The Glowing Edge

Tag: coach

  • 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

  • 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.

  • Boxing Royalty

    Boxing Royalty

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

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

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

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

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

    Me and my big mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • Three-Way Death Match in the Ring

    Three-Way Death Match in the Ring

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Image by Stefan on Flickr

  • 7 Reasons Your Trainer Can Make all the Difference in Your Sport

    7 Reasons Your Trainer Can Make all the Difference in Your Sport

    1. She has chops.

    I have had many coaches over the years who didn’t actually compete, or hadn’t competed in the sport they were teaching me, but the very best ones did. My skating coach (woah, whole ‘nother set of stories) had made the Olympic team. My basketball coach was a top-notch player. And my boxing coach won a world title. Just because you’ve done something like this doesn’t mean you’re a good teacher, but sometimes that experience mixes beautifully with a teaching heart and you get a winner who trains other winners.

    2. She takes the sport seriously.

    I have absolutely nothing against the casual enjoyment of a particular sport. I was a casual runner for a while. Played a little bit of workplace and subdivision softball too, and it’s fun. But nothing sucks worse than coaches or trainers who are consistently late, distracted, or unprepared, and that goes for all leaders, across the board, for me.

    3. She cultivates the newcomers carefully.

    I’ve heard plenty of horror stories of boxing trainers with something to prove who gave each new kid a whuppin in the ring just because they could. There are times when a newbie needs a careful lesson on controlling power or paying attention, but for the most part, it’s not a great idea to prune a seedling. Instead you keep the weeds away and give it a little extra care. This is particularly important in boxing, and even more so for women new to the ring. The first time I got in the ring was with my trainer, and she didn’t throw a single punch. Instead she let me feel what it was like to move around the ring and encouraged me try my first awkward jabs. Later she put me in only with experienced boxers, guys who knew how to meet me at my level. She didn’t unload her wicked straight right the first time I wore headgear without a facebar; she pulled her punches until I started to understand both how to protect myself better and how to take a punch. She let me experience the joy of the sport before I took on the punishment.

    4. She makes the team work as a team.

    We all train on our own in addition to training with the team, but when we’re working as a team we train together, starting on time, working at the same pace, helping each other and offering encouragement and support when we can. There isn’t a lot of chitchat or social stuff going on in our training; it tends to be more serious. But that doesn’t mean a heartfelt call to finish well or a sympathetic groan of misery isn’t heard on a regular basis.

    5. She protects her people.

    Don’t let her catch you stretching before you’ve warmed up. And if you aren’t training hard, she’s not going to allow you in the ring. If you’re in the ring, she looks out for you and calls it off if you’re in danger or calls you out if you’re putting someone else in danger. Inattention to these things in boxing means serious injuries and people leaving the sport.

    6. She’s incredibly tough.

    She knows you are cursing her name the day after she kicked your ass really badly in training. She knows not everybody will agree with her decisions. She doesn’t expect to win popularity contests, she expects to train winners. And she doesn’t ask you to do what she won’t do (and she can usually do it with her eyes shut and hands tied).

    7. She goes the extra mile.

    You know these coaches — they’re the ones who drive long distances to take a group to a meet or event. They spend unpaid hours working to find matches for their fighers. They respond to emails and share information that might be helpful to you; they let you draw on the contacts and connections they’ve spent a lifetime building up. And they are happy to do it. When you find someone like this, you know it’s different. It’s wonderful.

    Did I say “7 Reasons”? Well I meant eight. Because this last one seals the deal.

    8. She’ll have a beer with you, too.

    Trainers are people, too. As an adult, the more serious you become about a particular sport, the more enjoyable it can be to share some off-the-clock time with your coach, either as a team or one-on-one. Even if it’s just taking a look at pictures of a recent concert together after team training is over, or enjoying a beer ringside at a fight, it builds trust because it builds the relationship.

    I want to give a special shout-out to the trainers who have been such a gift to me over the years: Coach Buddy, Coach Poppenheimer, Coach Yates, and Coach Bonnie Mann: you guys make all the difference. Thanks for everything.

    Who were the trainers who made a difference in your sport and in your life?