Tag: fight

  • 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

  • Boxing and Deafness: Interview with Sarah

    Boxing and Deafness: Interview with Sarah

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

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

    How did you get started in boxing?

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

    What does your family think about your boxing?

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

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

    How does being deaf affect your training?

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

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

    Are cochlear implants a possibility?

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

    What does your training look like currently?

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

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

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

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

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

    What made you decide to compete?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    What goals are you currently working on in the ring?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Pinpointing the deception

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

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

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

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

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

    Barely breathing, barely moving

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

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

    Ever felt that way?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    The high cost of failing to fight

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

    Because there are forces seeking to hold you back.

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

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

    Surprises along the way

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

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

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

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

    Rambling, sorting, organizing as I go…

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

    I have questions for you, too.

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

    Or…are you still waiting to learn?

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

  • I Love to Fight

    I Love to Fight

    You knew this. I knew this. But periodically I’m reminded.

    Last night I went 4 rounds (at the end of my workout, I must add, because I’m vain. Also a masochist.) with a good friend and freaking awesome sparring partner at my boxing gym.

    Sinclair is a phenomenal peer coach; he’s forever smiling and goofing around with the kids, and yet he moves so fast on the bags and in the ring you’ll wonder if he’s real, and not just a ghost. You punch, he’s not there. Except for that blinding mouthguard-enhanced grin.

    He also spontaneously breaks out and dances. In the ring, in the gym. He just a dancin’ kinda guy. I love Sinclair.

    And yesterday he offered to give me some rounds in the ring and I took them before he could change his mind.

    All my joy comes out when I fight well, but with someone like Sinclair, it comes out even if I’m tired and draggin’ ass, which I was.

    Somewhere in the middle of the second round, Sinclair did a little stutter step, looked off to the left, and before I could pivot he nailed me with a gorgeous stiff right. I stopped in shock — not because the right stung (it did), but because the whole combination was so unexpected and… so pretty! So danceable! And damned effective.

    I immediately demanded that he do it again.

    Well of course he loved that. He laughed and took me to the whupin’ shed again. And this time I tried to watch for it, but he still caught me. Fast boy.

    I made him stop, of course, and insisted he show me the move. He did, patiently demonstrating several times and encouraging me to try it.

    I got it in my mind, we bumped gloves and circled, I launched my offensive and waited for my opening.

    Whoop, I slipped it in, and found myself reeling from his counterpunch. I say counter punch, but he actually anticipated my tricky new move and prevented it! That wily rat. Taking advantage of a mere uneducated girl. (See what cards I pull when I want my way?)

    I shouted my outrage, and dug in for a battle.

    He told me to bring it, and I did. What I had left, anyway. I caught him once or twice with a power right (my fave) and a couple of inside shots in the clinch, but I held off on the tricky new move, instead opting for what I knew worked.

    That and any other slop I had left.

    He shouted for our coach to come over and watch just as the bell for the fourth round sounded.

    Crap. Tired as I was, I scraped the bottom of the barrel and dove back in. I had one goal: pull the new trick in front of Coach Massey and give Sinclair a little party favor to remember me by.

    And I did it!

    I was so overjoyed at catching him clean that I turned around in the ring (don’t ever do that, boys and girls) and demanded acknowledgement from Coach Massey. Sinclair was laughing his head off behind me.

    Massey tried not to grin. “You need to sell that move better,” he commented dryly. “You got to look off in the direction you’re stepping off in. Make him believe it. Then the right.”

    I sighed happily, and plowed back into my round.

    Massey had 6 succinct words for me, as I staggered out of the ring.

    “You gotta get in ring shape.”

    He’s right. I’ve been out, maintaining “normal athlete” fitness levels, but ring fitness is a totally different level, and after my last fight, I took a break from it for a season.

    But damn, people, it just feels so good to fight.

    It’s it’s own motivation, truly.

    If you’re thinking about boxing with any kind of seriousness, I hope you find a great gym, a great trainer, and an incredible sparring partner like Sinclair.

    There’s plenty of joy in there for you, too.

    Image: That’s me in the gold and black, fighting in Atlanta (my second fight).

  • Holly Holm’s KO Fight Has Dangerous Ref (and Bad Corner)

    Holly Holm’s KO Fight Has Dangerous Ref (and Bad Corner)

    The Holly Holm (30-2-3, 9-KOs) vs Anne Sophie Mathis (26-1, 22-KOs) “World Dominance” fight is bothering me, and it should bother everyone with a stake in professional boxing.

    Both of these phenomenal, world-class boxers fought well and did absolutely nothing wrong. However, referee Rocky Burke and Holm’s corner were not only neglectful, but dangerous.

    Holm is a punch-and-move technical boxer with tremendous foot speed, and Mathis is an out-and-out powerhouse brawler with a knockout right. It was an outstanding match-up, and the first five rounds were incredible.

    In the fifth, Holm seemed to move less and trade more bombs, and the damage began to pile up on her. The ref called Mathis for rabbit punches (which can take a serious toll), but that was apparently his last good call.

    In the sixth, Mathis dropped Holm to the canvas, and after FAILING to issue a count, the ref let a weaving, disoriented Holm face further mauling from Mathis.

    At the bell, Holm’s corner had their first opportunity to make a exit plan, but they didn’t, as far as I can tell.

    The seventh round was a travesty — not at all what good boxing should be.

    Holm had no more legs, and mostly swayed and staggered, with her head drooping and guard wide, just taking shot after shot from Mathis.

    At one point Holm was beat back into the ropes and actually became entangled, hanging drunkenly as Mathis ripped into her, tearing open a gash on her cheekbone before the ref finally made his way over to help Holm out of the ropes, propping her upright and signaling the fighting to resume.

    Mathis unleashed two rights in a row on the incoherent Holm, putting her through the ropes and nearly onto the judges’ table. She was pushed back into the ring where she rolled to her side, completely limp, blood streaming from her face.

    In the photo below you can see that Holm is still having to hold herself up by draping an arm over the ropes, even as she finally receives attention from her team.

    Mathis behaved impeccably. There was no jeering, parading, or trumpeting over the fallen Holm. Mathis won the fight and deserves the title; of that there is no question.

    Holm did her best to do what her inattentive corner left her in there to do. I can understand their decision to let it go in the sixth, but why they allowed their fighter to be brutalized in the seventh, when she clearly couldn’t protect herself, return a shot, or even hold herself upright, is unimaginable.

    The ref failed her utterly. I don’t even have words for him.

    Holly’s post-loss press video is heartbreaking…

    The fiasco has garnered some press, but of course since it’s a women’s fight there won’t be nearly the outrage that there should be.

    The thing I’m most curious about is what Holm’s conversations with her trainers and corner were like, in the privacy of their own gym, after the initial devastation of the fight was past…

    I hate when fights are called too early, but in this case there was no doubt in my mind that serious mistakes were made, and that a fighter’s life was needlessly endangered, both by the ref and by the corner.

    I know boxing is a tough sport, and people get hurt. But there’s a line, and this one went well past it.

    What do you think?

  • I LOVE Not Being the New Person in the Gym

    I LOVE Not Being the New Person in the Gym

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    It’s usually only the new kids who puke.

  • Boxing Training. With Chickens.

    Boxing Training. With Chickens.

    Urban ChickensI can’t decide what makes the chickens squawk and mutter on some days and be perfectly silent on others.

    For the past couple of months I’ve been doing boxing training in a mostly empty gravel lot (see photo below), located at the edge of a neighborhood of sagging student-housing Victorians. I’m sort of behind an ancient International House of Pancakes — with nice graffiti — near the railroad tracks.

    Oh, and chickens.

    I didn’t even realize the chickens were there at first, hidden away like they are in a tiny coop behind a two-story cinderblock apartment box, just past the dumpster. As I said, they were silent those first few times I got out there to train.

    The gravel lot is rarely used, but it does provide a handy cut-through to a sprawling urban park nearby, and I have had to get used to the periodic gawker, catcall, or unhelpful comment from the students hiking past.

    It’s weird to walk out in the middle of the dirt and gravel, sling gravel lotdown my gear bag, and start to shadowbox all by myself. Jay, who is training me, will quietly comment, “Just ignore them,” as people pass us by.

    So I work, and wipe the gritty sweat out of my eyes, and blink rapidly to clear my vision when we raise a cloud of dust with our sparring. I sprint from the blue dumpster to the metal shed and back, then shadowbox for my recovery period until Jay calls the next sprint in 30 seconds. And I ignore the occasional “Stick and move!” comment from passers-by.

    But one day I thought I heard a chicken crowing. An odd sound, to a woman who has lived much of her  life in the suburbs of one large city or another.

    I mean really, I learned what a chicken sounds like from a See ‘n Say.

    So at first I thought someone was imitating a chicken. Those wacky students. But it happened several times, and no matter how often Jay told me to stay focused and ignore everything outside our scuffmarks in the dust, I got distracted.

    One day a whole chorus of See ‘n Say chickens erupted. I dropped my guard and scanned the lot. I was damn lucky not to get dropped where I stood, because Jay kept throwing. “Focus,” he called over his mouthpiece.

    “There are chickens in this lot!” I cried, “I know there are.”

    “Oh. Yeah, over there,” he agreed, pointing with his chin. And sure enough, what I had mistaken for a haphazard pile of bamboo sticks, scrap wood, and mesh screening was an actual chicken coop. With ten chickens, no less!

    I was fascinated. I pulled loose my gloves and walked back behind the dumpster, past a tiny makeshift garden to the coop. The chickens stood purring (Sorry, I have cats: what is that low hum they make?) and tilting their heads at me as if I were the curiosity in their world.

    “Hi, you chickens,” I said, grinning like an idiot. Chickens!

    Now I can’t imagine training any other way.

    I bet you don’t have chickens in your training space. Too bad for you!

  • Training in Atlanta

    Training in Atlanta

    Training for this fight has been rocky, and not the Sly Stallone kind, either.

    So last week I called the promoter, two-time Strawweight World Champion Terri “The Boss” Moss, for a serious tête-à-tête. I related the details of my bumpy progress, she invited me to drop everything and come down to Atlanta for a week of training with the rest of the tough, serious women boxers at her boxing club in Decatur.

    I gave her precisely 24 hours to get ready for me, then I checked my gear bag, gassed up the Blue Toaster and hit the road. I drove south for seven and a half hours, arrived at her doorstep at 4 pm, and I was in the gym and sweating by 5. Nothing like a little time in the ring to shake off the stiffness of a long-ass drive.

    The Decatur Boxing Club is the kind of authentic boxing gym every weekend warrior dreams of, the kind of joint where serious fighters work with world-class trainers on a daily basis. It’s housed in a small brick warehouse with a roll-up loading bay, a single ring, a row of heavy bags, and a thousand fight posters, announcements, and inspirational slogans papering the walls. Banners proudly proclaiming the names of local boxing champs hang from the ceiling, stirring slightly in the current of the industrial-grade fan. A dozen dogs from the kennel in front of the gym bark wildly whenever anyone pulls into the 6-slot parking area, where the tantalizing aroma of a nearby coffee roastery overlays the odor of hot asphalt. Inside the gym smells faintly of Pine-Sol, and the surprisingly powerful sound system pumps out a steady stream of instrumental jazz mixed with a few downtown rhythm-and-blues club beats.

    It couldn’t be more perfect.

    Terri Moss (pictured above) and her partner Xavier Biggs know what they’re doing. They have incredible amount of history, experience, and know-how. Terri isn’t just a phenomenal fighter, she’s a powerful coach. Highly intuitive, she knows exactly what is mentally driving her boxers, and she understands precisely what sort of approach will help each fighter shift their thinking about the highly stressful, potentially damaging dynamics of this sport. And for technique, she is unmatched. I had called her earlier about an injury to my shoulder sustained during hard sparring. Before I had even described the injury, she said, “You were throwing those right hooks, weren’t you? You have been boxing too much with your arms and not with your body.”

    Damned if she wasn’t right.

    And it took her about 2 rounds of coaching me through a sparring session to help me discover the refinements I needed in my stance. Getting her changes into my muscle memory will take weeks and months of hard work, but each adjustment she made will dramatically improve my game.

    Moss and Biggs have also connected me with Jason Abraham, aka “Jay Fury” — a man who trained at DBC for several years before moving to Raleigh. When Fury and I arranged to meet for the first time I knew him by the black Decatur Boxing Club tee shirt he sported, and I’ve since found comfort in the periodic references he makes to his former trainers as we circle each other in the gravel lot where he’s now giving me some training.

    I have so much to learn. I know I can’t do everything I would like before this particular fight, but I definitely have some good things going for me.

    And all of you who have been following this saga, leaving comments, sending me messages of encouragement, and writing about this fight have been just as big a part of my journey as my trainers. I can’t imagine doing this without all of you. I know many of you aren’t local to Atlanta (although quite a few of my new gym-mates are there — hollaaaa!), but that doesn’t seem get in the way of your boundless enthusiasm and continual cheering.

    Thanks for that, truly. You’re incredible.

    If you would like to help me pay for some of the expenses of this fight, you can make a contribution of any size with this link or the button below. I will be deeply grateful!

    Need tickets to the fight itself? Here’s the link to get ’em.

    I’ve also created a page with some more information about sponsoring me in this fight. More links and information there!

  • I Have Another Fight!

    I Have Another Fight!

    When I got the promoter’s email today I nearly had a heart attack. I am going to be boxing in Atlanta as the Main Event on the April 23, 2011 Atlanta Corporate Fight Night card.

    The Main Event!

    I’ve been in conversation with the promoter for a month or so about this fight, but it’s a shock seeing my name listed at the top of the card. It’s so incredibly rare to see women headlining any boxing event (that’s why I was so excited about Alicia “Slick” Ashley headlining Maureen Shea’s card in NYC a couple of weeks ago). I have no illusions, of course, that it has much to do with me — it’s my opponent who is the real draw — but still! The Main Event. Oh, and get this: there are two guys who are listed underneath as the “co-main,” heh. Bit of a reversal from the ordinary state of things in the boxing world.

    I attribute this entirely to the indefatigable boxing promoter and force of nature Terri “The Boss” Moss, who is once again bringing her glitzy, cocktails-and-little-black-dress corporate boxing event to the forefront of the Atlanta scene. Moss is utterly familiar with old-school boxing traditions — this Strawweight World Champion had to break through plenty of them in her five year, 18 fight professional boxing career. And she’s no stranger to “firsts,” holding the Guinness World Record for being the oldest woman to win a professional boxing world championship. Alongside her business partner and former trainer Xavier Biggs, she runs the Decatur Boxing Gym where she will be training all of the women (with the exception of me and my opponent) who will be fighting on the card.

    My opponent will be Aussie national amateur boxing champion Mischa Merz, who is the real reason women’s boxing fans around the globe will be keeping a sharp eye on this fight event. Merz started boxing in 1998, enjoying a very successful four years of competition. She wrote a book called Bruising about her experiences learning to box.

    In 2009 she began boxing again, this time in the Master’s division, and has won all of her fights so far, including the National Women’s Golden Gloves, the Georgia Games championship and the Ringside World championship. Her second book The Sweetest Thing: A Boxer’s Memoir will be released this spring.

    Am I crazy to accept an invitation to box this woman?

    Of course I am. But you knew that.

    Here’s the truth. Women boxers aren’t a dime a dozen. We aren’t just littering every sidewalk like autumn leaves after a hard rain. This is even more true of those of us boxing after 35, which is where the Master’s division begins.

    I’ve been in the ring for almost two years now. True, I only have one official amateur fight, one exhibition fight, and zip all else. But I’ve had an incredible trainer and she believes I can do this. Hell, I believe I can do this. Why else am I pouring hours of sweat, beaten leather, and ice packs into boxing, if not for this?

    I’m honored to have been invited to fight by Terri Moss. I’m thrilled and terrified to be going glove-to-glove with a heavily titled, undefeated national champion. I am eager to meet this world-travelling boxer, author, and journalist. My trainer won’t be able to go, but I went to Atlanta last time alone, and the Decatur Boxing Club people went above and beyond in their hospitality. Plus, the post-fight pina coladas were the best I’ve ever had.

    I wouldn’t miss this for the world.

  • Alicia “Slick” Ashley to Headline “Brooklyn Explosion” Fight Card

    Alicia “Slick” Ashley to Headline “Brooklyn Explosion” Fight Card

    On January 19, 2011 (delayed from the original date of the 13th, due to inclement weather), one of boxing’s top bantamweights Alicia “Slick” Ashley, will battle 8 rounds with Crystal Hoy in Maureen Shea’s “Brooklyn Explosion,” to become the first female to headline a boxing main event ever in New York city.

    NABF featherweight titleholder Maureen “Moe” Shea (15-2) is known to many boxing fans for preparing Oscar winner Hilary Swank for her role in “Million Dollar Baby.” Shea — a former sparring and training partner for Alicia Ashley — is now adding yet another accomplishment to her list: the first active female boxer who is a promoter. It just makes sense that Shea would bring Ashley to the top of an NYC boxing card.

    Jamaican-born Ashley (15-9-1, 1 KO) will take on Crystal Hoy (5-3-3, 2 KO) for 8 rounds, and you can expect this battle to blind you with speed and smooth, fast power. There’s a good reason Alicia’s ring name is “Slick.” She moves like magic in the ring; one minute here, and the next minute gone; she is incredibly light on her feet and agile with her hands and body. You’ll often see her forcing her opponents to chase her around the ring; Ashley dances effortlessly, gloves down, appearing not to be making any effort at all until she slips inside with the power punches, then disappears.

    You can get an idea of what I mean by watching just a little of this fight (not nearly her best showing, but a quick example) with southpaw Elena Reid. (Scroll the clip forward to get the fourth round started.)

    And Ashley has traveled all over the globe to get her fights; it feels right and good to have her fighting at home in Brooklyn; I hope this will bring more attention to the phenomenal female fighters in the City — I say let all the rest of the contenders come to her!

    I’m not sure if there are any tickets left for “Brooklyn Explosion,” but you can get more information about tickets by contacting Amanda at Global Boxing Gym in North Bergen, NJ at 201.348.3149.