or even overcoming the flinch reflex. They are lessons in listening.

    In fact, if you were to regularly watch the training sessions at Second Round, there would be plenty of days when you might think the coach was working harder at teaching the kids to listen than he is at making them sweat.

    And you’d be right.

    Why boxers need to develop an instinctive response to a coach’s voice

    There’s a lot of mental work that goes on when you’re in the ring. But then there are times when you’re too fatigued to work your strategy, or you’re under so much heavy fire you just can’t think, all you can do is survive. That’s one of your coach’s most critical jobs — to call the shots when you can’t do it any more. But it doesn’t begin there.

    1. Creating safety out of chaos

    Second Round held a sparring night for all of the new boxers in the gym recently. Once everyone was geared up and gathered around the ring apron, Massey climbed into the ring and called for everyone’s attention.

    Our kids are mostly there by court order. They have a lot of street tough in them. But even if they didn’t, most people come to a boxing gym expecting to “fight.” They have images of brawls, fistfights, and lots of anger and frustration coming out inside those ropes.

    Which is a big mistake, and the first one Massey points out.

    “What are we here to do?” he asks the kids, who are anxious and jittery, shuffling and bumping each other. But they think they know the answer.

    “Fight!” they tell him, and it comes out like a cheer.

    “No,” he responds, shaking his head. “We’re here to box.” He doesn’t elaborate, but his point will be illustrated soon, when they see how easily a more experienced boxer will evade their wild, messy, craziness in the ring, and return smart, quick, stinging punches as they flail around.

    “I have three commands for you to remember tonight,” he continues. “You’ll hear them from your ref at the beginning of your match, and you’ll hear them during your rounds. If you forget everything else while you’re in this ring, I want you to remember these three words.” He pauses to make sure he has their attention.

    “The three commands are ‘box,’ ‘break,’ and ‘stop.’” He fires off each word like a rifle shot, and they pop against the cinderblocks and echo back.

    He explains, but I know the real understanding won’t come until much later in their training. Because as they brawl their messy way through those initial rounds, these three commands help put the first, rough boundaries on what they are trying to learn. They keep the kids safe in a very chaotic place.

    If you can hear nothing else (and you can’t hear much) during the war of your first rounds, you hear those words, and respond. And that’s where a powerful relationship with a great coach begins.

    2. Stopping a new boxer’s tendency to overthink

    I’m a thinker. I have a bachelor’s and a master’s degree. And when I was a new boxer, my brain frequently held me back in the ring. When faced with a complicated situation I wanted to stop and carefully analyze all the multiple pieces that were going into my work. But my brain wasn’t boxing-smart. And often there were too many pieces to think of at once, and I ended up paralyzed and unable to move, or else I just looked a mess.

    Over and over I would hear my coaches say, “You’re over-thinking it.” And I was. I found that often my body could respond more quickly and easily to my coach’s shot-calls than my brain could make sense of everything, stitch all the pieces logically together, and tell my body to execute the command.

    Sometimes you have to cut out the middleman. Sometimes the middleman is your own brain. Use your coach’s brain instead, because it’s boxing-smart.

    I was teaching proper form for a jab to a friend recently when I was reminded of this again. She wanted to “talk through” each part at length; it’s a complicated creature, the jab. We’d been going through the motions carefully for a while, but the whole shot wasn’t coming together for her.

    Eventually I interrupted her verbal processing, which was getting us nowhere. “Stop thinking about it,” I told her. “Just pop it into my hand on my command.” And an instant later I called, “Jab!”

    And damned if she didn’t throw the prettiest bee-sting jab you ever saw straight into my upraised palm.

    Your body may be able to learn boxing faster than your brain does. You need both, but more than that, you need a coach to tell you when to shift gears.

    3. Getting you through rough rounds against superior opponents

    Your coach helps you build your strategy as you prepare to face a tough opponent. And while you may start your bout with your plan firmly in place, sometimes you find yourself outmatched or getting eaten alive by your opponent’s strategy instead.

    At some point you default to simply protecting yourself; you become all defense. You stop scoring, and you will lose the fight if you’re all on your own.

    A good coach in your corner can turn that completely around for you, in many cases. But you have to be able to tune out the roar of the room, the sound of punches banging against your ears, and the random cheers and jeers of onlookers. You have to have one channel only open, the one between you and your coach.

    When she or he calls the shots, you let your body respond. Your coach then has the control, and can guide you through the jagged reefs and safely into the harbor, if you can listen and respond.

    As it is in boxing, so it is in life

    I find myself saying this more and more these days. Good, clean boxing informs life, and vice-versa. Get a coach you can trust, just like you have mentors upon whom you can depend to guide and train you in the best possible ways.

    Nobody owes you training, no matter how much you paid for your gym membership. The best training is earned. It comes in boxing as it does in life, when you develop a relationship with someone who is willing to teach, if you are willing to listen and work hard.

    So who comes to mind as you read this?

    I’ll bet you have some coaches, mentors, and trainers who absolutely changed the course of your life. I hope you’ll take the time to leave a comment and share your story. And even pass this on to a coach or teacher you’ve deeply valued…

    My own fist bumps and grateful appreciation go out to Coach Bonnie “Queen B” Mann, and of course, Willie “One Bad Jab” Massey. Many thanks to both of you, as well as to several other incredible coaches who have worked with and influenced me — Terri “The Boss” Moss, Paul “The Italian Hit Man” Marinaccio, and more. You guys have changed my life for the better!

    Image: That’s me, being cornered by pro trainer Xavier “Bad Pads” Biggs during my very first fight.

  • Why Does Boxing Gives Us More Language for Our Lives Than ANY Other Sport?

    Why Does Boxing Gives Us More Language for Our Lives Than ANY Other Sport?

    I’ve been boxing for a few years, but it was only recently that I began noticing that most of the sports metaphors I used or heard during the course of a regular week or month came from boxing.

    You might think that is because I’m a boxer, that I’m attuned to those expressions more than others.

    But then I started trying to come up with everyday metaphors and idioms from other sports, and it found there was a notable imbalance. There seem to be far more boxing expressions than phrases drawn any other sport.

    I can think of a few idioms and metaphors from basketball (slam dunk, home court advantage), baseball (bring it home, major league, threw me a curve, struck out, hit one out of the park), golf (par for the course, below par), wrestling (no holds barred, take it to the mat), horse racing (neck and neck, by a nose, chomping at the bit, free reign, home stretch)…

    But when it comes to boxing, there seems to be a much longer list.

    Why are there so many boxing expressions in our everyday language? Why are so many phrases and common metaphors drawn from a sport that simply doesn’t have the kind of widespread adoration that baseball, basketball, or soccer has? (Why can I come up with more horse racing metaphors than football metaphors?)

    Is it because our lives are a fight? Because the world is a contentious place filled with opposing forces? That doesn’t seem to fit, since most sports are about opposing teams or players.

    There IS something gritty and painful and dark about boxing that I just don’t see in other sports. Many famous fighters came up from the poorest, most dire situations. And boxing puts us in a gut-wrenching, heartbreaking, bone-crushing kind of place at times. It publicly exposes our bodies and our vulnerabilities. It requires both the basest human physical violence as well as a sharp mental acumen, along with truckloads of courage and heart.

    It’s more stripped down than football. More messy and violent than basketball, volleyball, or soccer.

    It is certainly filled with more extremes… Boxing is both brutal and graceful, painful and glorious, terrible and triumphant; more so than any other sport I can think of.

    Perhaps it names something viscerally true and primal about the experience of being human, and that’s why it gives us so much language for our lives.

    I’d love to know the answers, but meanwhile here’s my list of common metaphors and expressions that are derived from boxing. I wanted to compile and explain them from a boxer’s experience and viewpoint, and affirm for myself just how clear, common, and predominant these words and expressions are.

    Feel free to add your own thoughts about the boxing “corner” on metaphors, or expressions I’ve missed, in the comments below.

    In your corner

    This one is probably my favorite. The corner refers not only to the spot where you can stand or sit down and rest between rounds, but also the person who is in that spot taking care of you. When someone’s in your corner, they’re thinking, strategizing, cheering for, and supporting you.

    A good corner (person) is critical in boxing because you need an outside perspective, someone thinking for you when you are too physically engaged to be able to work the mental game. A corner can call the shots for you (another metaphor you hear used in many sports), give you an idea of your opponent’s weaknesses, keep you on strategy, calm you down, and even take care of your injuries.

    Down (or out) for the count

    If you go to the canvas after a hard punch, you automatically get an 10-count from the referee. If you can’t get back up and continue the fight, you’re down for the count.

    Related is “take a knee,” which is from old-school boxing, where a fighter voluntarily goes to one knee to concede the fight. You don’t hear that much in everyday language (although coaches might do it to call everyone into a huddle), but once in a while someone will take a knee to beg off doing something they really don’t want to do, like attend a long graduation service or a family reunion.

    Pull your punches

    Not putting your full weight, power, and reach behind a shot. When you are in an actual fight, you wouldn’t do this. But in sparring and everyday boxing you don’t necessarily want to punch with your full power. Training is different than competing, and if you hurt your training partner you don’t have anyone to train with.

    Other reasons for pulling your punches are because of a dramatic weight differential (I’m a welterweight, but I spar with heavyweights who could hurt me if they didn’t pull their punches), or experience level (an experienced boxer is careful to bring the game to a new boxer’s level and routinely pulls punches).

    Punch drunk / Punchy

    I can attest to the woozy feeling you get when you take a really hard punch, or several of them in a row. And it never occurred to me until recently that the adjective “punchy,” which I associate heavily with my college years, was in fact a boxing term. After a long weekend of drinking rather than studying, you stay up all night prepping for an exam and you get to feeling pret-ty punchy indeed…

    On the ropes

    There are some boxers who are awesome at fighting while pressed up against the ropes (Melissa “Huracan” Hernandez comes to mind), but for the most part it’s a position you don’t want to find yourself pinned in.

    Being on the ropes means your opponent is controlling the game, and they are keeping you in position and racking up points punching you relentlessly because you can’t get away from them. It typically means you’re tired, not thinking clearly, and your opponent is actively winning the fight.

    Roll with the punches

    When I first started boxing I thought defense was all about completely avoiding being punched. In fact, a slip or roll is just a way to defuse some of the power of a shot that is most likely going to land. In other words, you’re probably going to take the shot. But you don’t want to take it full on, in all it’s power. Instead, you slip quickly an inch or two to the left or right, or roll under or to the side.

    It’s how a sailor might walk on the deck of a ship that’s pitching and yawing in high seas; they aren’t avoiding the swells, but rather moving in concert with them so that they aren’t tossed to the deck.

    Knockout

    Obvious, right? But by the sheer prevalence of usage I’d say it points to one of the reasons we viscerally identify with boxing over other sports. It’s about power, winning, and losing, and we connect it to sex, life, and death.

    Take it on the chin / Lead with your chin / Glass jaw

    This sounds different to me in common usage than the way I experience it in boxing. In the ring, you keep a tight guard, or you slip and roll in order to not take punches to your face or chin. Of course you DO take shots to the nose, chin, jaw, cheek, ears, and forehead; it’s part of the game.

    But most people use the phrase to describe being brave in the face of adversity, or courageously taking the full brunt of a bad situation.

    In boxing, it’s stupid to voluntarily take it on the chin — you can get your head snapped back, and you can be knocked out.

    And leading with your chin is the rankest of newbie mistakes. Some coaches even train boxers with a racquetball between their chin and chest in order to get them in the habit of tucking and protecting their chin.

    Related is “glass jaw,” which is used to refer to someone easily knocked out when hit on the chin. Most boxers aren’t going to go very far in the ring if they have one of these.

    Toe to toe / Infighting

    In today’s boxing, this is used to describe inside fighting, where your toes are likely to touch. Sometimes you even step on each other’s feet when you’re fighting close and inside.

    It’s NOT, however, standing squared up and face to face (which seems to be the common usage); that’s just poor fighting position. You box with one foot forward and one to the rear, your lead shoulder in front. So you’re slightly sideways to each other, and presenting the smallest possible target.

    The only other time you’d be toe to toe with your opponent is when you greet each other at the start of the fight. The ref calls you in from the corners, you listen to your instructions and agree to the match, bang gloves and return to your corners to wait for the bell.

    Square off

    Presumably this is derived from the shape of the modern boxing ring (which is a square, but we call it a ring because of how a circle forms around fighters). You wouldn’t actually face an opponent “square on” or face to face in boxing today, as mentioned above.

    Saved by the bell

    This was a boxing reference long before it was an internet hoax about people in the 1500s being buried with strings and bells to protect against being buried alive. Snopes has this one correct, while Yahoo Answers is still wrong.

    Being saved by the bell in boxing also predates the 80’s television show and all the times we felt that way in high school.

    Being saved by the bell does not necessarily mean you don’t lose the fight, only that you get a few seconds’ rest to try and recover to go another round if there is one. It might mean you narrowly avoid being knocked out if you took a bad shot and were about to go to the canvas or were being counted out when the bell rang.

    Throw your hat in the ring

    This has nothing to do with boxing today, but apparently once upon a time you could challenge a boxer to a fight by throwing your hat in the boxing ring. Presumably prizefighter would take on all comers? These days we just send an email, hah.

    Beat them to the punch

    This is a beginner’s fundamental strategy in the ring, and one of the main uses for a jab, the first punch you learn in boxing. A jab is primarily used to keep your opponent at bay or to interrupt their shots. Very effective, very basic, and part of the bread and butter of every boxer’s work.

    Low blow

    The thing you may not know about it is that in amateur boxing, you can’t score from any shot below the waistband of your opponent’s trunks. The reason is obvious.

    And sometimes if a boxer is wearing the same color tank and shorts, the officials will require them to wrap a band of athletic tape around their waists to mark the scoring boundary. This is why you’ll see most boxing trunks with contrasting waistband colors.

    Throw in the towel

    I read somewhere that this one used to be “throw in the sponge” — or at least, that was how a corner could end a fight and thus save damage when his or her boxer was clearly losing. These days we use towels, of course.

    It’s not all that uncommon in amateur boxing (although it’s more likely that you’ll see a ref call off a fight), but I rarely see it in pro fights.

    Keep your guard up / Taken off guard

    This is another fundamental of boxing, just as in life. When you see a boxer’s gloves begin to drop below the chin, you’re seeing a boxer who is tired and open for full-face shots. If you’re in a boxing gym you’re likely to hear the phrase “Gloves up!” repeatedly called by coaches. It’s so important that many of our non-boxing-specific exercises — like squats, for example — are performed with our guard up, too.

    Come out swinging / Go down swinging

    Coming out swinging is a standard strategy in boxing; the goal is to take your opponent off guard (see above) and show the judges that you intend to dominate. Or that you’ve recovered from a bad round.

    On the other hand, if you go down swinging, you show that you weren’t too gassed (didn’t prepare or train well) or too disheartened to give it your all, all the way to the canvas.

    Heavyweight / Lightweight

    I find it interesting that weight categories are so standard and equal in boxing, but in life people only want to be heavyweights.

    The only time you see issues of inequality in weight categories in boxing is during sparring, where you might find a featherweight working with a welterweight, or when a fighter who is naturally one weight class has cut or gained an enormous amount of weight to get into a different class.

    Take a dive

    It sounds like a swimming phrase to me, but it comes from the boxing tactic of going to the canvas and intentionally losing a fight. Typically it’s used when a boxer (illegally) loses for money. They threw the match by taking a dive.

    In the clinch

    This could originate from wrestling, I’m not sure. But in boxing, your performance in the clinch is critical because you get in one either to stop your opponent’s flurry of shots, or to rest while also leaning on and tiring your opponent.

    Clinches happen all the time and are a basic part of every fighter’s strategy, but they’re technically illegal, and referees break them up pretty quickly because the object of the round is to fight, not rest.

    Fight until the bell rings / Go the distance

    I had to put this one last, for effect. Rocky taught the world about going the distance — all 15 rounds — in the ring with Apollo Creed; it wasn’t about beating Creed, it was about finishing the fight. But boxers have been fighting to make it through their scheduled rounds since long before then, whether they were “bums from the neighborhood” or not.

     

    Creative Commons Image by  SuperWebDeveloper on Flickr

  • Choosing Headgear for Boxing

    Choosing Headgear for Boxing

    If you are ready to make the leap from learning to box to actually sparring in the boxing ring, one of your first major decisions will have to do with finding the right headgear.

    It can be daunting to figure out what, specifically, you need, especially since there are so many choices. And if you’re still fairly new to your gym, you may not know who to ask or whether to trust what someone tells you.

    Since your decision about headgear can cost you more than a hundred bucks, here’s a little information that may help.

    Here’s what I know about you…

    You’re scared. And with very good reason. You know you’re about to take straight, hard punches direct to your face and you are BRAND NEW at this. Holy shit, that’s enough to scare anyone. But here’s the deep dark (not really) secret that may help you: everyone — and there are NO exceptions — everyone begins here. Every single badass in that ring has faced this knowledge (I’m about to get punched in the face!) and had to do the serious soul-searching that it takes to suck it up and do it anyway.

    However — and this is important — headgear is not going to help you avoid getting punched in the face. You’ll still get punched, and it will still be somewhat of a shock, and you’ll still freak out a little bit every time it happens for a while. Headgear is not a way to avoid the inevitable. You’re going to take a shot. A bunch of them, most likely. (I think you’re gonna do great, and I have some advice that may help, so hang in there with me.)

    I’m saying all this because I was so fucking scared the first time I got in the ring I wanted to put on a suit of armor and a full-face motorcycle helmet. I was terrified of taking my first punches. But since there were not any suits of armor or motorcycle helmets handy, I looked for the next best thing: a face cage.

    Sigh. Let me explain about face cages.

    Why face cages suck

    I call all of the headgear types pictured below face cages. But technically there are headgear styles with mouthbars (green Ring to Cage, below), nosebars (red Cleto Reyes, below),and actual wire cages (black Fight Club, below). Our gym had the nosebar variety, and I didn’t care how nasty that thing was, I was not getting in the sparring ring without it.

    What I didn’t know then was that I would barely be able to see in the face cage. Even the best styles (and if I had to pick, the mouth bar style is probably the least horrible choice) significantly obstruct your vision, which is a very bad thing in the ring. In my opinion, it’s not worth the sacrifice.

    However, there is one decent reason to wear a face cage. If you are a heavyweight, sparring hard multiple times a week with other heavyweights, you might consider it. I don’t think this is the best way to train, but I know at least one heavyweight guy who wears one, and this is why he does it. Those dudes are no joke; they throw power, and they aim to destroy. I recommend the Cleto Reyes above, because it has a lace-up top, but the Title version in the picture to the right has a chin buckle rather than velcro, which is good. More about these features below.

    And be of good cheer, ye faint of heart: If you will do the things on the list below, you may find yourself feeling less desperate for a face cage than I was when I first got in…

    How to significantly reduce your desire for a face cage

    This part is simple, and you can read more about each one of these items in the posts listed at the bottom of this article. But the gist is this:

    1. Spar for the first time in a gym where you’ve seen great care taken to introduce new boxers to the ring.
    2. Spar for the first time only after you’ve gotten in shape at least a little bit.
    3. Spar for the first time only with the support of a trainer you really trust.
    4. Spar for the first time with an experienced boxer who will bring the game to a level you can cope with.
    5. Consider asking your trainer if you can spar for the first time on offense only. (You’re the only one throwing punches.)

    Of course, I had ALL of these conditions, and still wanted my face cage like a baby wants her mommy. Sometimes you just gotta do what it takes to get your ass in the ring. Kudos to you, no matter what you decide about headgear.

    Just remember that even if you DO wear a cage, it doesn’t lessen the shock of taking your first shots; it just makes it harder for your to see well enough to do anything about it. Mine left an enormous bruise on my chin from where the not-very-well-padded chin bar hooked under my face. I only ever wore that damned thing once.

    And whether you decide to buy or borrow one, I’m betting you won’t wear it more than a time or two before you decide you’re ready for less sucky headgear. Which make me sooo glad I just wore the disgusting communal gym version and didn’t pay $130 for one of these suckers.

    Read on, warrior.

    Stage One: Borrow Headgear

    First of all, if you’re not sure yet and just want to test things out, I would *borrow* headgear rather than buying it.

    Most gyms have communal headgear that you can use, and they very frequently have face cage headgear, if you’re determined you want that. In some cases they have Masters headgear with extra padding and bigger cheekguards. More on that below.

    Borrowed or communal headgear is a little bit disgusting, but if you’ve made it this far in boxing, you’re probably not a clean freak and you’re at least somewhat used to sweat, spit, stink, blood, snot, grime, and germs. (Sorry for reminding you of the disgust factor. Part of the deal, no?)

    A slightly better borrowing tactic is to find someone at your gym with a similar build as you and ask if you can borrow their headgear. Most people don’t like to do this, but once in a while is not such a big deal. I’ve loaned mine out and borrowed other people’s a time or two.

    Either way, you probably don’t want to borrow headgear for very long. And truthfully, you won’t have to. Once you start getting some experience in the ring, you’ll have a pretty good idea about whether you’re ready to lay out cash for some headgear of your own.

     Stage Two: Buy Cheap $30 Headgear

    After my first time sparring in a face cage, I went straight to the Dick’s Sporting Goods and ponied up for the thin, cheapo version of headgear. That’s the Everlast headgear I had, in the picture, except mine was red.

     Why cheapo headgear?

    Because I’d been through my first sparring experience, and had learned that I was a fucking superhero. Didn’t know I had it in me! Which is NOT to say I looked awesome in the ring because I emphatically didn’t; my biggest revelation was that I could take a punch just fine. Holy shit, who knew??

    So when I went to the local sporting goods store, I was plenty happy to shell out $30 and walk off with thin-ass, shiny new headgear that no one had sweated, bled, spit, or germed in. Yet.

    And you know what? It was fine. Not great, but fine. And I used it for several months while I decided whether I wanted to get an actual amateur boxing fight.

    The reason that this was my next decision point was that in order to fight, you have to wear USA Boxing certified headgear, and my cheap stuff was definitely not that.

    Stage Three: Leveling Up to Great Headgear

    I spent a lot of time researching, buying and returning, and finally purchasing my top-level headgear, and it’s served me incredibly well for several years. I ended up buying the same headgear that my trainer, who was a world-ranked pro fighter, wore. (And she even let me borrow hers once to try it out.)

    My headgear is made by Fight Gear (I’d give you a link, but I don’t see it online anymore), and has all the features mentioned below.

    Here’s what you want in the headgear you are going to pay $100 bucks or more for.

    • A lace up top. Check out the photo. That’s me, in my lace-up-top headgear. The funny little white thing (you see it poking up in the air in the photo at the top of this post) is where I’ve taped the laces together to keep them from flying around and popping someone in the eye. A lace up top is CRITICAL because you want to be able to adjust your headgear, and the “standard” kinds, like the Everlast that was my first version, rarely fit correctly.
    • A chin buckle, NOT velcro. Velcro wears out; you’ll learn this if you have boxing gloves for very long. But on a glove, worn out velcro can be fixed with athetic tape or glove cuffs; on headgear, you’ll have to pop for a new one. So get the buckle kind to start with, and you’ll be good to go.
    • USA Boxing Certification. You’ll either read this in the description (if you’re shopping online) or you’ll see the official patch on the side of the headgear itself. You can see the patch on my headgear in the picture above as well as the top of the post. You MUST have this if you plan to compete, but even if you don’t plan to compete, this is headgear you know is decent.
    • A velcro or lace up back. Again, this is all about securing the best possible fit for your head size and shape, including your hair. Mine has a wide velcro flap, but the lace up ones work as well.

    You want your headgear to fit pretty tightly when you’re cold, because as you warm up and start to sweat, you DON’T want it slipping around on you. Again, this is critical, because you need to be able to see, and you might find yourself taking a knockout punch while you’re busy futzing with your headgear in the ring (I pulled off a nice one once this way).

    Be willing to order and return until you get the size right. Incidentally, mine is an Adult Medium. And yes, there are youth sizes in headgear.

    Finally, about Masters Headgear…

    “Masters” is the term used to denote the category of competitive amateur boxers over the age of 35. That’s me.

    Don’t get Masters headgear if you can avoid it. Sadly, a few major boxing tournaments require it if you fight Masters, and in that case, you might try borrowing one because I’d sure hate for you to spend all that money for one of these things.

    The reason Masters headgear sucks is the same reason the face cages suck. On Masters headgear they heavily pad everything so that the thing weighs a ton, feels incredibly stiff, and sticks out a lot. There are also ridiculously prominent cheek protectors that impede your vision.

    You can see the red Fight Gear Masters headgear in the picture; I’ve tried it on but not sparred in it. How can anyone see through that thing??

    The Whole Enchilada

    If you skipped to here, this is what you want to know. Borrow headgear (face cage or otherwise) your first time in the ring. Or pop for cheap headgear until you’re sure you’re ready to level up. When you’re ready for really good headgear, expect to spend about a hundred bucks, and get a lace-up top, buckle-style chin strap, USA boxing certification, and a lace-up or velcro back. Don’t get Masters headgear if you can possibly avoid it.

    All my opinion, of course, and I’d love to hear your experience and comments below.

    And I want to give a special shout-out to Jackie Haidar, a boxer who is making that huge step into the sparring ring. She emailed me to ask about headgear, and said some really nice things that made me grin like an idiot.

    I *LOVE* to hear from you guys, and it makes my entire week (month!) when you drop me a line. You can always reach me at Lisa [at] The Glowing Edge [dot] com.

    First Time Sparring Advice

    Here’s some more advice about sparring for the first time (they all open in a new window):

    What to Expect The First Time You Spar in Boxing

    What You Should Know Before You Spar

    First Time Sparring: Last Minute Advice

    And, if you feel ready for this one (I promise you’ll be okay):

    Sustaining Damage During Sparring

     Now go do it! And be sure to check back in and let me know how it went, you ass-kicking superstar.

    Image credit: The two pictures of me sparring were taken by my friend Melissa Eggleston, who was kind enough to show up one afternoon to Second Round where I train, and actually climbed into the ring with very expensive photo gear in order to get some of her own “shots” off… You rock, Melissa.

  • The Universe Isn’t As Fragile As You’ve Been Led to Believe

    The Universe Isn’t As Fragile As You’ve Been Led to Believe

    The reason I was the only seventh grader to make the varsity basketball team at my high school was because I was driven. I ran like hell and worked my ass off. I’d been playing suburban driveway ball since I was a toddler, mostly against older boys who had zero interest in “letting” me win.

    We were a championship team, so of course I rode the bench most of the time, and once in a while when it was safe to slip in the last string I got in a game. But I never really understood until many years later what made the rest of my team so very good, when I was only ever adequate.

    Pinpointing the deception

    Several years ago I saw a documentary called The Heart of the Game, and I finally was able to put my finger on it. I had learned how to play rough roundball at home on the concrete, but as I grew up, there was a clear sense that those rough-and-tumble practices needed to be sharply curtailed.

    Like most southern white bread suburban girls, I was brought up to be nice. I had a sense that I was tougher than the face I had to put on in public, but I felt like I was being told that the reason I had to be so nice and so careful was because the world was a very fragile place.

    Like if I bumped up against the world as a teenager or an adult, the world might be damaged. People would get hurt.

    It was a long, long time — decades — before I learned that this was a lie that would damn near wreck my life.

    Meanwhile I carefully kept my knees together and my elbows in and tried never ever, ever to brush against other people. Certainly never to body check, smack, chuck, hip sling or head butt, or careen wildly like a bumper car at the State Fair into trees and chairs and china cabinets.

    Barely breathing, barely moving

    Believing that the world was unbearably fragile held me back on a thousand levels. I was naturally curious, naturally energetic, forever wanting to dig in, turn over, unpack, dismantle, and understand things. But I didn’t. I was careful. I was so I was careful I barely shifted the air currents with the weight of my longing. I held my breath a lot.

    People everywhere were falling off bikes and getting black eyes and eating juicy peaches straight from a neighbor’s tree while I carefully tried not to take up any space not explicitly allotted to me. It was like all my psychic clothes were a few sizes too small. I got good at barely moving, so that none of the metaphysical seams ripped.

    Ever felt that way?

    Learning to bang (when your culture says “be nice”)

    The trailer for Heart of the Game makes it look like it’s a story about the inner-city tough girl who battles for her eligibility to play, but what I took from it was that this one rather unexpected coach taught his girls how to play with their whole bodies. How to slap, slam, dive, and hurl themselves into the game for the win. Which is exactly what happened when they committed their bodies, and not just their hands and feet, to the game.

    He taught them to bang. And they learned that it was not only good, it was amazing. And it won ballgames.

    I saw the film about the same time I was learning to box, and I can’t tell you how utterly synchronistic it felt. Like I’d finally gotten a significant message the universe had been trying to send for nearly all my life.

    Like the universe had been trying to deliver a letter to me that the culture around me kept stamping “return to sender.”

    Why do we get taught not to move, not to take up any space? I’m still working on that, but I’m looking at who benefits…

    In other words, I’m seeing that lots of people got ahead of me in line. I allowed pretty much anyone to take things I had if they wanted them. I worked long hours in order to meet everyone else’s needs, hoping there would be enough for me afterwards.

    It’s still hard to really pin down who’s to blame, and truthfully, I don’t waste a lot of time on it. But I am aware of what it cost.

    The high cost of failing to fight

    Does it sound weird, “the cost of failing to fight”? It still rings oddly in my ears. But failing to answer the bell of the world, failing to learn to throw a punch, failing to push against the forces that sought to hold me back cost me.

    Because there are forces seeking to hold you back.

    I didn’t know that, all those years. I thought everyone else was just rude (if they were shoving against me), or lucky (if they were winning at life); that the world was just a periodically hard, mostly random place. When in actuality, the world is crammed to bursting with opposing forces, and most of the other people are fighting for something. Those of us who aren’t fighting are being bruised and squashed and left behind.

    Our marriages are breaking under the strain, our kids are going astray, our carefully planned savings accounts are taking a nosedive, and most of all, we aren’t living the dreams we believed we could, all those years ago. Of course, for most of my life I thought I would be able to live the dream only if someone out-and-out gave it to me…for being so undemanding, I suppose.

    Surprises along the way

    I had to come to the breaking point before I learned to fight, which in turn taught me to live, and even more, to win. I had to get to the point of being ready to leave everything — marriage, kids, life in the cookie-cutter house — before I finally realized I could have all that AND more. If I just learned to understand what I wanted and how to fight for it. And I had to overcome my fear of hurting someone, or bruising the universe.

    And I’ve learned that the universe is built pretty damn well.

    This bad girl is sturdy. Marriages can go through some nasty shit and come out stronger (can I get an amen?), and kids are shockingly resilient. People overcome amazing setbacks and come out shining.

    And once you join in that flow, that fighting way of life, things seem to get easier. Not like “less work” easier, but like “achieving the dream” easier. It’s like finally you’ve joined a team that can battle its way to a championship.

    Rambling, sorting, organizing as I go…

    These are the things going on in my head these days, and I’ve said versions of this so many times in recent emails and conversations that I finally decided to try and get some of it written down. Not sure how coherent it is, but I’ll keep working at it, and maybe you’ll have insights to add as well. Or questions that will help me clarify things.

    I have questions for you, too.

    Did you grow up fighting for what you wanted? Or did you learn to fight later in life? If so, what was the catalyst for you?

    Or…are you still waiting to learn?

     Creative Commons image by K.M. Klemencic via Flickr.

  • First Time Sparring: Last Minute Advice

    First Time Sparring: Last Minute Advice

    You’ve done your heavy bag work, your partner drills, pads, and roadwork. Now you’re getting your chance in the boxing ring. It’s going to be your first time sparring and when you’re not thinking about puking, you’re stoked.

    And a thousand questions are running through your head. How hard should you hit? How many rounds can you go? Will you suck? Will you embarrass yourself? Will all your hard training pay off? Will you be able to take a hit and keep going?

    Congrats on a huge milestone in your training. Sparring is the holy grail of boxing; it’s even better than a fight, since you get to do so much more of it. Here are a couple of articles I’ve already written that may be useful to you:

    What You Should Know Before You Spar

    What to Expect the First Time You Spar in Boxing

    So. Last minute words of advice? You bet.

    1. It’s not about how hard you punch.

    Remember, if you hurt your sparring partner, you don’t have a sparring partner any more. First time boxers tend to let their fear power their shots; do what you can to calm yourself before ringtime so that you don’t drain your energy with nerves and so that you don’t throw hard and wild.

    2. Gloves up, chin down, elbows in. Keep a jab going.

    If you can do nothing else, do these four things. The first three keep you from getting hurt, and the jab should keep you working on some kind of offense. Jabs and straight rights are enough for your first time sparring. Don’t sweat it if that’s all you can remember to do.

    If you can remember all this and still have room to think and work, then keep your head and feet moving so you don’t eat every punch that’s thrown. (But that’s advanced.)

    3. Tell your partner it’s your first time sparring.

    Your trainer should let you go in with someone much more experienced than you, so that your partner can evade your wild stuff and bring the game to your level so you can get good work.

    Unfortunately, not all gyms are so careful. In that case, here’s what you do…

    4. Set the bar — go in punching with about half your power.

    That should elicit a response that is at about the same level.

    If your partner ignores your “bar” — i.e., the level of power you’ve set — then you can either tell them to turn down their heat OR you simply return the power. Careful here, this is how inexperienced people get hurt.

    5. Decide how many rounds you’ll go in advance.

    If you regularly train on the heavy bag and have no problem making it through six rounds in a row, you can most likely make 3 decent rounds in the ring.

    If you’ve been doing Tabata workouts (I like mine with 40 seconds of ultra-intense exercise — like a sprint — with 20 seconds of rest, 4 times in a row) three times a week, you’ll have the sprint capacity you’ll need for 3 rounds.

    Some people say if you can run a 5k in less than 30 minutes you’ll be able to go 3 rounds — NOT the case at all!

    What you need is anaerobic conditioning, not aerobic conditioning. This means your body has to perform without enough oxygen. So measure yourself with sprints or hard 3 minute rounds of any exercise where you go all out, then recover 30 seconds, then go all out again.

    For your first time sparring, don’t go over your round limit because you’ll be boxing exhausted and you are more likely to get injured.

     6. Be willing to roll out after one or two rounds, if needed.

    Be friendly, thank your opponent, but avoid injury! Injuries suck, because they keep you out of the ring. Ring time is the holy grail! And you can always wait out a few rounds and roll back in.

    7. Pace yourself.

    If you come out guns blazing, you aren’t going to make it to the end of your first round. If you throw several flurries in a row, you’re gonna get gassed.

    Throw singles, doubles, flurries (if you can), and intersperse them with some defense and good footwork. This is really important because you don’t yet have a sense of how much energy sparring will suck out of you.

    Later (not your first time sparring!) when you’re practicing, include 30 second sprints at the end of every round. My current sparring partner and I go toe-to-toe for inside fighting at the 30-second bell at the end of every round. This helps us build capacity for 30 seconds worth of flurry work. You can also do it in shadow boxing or bag work by using the last 30 seconds of every round for one-two punching as fast as you can until the bell rings. Killer.

     8. Fight till the bell rings.

    This is crucial. You really do want to try and make it to the bell, no matter what. Train that way, think that way, fight that way. This is the sport we’re in, and finishing the round is a major indicator of your ability to make it in the sport. Unless you have an injury, fight till the bell rings.

    9. Final word: It’s normal to be afraid. Fight anyway.

    Everybody’s scared. I’ve been doing this for years and I still get gut churn when I’m sparring with someone new. It doesn’t take a hero to fight when you’re not scared; the real champion is somebody who will be terrified but roll under those ropes and get to work anyway.

     Congrats on your first time sparring! I hope you’ll report back here (or email me at Lisa [at] The Glowing Edge [dot] com) and let me know how it goes for you, whether any of this advice was useful, and what lessons and advice you have to share as well.

    And a huge thanks goes out to Michael Smith, a new boxer who emailed me to let me know he was about to have his first sparring session and got me started thinking about this again. Be sure to check out his boxing blog over at The Road to Pugilism. Kick ass, Michael!

    Creative Commons image by Fabio Macòr on Flickr