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:
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!
Is it safe to box in your forties? Are you likely to be injured? Should you even consider boxing if you have small children at home?
That’s me, still boxing at 47.
I started boxing at 42, I have a husband and three kids at home, and looking back, I’m slightly amazed that I never had these questions back when I started. But in those days I had other, more pressing issues. I’d never done anything like boxing (or anything else) for myself before. I was miserable and depressed. I didn’t think my marriage was going to survive. I frankly didn’t care what happened in the ring; I was just blindly hoping for something to relieve the darkness.
Boxing pulled me out of the abyss, and taught me how to fight for myself and the things I wanted.
And as I grew more proficient in boxing (and life) and started to spar regularly, people began to pose these questions to me.
They’re good questions from people who mean well, and some of them come from people who are not (or haven’t been) boxers themselves. But they ALSO come from boxers, like the awesome Glowing Edge reader who sent this email (I’ve edited it slightly):
I started MMA and kickboxing a year ago when I was 40. Been largely enjoying it and making good progress. I spar and grapple so it’s not pure ring work and punching but I do a fair share of boxing and boxing training.
I’ve definitely been tagged a few times. Nothing knee wobbling and no concussions but stunned a few times and a swollen nose once. And I can give it right back.
So, I’m not really scared about getting tagged, but after training I have a lot of thoughts, like, I’m 41 years old. I have small children at home. Do I need to be getting hit in the head at all? With all of the stuff in the news about concussions/suicide/etc. is even this very modest amount of boxing a risk? I need my brain at this point more than my fists. I talked to my doctor and she said she isn’t too worried if I’m not doing frequent, full contact boxing but I thought I’d see what your thoughts are.
I don’t see myself competing in the future unless it’s in jiu jitsu where you can compete as a “senior.” However, I like to put the skills I have into practice. I’m in the best shape and the least stressed out I’ve ever been so I’m hesitant to limit myself to just the bag but I also want to be smart.
First of all, how fantastic to hear about someone taking up a fight sport and getting in such great shape. And clearly doing well and enjoying themselves! Also, he got checked out by a doctor, who gave him a reasonably cautious but optimistic go-ahead (I’ll talk about frequency of sparring below). That’s win #2, because not all doctors will genuinely support someone who boxes; some are very frowny-scowly. And finally, the good news is that it IS possible to compete in a “senior” division in boxing, just like in jiu jitsu. See below…
I’ll get there, I promise! But let me see if I can answer a few of the most frequently asked questions first.
1. Can you box in your 40s?
Sure you can. Plenty of us do. You can even compete in boxing in your 40s on an official amateur or a professional level.
Even if you don’t get in the ring for sparring or competition, you can get a phenomenal all-body workout with boxing and get into the best shape of your entire life. But you probably already knew this. I think the real question comes next.
2. Do you have to get hit in boxing, or can you box without that?
You CAN box with NO body contact.
You will hit things, but you don’t have to BE hit. You can do all the fitness training that goes with boxing, even hitting the heavy bag, speed bag, and mitts, without ever getting punched in the face (or body) at all. For people who have concerns about safety, there you go. Non-contact boxing is going to be the safest path for you.
3. Are you going to get injured if you box?
Boxing is like any sport; you can, and probably will sustain some sort of minor injuries.
All of my non-contact boxing injuries were the kind I could have gotten simply going to a gym to work out. Beyond the normal aches and pains, the torn rotator cuff (which I got doing unassisted pull-ups, and I don’t do those any more) was the worst.
Cesar Hernandez and Jose Santiago, both fighting over 40.
If you do spar or compete, you may get a black eye, or a bloody nose. The more serious injuries tend to happen to new boxers who are not as skilled and a lot more scared than an experienced boxer.
My worst injury in the ring was as a newbie — I got a broken rib, and that bastard hurt. Took me about 3 months to get over that one, but I haven’t been seriously injured since.
So. Minor shit, yeah. Big stuff? No. And I try to spar about once a week, and compete every year.
4. What about hard punches to the face and head? Aren’t they dangerous?
They certainly can be. That’s why boxers (at any age)
train with good coaches and sparring partners who have everyone’s best interest at heart.
And yes, there are lots of conversations in the media (even from President Obama, at this year’s Superbowl) and among scientists and pension boards about whether or not repeated concussions from boxing, football, and soccer are causing dementia, Parkinson’s, and a host of other problems. MMA head injuries are under the media microscope as well. All of those should be considered by someone who wants to get in the ring.
Have I thought about all this? Of course. But I also work pretty hard to mitigate the risks. And I haven’t been doing this since I was a teenager, so I’m not going to have the same number of years of it piling up like a young fighter might.
5. But professional boxers don’t wear headgear during their fights…
That’s true, and pro boxing definitely takes a harder toll on the body than amateur boxing, which requires competitors to wear headgear.
However, pro boxers don’t spend the majority of their time fighting at full power without headgear.
They spend MOST of their time training, lifting weights, doing intervals, and working the bags and mitts like everyone else. They spar more when getting ready for a fight, but even so, they don’t go out every single week (like football players do) and put themselves into the highest risk situations. They might fight a few times per year, even as many as 10 times a year in the elite circles. But the majority of boxers aren’t doing that.
6. Is boxing worse for injuries than other sports?
I might put competitive fighting (including MMA and all of the martial arts) in the top 10 of most dangerous sports, along with football, soccer, rugby, and cheerleading, but I don’t have any kind of science or data behind that.
But what about base jumping, free climbing, bull riding, motocross, pro surfing, scuba diving, street luge, BMX riding, heli-skiing, hockey, lacrosse, mountaineering, NASCAR, and other dangerous sports?
I do know that you can be mildly or devastatingly injured in any sport. You can build up cumulative damage over a period of years in any sport. It’s worth considering, but I’ve found that boxing is also worth doing.
7. Is it irresponsible to box if you have kids at home who need you?
Before I started boxing, my three sons had a mother who did everything for them and nothing for herself, and they had parents with a failing marriage. I don’t know if they knew how unhappy and depressed I was, but I know it’s very different for them now.
Since I started boxing, they’ve learned to do their own laundry, make their own meals, and they are expected to pitch in around the house. They have a mother who is tough and courageous. They have parents with a solid marriage and joy in life.
It’s clear to me which one is the better model.
I understand the people who worry about head injuries. I think that’s a reasonable concern, but I don’t see a lot of that in boxing, except at the long-term professional level.
Boxing teaches you to care for your physical, spiritual, and emotional health. It teaches discipline, respect, and balance. And fight sports are practiced in very controlled arenas, with coaches and teammates and specialized gear.
These all feel like very important life gifts and opportunities to have.
8. Should I let my daughter see her father fighting?
There are other parents who are not sure how they feel about their sons and (particularly) daughters seeing Mom or Dad punching and getting punched in the ring.
I think this is about personal preference, although I can tell you that I wish I’d discovered boxing LONG before I was in my 40s. But I had no idea women even boxed, and I’d certainly never learned anything about the real skills, training, and care that goes into learning to fight.
My sons aren’t particularly interested in boxing (not having grown up with it), but if you ask them they’ll tell you it’s kinda cool that their mom fights. They would be willing to come see me fight (and I’d love to have them), but I usually have to travel and can’t afford for all of us to go.
When people say “But you don’t want your children to see you getting beat up!” I always smile at the assumption that I’m getting “beat up” in the ring. Maybe otherpeople are getting “beat up” by me, I’d love to say, but I know what they mean.
I hit, and I get hit, but I’m also okay. I like my sparring partners: we laugh, groan, grunt, and sweat together. We try to talk over our mouthguards. We get yelled at by our coaches. We work on specific tactics and shots. We nod and acknowledge particularly skilled moves.
Some days I suck, or perform poorly, or am utterly outmatched. Some days I’m teaching and supporting newer fighters. But it’s not typically an atmosphere of anger or ugliness.
I’d be fine with my daughter watching, if I had one.
9. Should I consider competitive boxing if I’m over 40?
USA Boxing, which governs amateur competition in the United States, puts all boxers over the age of 35 into the Masters category. It differs from the younger age groups in that Masters boxers are required to have a few more medical checks, like an EKG every 5 years. And in addition to the normal weight regulations, Masters boxers can not have an official match with anyone who is more than 10 years older or younger than they are.
So of course you can consider competitive boxing if you’re over 40. And for some of us, that’s the first time in our lives we actually do consider it!
10. How many fights can an over-40 boxer expect to get?
There aren’t nearly as many Masters fighters as there are in the under-35 bracket, as you might guess. I haven’t tracked the men, but most years in my state (NC) there have been between one and three registered female Master boxers. I usually know who they are. I’d guess there are at least five or six times that many male Master fighters.
So there aren’t as many opportunities to get matches, but if you have the money and can travel, Gleason’s Gym in NY holds annual Masters tournaments and Ringside also has a Masters tourney every year.
It’s not impossible to get fights in your local area (I’ve done it), but often you have to find and get someone to travel to your location. Corporate boxing groups like Atlanta Corporate Fight Night, are a newer thing in the US, and also offer opportunities for 40 and up boxers.
Coming Next: Best Advice for Over 40 Boxers
When I raised the issue of fighting after 40 on the Facebook page for The Glowing Edge, I got some great responses from boxers about what to think about, ways boxing is different for us, and what factors are the most different. Since this one got a bit long, my next post will cover some of those items, so check back soon.
Meanwhile, I hope you’ll leave a comment below with your own questions and thoughts on the matter! Stay strong and keep swinging…
But there’s a trick to getting through them that I just didn’t learn in boxing. But I was recently reminded of that lesson in the facefull-of-water kind of way that only a real wipeout can teach.
Learning to hang on to the rope
My grandfather had a cabin on Pickwick lake and a small, light boat called the Flutterby, perfect for towing skiiers. When I was about seven or eight years old, he showed me how to wedge my feet into the wet rubber shoes of an old slalom ski, handed me the tow rope, and helped me slip over the side of the boat.
Several times he emphasized to me that I should hold on tightly to the rope, so I clutched the plastic handle in both hands with a death grip and anxiously tried to keep my balance in the water as the Flutterby drifted slowly away and the slack was pulled out of the towline.
I got up on the very first try; I couldn’t believe how easy it had been. (Classic beginner’s luck; it didn’t happen that way the next time.)
It was an incredible, triumphant moment, and I was exhilarated by the cool shock of wind against my wet skin and the thrum of the lake beneath my feet. My teeth were chattering uncontrollably, but I grinned and emphatically nodded my head: I’m doing it! I’m doing it! My grandfather smiled back and waved, one hand on the steering wheel of the boat as he watched me.
Learning to let go of the rope
It seemed like I skiied forever on that smooth green ribbon that unfurled behind the Flutterby. I watched the scenery whiz past, I grinned for my grandfather, I gazed hypnotically at the water. And after a while I wondered… Once you get up and ski for a long, beautiful stretch, what do you do next?
Well, you try your luck at crossing the wake, of course. And you experience your first wipeout.
I hit the water face first; the ski snapped off my feet and I was dragged hard against the surface of the lake, which had seemed friendly and soft a few minutes before, but now felt as hard as a parking lot.
Which might have been fine in the end, except my single lesson in waterskiing was stuck doggedly in my mind. Whatever happened, I KNEW to hold on to the rope. No one had said anything about what do to when you fell.
Of course my grandfather saw me pitch forward into the water and immediately pulled back the throttle and tried to circle around to pick me up. When he got close enough he called out. “Next time, let go of the rope,” he said simply, and I thought “Oh. Okay.”
I swallowed a significant part of Pickwick lake that day, nearly lost my bathing suit, and sported a stinging red face for a bit, but the most important thing that happened was that I learned the second vital lesson in waterskiing.
Sometimes you need to let go of the rope.
My first speedy li’l boat
There isn’t an exact analogy in boxing for this, which is perhaps why it took me a while to let go of the rope I was hanging on to so hard recently…
Many of you know I’m a full-time freelance writer. I’ve been writing all my life. And yet I haven’t published anything (other than the posts on this website) of my own. Nothing with MY name on it…
So a couple of months ago I got inspired by another author and friend of mine, the incomparable Johnny B. Truant, and I took the content from some of my most popular posts on The Glowing Edge and created the mini-book 37 Reasons to Take Up Boxing.
It took me a bit more than a week’s worth of spare time to write it, get a cover made, figure out the technical logistics, and start offering it on my site. It was lightning-fast, in terms of ebook projects. I created it, powered it up, and that little baby was off like a remote control racing boat with a spanking new, fully-charged battery pack. Zzzzzzip! and it was gone.
And what happened next…
Approximately 7 seconds later, I began thinking about the next one I wanted to publish. And I immediately set to work writing a book about the biggest, most life-changing lessons I’ve learned in boxing, and how they translate to life. The Badass Manifesto was born.
This book was bigger and certainly packed a good bit more power. I finished the writing in about three weeks of spare time, despite my client workload. This time, though, I wanted beautifully-designed interior pages, an audio version, and lots and lots of extras. This little boat would have racing stripes, multiple camera mounts, high-intensity halogen tower lights, and…
And two months later the good news was that the engine worked great; my boat was fast as hell. The bad news was that the accessories were taking forever. I was bogged down in technicalities and specifications and making no headway at all.
I’d created my second little boat and it was already flying across the water like a speed demon, but I felt like I’d done a faceplant and was being forcibly dragged along.
It’s hard to accomplish much when you’re flying face-first across a lake.
The aerial catalyst
And suddenly this story came up in my life. An image magically floated past on Facebook or Twitter of a trapeze artist about to let go of her trap bar, and I suddenly recalled my grandfather saying calmly, Let go of the rope.
So I cleared my calendar and set to the work of letting go.
I let go of the lovely interior page design I wanted, put off recording and solving the hosting/plugin decisions for another day, and bid a fond farewell to the great majority of further modifications I had wanted or started. I let go of that damn rope.
And I have to say it feels really good to climb out of the lake for a moment, wring the water out of my hair, and contemplate the lessons learned. I feel a little bruised maybe, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be back out there again in record time.
After all, you can’t start your next ride until you let go of the rope at the end of this one.
SO. There are no racing stripes or tower lights, but there’s a helluva fast boat waiting for you here. I hope you’ll fall in love with it, learn from it, be annoyed, intrigued, frustrated, and thrilled by it.
And most of all, I hope you’ll grow from it, just like I did.
PS: Watch for it at 2:46 in the video above. Boy do I *ever* know how that guy feels. : )
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:
Spar for the first time in a gym where you’ve seen great care taken to introduce new boxers to the ring.
Spar for the first time only after you’ve gotten in shape at least a little bit.
Spar for the first time only with the support of a trainer you really trust.
Spar for the first time with an experienced boxer who will bring the game to a level you can cope with.
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):
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.
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:
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!
Why cheapo 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.)