The Glowing Edge

Tag: conditioning

  • What You Should Know Before You Spar

    What You Should Know Before You Spar

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

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

    There are two schools of thought in boxing.

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

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

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

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

    A good trainer trumps everything else

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

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

    A rant, before I move on

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

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

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

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

    Okay. I feel a little better. Onward.

    Have some basic conditioning

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

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

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

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

    Use your jab

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

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

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

    Keep your gloves up

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

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

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

    Never mind about footwork

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

    The four biggies, and knowing what’s coming

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

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

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

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

    Sticking with it

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

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

     Image by Steve Tolcher

  • What to Expect the First Time You Spar in Boxing

    What to Expect the First Time You Spar in Boxing

    Whether you started boxing for fitness or because you want to compete, one of the most scary and exciting things you’ll ever do is step into the ring for your very first sparring session.

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

    First of all, your conditioning sucks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    You’ll start thinking seriously about your gear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    You may be ridiculously self-conscious.

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

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

    You’ll come out feeling like a superhero.

    If you have the right kind of trainer and gym (and not one of those crappy places where they beat you up in order to feel like they are bad ass and way cooler than you’ll ever be), you will be so grateful to have survived without weeping, puking, or dying! Your brain will be firing all kinds of crazy messages like

    • “Did I really just do that??”
    • “Damn, I rock!”
    • “Wow, my conditioning sucks.”
    • “Damn, I rock!”
    • “I am so glad I didn’t puke!”
    • “I really did do it, didn’t I??”

    In fact it was a post by a friend of mine (and regular TGE commentor) Amy, who got me thinking about this again. You definitely need to read her thoughts on her first time sparring.

    The next day, say hello to your sparring hangover!

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Superhero image by Gomez-C on Flickr; the rest are (of me on a sparring night) by Ken Hall Photography

  • Basic Boxing Workout

    Basic Boxing Workout

    It comes and goes in waves: you get in really good boxing shape and stick there for a while, then you suddenly remember that you have to parent, your job heads toward overtime, you get behind in the universe, and one day you are in the ring wishing you had one of those oxygen canisters and a little plastic tube to blow it into your nose so you could finish this round without passing out.

    Hello, that’s me.

    And last week I was working on the heavy bag and my trainer strolled by with her arms folded, evaluating. I immediately sucked in my gut and racheted up my punch count. Bam! Bam bam bam! Dance to the side. Three killer combos in a row, fast. Hope she quits watching soon, cause I need to suck for air. My jabs were dropping down to oh, about waist level. If only my opponents would lay on the floor, maybe I could stomp on them; it would be easier.

    She said nothing of course; she didn’t need to. I confessed on my own, later: “Ahem, my cardio’s down a bit.” As if she were my priest and could give me penance. She knows boxing is its own penance. You get in the ring with low cardio and you aren’t going to go very far. Your opponent’s gonna chew you up and spit you out and you’ll just be grateful it’s over with.

    She gave me that half-smile of hers and shook her head. “It may be boring, but you just gotta get in here and do the same thing, over and over again. It’s how you get back.”

    She’s completely right. You can come up with all the new diet plans and cardio exercises (run, elliptical, skate, row, etc.) in the world, but in the end, it’s about boxing. Round after round of it.

    So today I got back in the gym during my lunch hour and spent some time working the hell out of the basics. Since my cardio is low, I set the round timer on 2 minute rounds with 30 second recovery. And here’s what I did, and plan to do again for the next several boxing workouts, pushing up my numbers and moving eventually to 3 minute rounds.

    • 2 rounds jump rope; sprint the last 30 seconds of each round
    • 1 round stretching
    • 2 rounds shadowboxing
    • 5 rounds on heavy bag; speed punches the last 30 seconds of each round
    • 2 rounds on the speed bag
    • 1 round shadowboxing for cool down
    • 10 minutes on the spin bike to finish

    Grab a shower and get back to work!

    Photo by Wootang01

  • Does Boxing Hurt?

    Does Boxing Hurt?

    It’s funny how many people ask me this about boxing.

    Short answer: yes. If that’s all you need to hear, that’s cool, but it’s one of those simple questions (like “Is there really a Santa Claus?” and “What does Paris Hilton do?”) that perhaps calls for a more complex answer. Lucky you! I’m here to elaborate.

    Beginning with the obvious, it hurts to get punched in the face. Ditto ribs, gut, and ears. Even with big, puffy 16oz boxing gloves and headgear on, it hurts. One’s nose, particularly, stings quite a bit when you get popped there. Teary eyes and bloody noses are not uncommon.

    But here’s the cool thing: when you learn that you can actually take a punch, that’s pretty awesome. And when you learn you can last an entire round, that’s even more incredible.

    But the simplest fact of the matter is that in boxing, you don’t spend most of your time being punched in the face (ribs, gut, ears). You spend most of your time training and conditioning. And that’s the biggest part of what hurts in boxing.

    To really bring this home for you, let me give you the list of the top five tortures a boxing trainer inflicts upon her willing (yea, even eager) pupils.

    1. Neck snaps. Heh. An accurate name if there ever was one. Lay on your back in the ring with your shoulders and head suspended over the edge. On the trainers count, snap your head quickly to the right three times like so: One, two, three, ONE. One, two, three, TWO. And so on to ten. You should be completing the ten snaps in about fifteen seconds total. Then you do ten to the left. Double time, now, and keep your eyes open. Now that your neck is starting to seize up, do ten to the front, really lifting your head as high and a quickly as you can. When your trainer finishes that set and starts everyone over again from the beginning, you may feel as if you are going to pass out or die. You should be so lucky; this is only the second set, and there’s still one more to go.

    2. Ring slides. These sound and look innocuous, but they’re deadly. A group of five gets in the boxing ring and forms a circle, facing in. Aaaaaall you have to do is glide sideways, as fast as you can, in that circle with your teammates, for as long as the trainer says. She who holds the stopwatch is your master, and you are the slave. Now move it. At first it’s okay, but after about 2.5 minutes the bottoms of your feet start to burn. Periodically the coach will shout, “Switch!” and you change directions, but it doesn’t help. After several three-minute rounds of this, you will sob with relief when the trainer calls time. The next day you will have massive, slidey blisters on the bottoms of your feet. You will moan a lot and annoy all the people around you. You will avoid the gym like the Black Death.

    3. Arm circles. When the trainer tells you to purchase a couple of two- or three-pound weights, do so immediately. Because if you fail to show with your little weights, they will punish you by making you use the five-pound or heavier weights, and you will experience serious agony in short order. Stick your thus-laden hands straight out in front of you and begin to make little tiny circles. Again, the count is One, two, three, ONE, and you’ll do 25 in the front, then without dropping your arms do 25 straight up above your head, then 25 behind your back (you gotta hunch over for those), then 25 with your arms extended out to your sides. Whatever you do, don’t drop your arms or the whole team will suffer for it. For the cherry on top, extend your arms out to the front again and Just. Hold. It gets worse. Because that’s only the first set.

    4. Mountain climbers. Push-up position. Pull your feet, one at a time, up to your chest, as if the floor were a vertical wall and you were Spiderman climbing it. Pretend Dr. Octopus is chasing you and you have to go really fast. Do ten million repetitions, and keep your butt down. This is why it sucks to be a superhero.

    5. Duck walks. Squat all the way — I said ALL the way down, until your behind is hanging an inch or two from the floor. Now walk. Quickly. While carrying a 12-pound medicine ball at the back of your neck, lifting it straight up in the air, then returning it as you duck walk. Do laps. This is the only exercise I simply can not do (although all my in-their-20’s teammates can). I’m guessing it’s the over-40 factor, along with the rice krispies I have in my knees.

    There are more tortures, but I think you get the idea. Strangely, my boxing team meets twice each week for a two-hour session of this sort of thing, and generally speaking those of us who are on the team also commit to three other gym sessions on our own every week as well. Go figure.

    So yes, Virginia. Boxing hurts. But for some reason, we do it anyway.

  • Beating the Clinch

    Beating the Clinch

    I’m about 155 pounds and 5’8″. Thomas is 180 pounds of solid muscle, and perhaps an inch shy of my height. A triathlete for the past ten years and a competitive wrestler as well, he moves with lightning speed and power. And as is more common with highly experienced athletes, all of his movements are carefully controlled. Which is why, after seeing him spar with my trainer, I was perfectly willing to get in the ring with him, and learn what he had to teach me.

    Beyond his punching power and speed, I knew he would be incredibly savvy in slipping my jabs, ducking, and getting in low. Although we are both over 40, he seems to have knees that will do anything for him. I would have to protect my stomach, ribs, and kidneys. Sometimes that feels like a catch-22: if my gloves are in front of my face (where they are needed!), my gut is exposed regardless of how well my elbows are tucked in. This is partly why boxers sometimes look a bit hunched over; they are protecting more of their body. Me, I don’t hunch very well. A lifetime of good posture makes me box like a plank. Think Pinocchio with poorly-oiled joints. The Tin Man, pre-Dorothy. It’s pathetic.

    But I do have long arms, which means an opposing boxer wants to get inside my reach in order to deliver the body blows, which is where the clinch comes in. When someone comes close in with a flurry of blows I simply can. not. think. anymore. I’m exhausted, and the only response I’ve been able to muster up is a hunched (hey, finally!) clinch. Plus begging for mercy, which isn’t pretty.

    Over and over again in the ring with Thomas I’d find myself there, being relentlessly pummeled from a clinch. He controlled his punches, but my ribs were taking a beating. “What do I do??” I finally huffed, the third or fourteenth time. “I don’t know what to do when I get in this position!”

    That seemed to flick a switch in Thomas (who is truly a very nice guy), who backed up and said, “Oh. You start throwing your uppercut at me. Really lean in to it, and if one doesn’t work, throw another. Shove me off and land your right as soon as I’m back in range. That oughta help.”

    And darned if it didn’t.

    I’ve never landed an uppercut on my trainer before, but Thomas politely enjoyed several and came back for more, making me repel the clinch and shove him away again and again. It was a little like punching and shoving a slow-moving train, but it marks the first time I’ve felt able to do something about being utterly under siege.

    Here’s to ring time, where learning meets motivation.

  • Getting in Boxing Shape: How Many Ice Packs Does One Need?

    Getting in Boxing Shape: How Many Ice Packs Does One Need?

    I would like to pretend otherwise, but after my first boxing class I hurt so badly I could not sleep soundly for about five nights in succession.

    I would wake up in tears just trying to roll over in bed. I did that thing where you hook some part of your body that isn’t in severe pain (foot? elbow? fingers?) over the edge of the mattress and try to haul the rest of your body into a less agonizing position before falling back into an exhausted half-sleep.

    And it isn’t like I wasn’t in reasonable shape, either. I could easily run a 5k and I went to the gym two or three times a week. I’ve given birth three times at home with no drugs; it hurt. Getting over my first boxing class was worse.

    After the initial shock I began to adjust. I was able to go to one class a week, then two. For the first three months or so I needed an icepack pretty nearly every time I came home. Since I have three boys, we already had one standard-grade icepack in the freezer. It stays cool-ish for about 15 minutes and has soothed many a contusion and more than a few sprains, strains, and black eyes over the years, but I had no idea just how small and inadequate it was until I started boxing.

    My local drugstore got me the hookup, though. I gratefully and without whining paid fifteen dollars for a Serious Icepack, the kind that is wretchedly, blissfully, miserably ice-freaking-cold for a good 80 minutes or so; nothing namby–pamby about that bad girl. You can do unanesthetized surgery on yourself after using that thing for a half hour.

    It has one slick and exposed-to-the glacial-ice side, and one covered-by-fabric but still arctic side, plus a looong industrial-grade four-inch-wide strap with Velcro and a buckle so that you can affix that mother to your dying flesh and still be able to mix a Bloody Mary.

    Problem was, the Serious Icepack was frequently a great boon to my shoulder, but my wrist or elbow or knee would still be crying silently in the waiting room, begging to be moved out of triage and into the trauma room where people were paying attention.

    So I went back to the drugstore and got a second Serious Icepack.

    And truth be told, there were times when I wasn’t ashamed to have three ice packs on various parts of my body doing their stop-the-pain routine. But I was actually too much of a weenie to return to the drugstore (although on reflection, I could have gone to a different drugstore) for another ice pack so I just used peas.

    Peas are great. Not arctic circle great, but still pretty decent little helpers. I kept some at work too. No one notices that you’re defrosting dinner on your knee if you roll your chair up close to your desk.

    Image by Juan-Vidal on Flickr