Tag: knockout

  • What to Do When You Get Hit HARD in Sparring

    What to Do When You Get Hit HARD in Sparring

    Most of the time in boxing sparring, you’re not working with your full power, because if you were, you’d have a pretty short shelf life. Save that shit for the fight, you know?

    But because nearly everyone spars with people waaay outside their weight category, you’re likely to get hit really hard now and then. The kind of hit that makes your head buzz and your ears ring. I’m not talking about a knockout punch, but close.

     

    When nearly all my sparring partners were heavyweights, I used to get my bell rung about once a month. Lately it’s a fairly rare occurrence, mostly because I’m in with people closer to my weight, and also because I’m less slow on defense than I used to be. If you’re new, you’re just gonna get tagged on a regular basis; there’s no getting around it. (Don’t worry, you don’t stay new forever.)

    Recently I was working with one of my favorite sparring partners; we’re within 5 pounds of each other and very comfortable in the ring together. Our strength is well-matched, and we know how to draw out each other’s best work. We tear shit up, man, and it is awesome. When you’re in there with someone you know you’re safe to work your ass of with, sometimes your power builds and builds and you feel good letting loose some badass shots.

    We were there.

    Unfortunately, I was also consistently dropping my right. Which meant she was amping up her left hook in order to take smart advantage of my lapse. She scored several hits that I should never have allowed, then BANG. I got rocked, pure and simple. Not a knockout shot, but a clean, clear, hard power shot to the chin that put a sweet stop to my game for a moment.

    “I need a second,” I told her immediately, and we both dropped gloves and I walked it off. And you can bet your sweet ass that my coach didn’t even have to mention that sloppy guard of mine because I knew. (He mentioned it anyway. I deserved it.)

    Anyway, every boxer experiences it, and you need a few tricks in your toolbox to deal effectively with it. So here you go.

    1. DON’T shake your head.

    It’s a natural impulse, but it doesn’t help to shake your head to try and clear it. That just sloshes your brains around even more than they already are.

    2. Let someone know.

    Don’t just stand there and take more hard shots on top of the one you just got. It’s totally, completely, absolutely ordinary in everyday sparring to say, Hang on, I need to recover. It doesn’t mean you’re pussy, it doesn’t mean you are quitting, it just means you’re not a dumbass.

    If you got tagged because someone’s going off on you, then you make double sure you tell them to pull the heat. The unwritten rule in sparring is that you match the power of the person you’re working with, unless you agree differently.

    3. Be calm.

    You box; this is normal. It’s not something you want to have happen all the time, but there’s no need to get excited — or angry and upset. I see guys (especially) get incidentally rocked and then fire off a series of punishing bombs, which just escalates the situation and often turns an otherwise normal sparring match into an ugly, messy, pointless brawl. There’s not much to be learned from that kind of slop, but some coaches (including mine) do allow it so that “the boys” can burn off some stupid.

    I’m pretty sure it’s a guy thing, hah.

    4. Keep moving.

    For the most part, you want to walk it off. Keep everything moving, operating, and in motion until your neurons start firing normally again.

    5. Take a drink of water.

    When this happened to me recently my coach had me roll out and hang out ringside (it was somewhat a punishment for the sloppy guard, I think) while my sparring parter finished the round with someone else. My coach instructed me to get a drink and cool off for a round. It’s annoying to have to do this, but finding your water bottle and getting some liquid in you gives you something else to focus on. Dammit.

    6. Fix what went wrong.

    In this particular case, I knew what I’d done, and I was already pissed at myself for letting my right drop like that. If you don’t know exactly why your bell got rung, your coach will clarify, and you should immediately start thinking about patching up the hole in your form. Which leads me to…

    7. Get back in. ASAP.

    You don’t want to end your sparring session on a rough note like that if you can help it. Get back in with someone you trust and concentrate on fixing the problem you had in the first place. In my case, my sparring partner and I laughed a little at how few rights I was throwing when I got back in. My right was practically duct-taped high and tight to my headgear. I wasn’t letting that hand down for ANYthing, not so soon after getting rocked.

    If all you do is work on protecting yourself, good for you. Everyone needs to work some defense-only rounds now and then. If you feel up to raising the power again, let your sparring partner know and go for it. But no matter what, get back in.

    8. Know when to stop.

    I just did one more sparring round after my bell-ringer. I’d already had a good workout and that was all I needed to finish on a positive note. But sometimes you get hit really hard and need to roll out and not spar at all for a day or three. (I don’t recommend hard sparring more than once or twice a week, anyway.)

    Pay attention to your body and do what it tells you. Get rest and take aspirin when you need to, because if you don’t pay attention, you run the risk of getting injured and really taking yourself out of the game you love.

    9. A note on “faking it.”

    For me, none of the above applies if you’re talking about an actual fight. I mean, except being calm and fixing the problem.

    My first trainer Bonnie is famous for her incredibly tight guard. NObody gets through that guard, boys and girls. She’s never been knocked out, or even stopped. But she came close, once…

    She used to tell me the story of how she got tagged so hard during one of her fights that her vision blacked out. She stayed on her feet, though, and worked like a fiend to not give ANY indication of her status. She was flat not going to a) allow a ref to step in and possibly stop the fight, or b) give her opponent any reason to come barreling in for the kill.

    And she pulled it off. And every time I got seriously rocked during our sparring sessions, she would remind me to not show it in a fight if at all possible. To keep boxing, to keep working to the very best of my ability. To fake it, hard, until I was back in the swing.

    Ever been rocked?

    Got a story to share? Leave me a comment and let me know how you handled a hard-ass punch. Tell us your pointers for taking a bad one, and not letting it hold you down.

    Stay strong, fighter.

    CC Image by kizette on Flickr

  • 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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    In your corner

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

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

    Down (or out) for the count

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

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

    Pull your punches

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

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

    Punch drunk / Punchy

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

    On the ropes

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

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

    Roll with the punches

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

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

    Knockout

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Toe to toe / Infighting

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

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

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

    Square off

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

    Saved by the bell

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

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

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

    Throw your hat in the ring

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

    Beat them to the punch

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

    Low blow

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

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

    Throw in the towel

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

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

    Keep your guard up / Taken off guard

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

    Come out swinging / Go down swinging

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

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

    Heavyweight / Lightweight

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

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

    Take a dive

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

    In the clinch

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

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

    Fight until the bell rings / Go the distance

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

     

    Creative Commons Image by  SuperWebDeveloper on Flickr

  • 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?

  • Taking a Knockout Punch

    Taking a Knockout Punch

    I haven’t been knocked out yet, but I’ve been rocked hard plenty of times in the boxing ring. The only reason they haven’t been knockouts is because when you get hit hard enough to stumble dizzily around or hang off the ropes with a head full of stars, a sparring session will pause until you can recover. In an actual fight, your opponent would swing again and you would go down, without a doubt.

    It’s actually pretty important to experience a knockout-strength punch during sparring because you need to be somewhat familiar with how it feels and what happens to your body. With enough preparation and practice you can actually manage pretty well in an incredibly adverse situation.

    Once upon a time I would have been horrified to think about — much less experience — a knockout punch. But this is important information to consider if you are going to pursue boxing with any kind of seriousness.

    The trick is to convince yourself, with whatever wits you can scrape up, that you must and will keep fighting. Periodically when Bonnie would rock me hard she would coach me through the resulting fog, reminding me to breathe, keep on my feet, and not show how bad I was really feeling. Jay, who hits hard and holds back little, also works with me on this.

    I had one of my hardest ever single rounds of sparring recently.

    I had already been in the ring for four intense rounds, but had been out while a couple of others got some work in. We had some fighters visiting from another gym, and they were incredibly good. Fast, strong, ferocious. Very polite and easy to talk to, but massively powerful in the ring.

    We’d had several incidents of blood and rounds paused because of knockout punching, and even a minor brawl when one young man let his anger at being bested get control of him.

    I had already decided, watching them work, that I wasn’t interested in sparring either of the two power players. I was filled with mixed feelings; wanting to have a chance, but also thinking that perhaps I wouldn’t be able to hold my own. And I’m still a bit new at looking after myself in the ring — getting out mid-round if I need to, or telling someone in very strong language to lay off the heat.

    But midway through the session there was an odd pause between rounds, and all eyes fell on me. I looked up to see one of the visitors — Reggie, a peer coach from a gym called Second Round — bouncing in the ring, waiting for another opponent. Our team’s coach tipped his head toward me. “You’re in,” he said.

    I groaned and closed my eyes briefly. Then I sucked in a deep breath and pretended to be nonchalant. I slipped my mouthguard back in and climbed up on the ring apron and ducked under the ropes.

    We waited on the bell and I did a mental check-over. I was warm, the normal boxing jitters had been dispersed by my first 4 rounds. Well, until 10 seconds ago. But I’d rested a few rounds. My body felt okay, even though I’d had an 8 round sparring session two days before and a 4 mile run the day previous. No serious strain anywhere, I thought. All systems go.

    “Let’s do it,” I said, as the bell rang and he surged forward to bang down my glove in the boxer’s salute.

    He stayed in my range as we circled, so I accepted the opening and fired off a rapid series of testing jabs. He sent them back with incredible speed, but didn’t dance out. So I slammed in my first combination, putting the bulk of my power behind it: one-one-one-TWO, slip to avoid the returning punch.

    A grin bloomed on Reggie’s face. “That’s some shit!” he crowed. “I like that shit! Bring it on.”

    I couldn’t supress my own grin, even as I bobbed under his jab and set up a left hook-jab-two combination. All my power was loose and available in my body; I could feel it thrumming in response to the challenge — a race car fully fueled, warm, and accelerating.

    Reggie stayed in range.

    We began to exchange a furious series of punches; I’m not sure I’ve ever worked so hard and fast. My feet and head seemed willing to move for me so that my brain was free to formulate strategy. His shots were hard, but so were mine. A minute into the round he commented, perhaps with a bit of surprise, “You kinda loading up, aren’t you?”

    I was in full-on kickass mode. “Too much for you?” I inquired, slamming him with a double right power shot. He slipped the first, but the second clipped him nicely above the eye.

    “That is some shit,” he called happily, and we bent to our work.

    The best thing about working with him was not only that he made me fight my absolute best, but also that he didn’t hold back too much on me. He let me have it, but it wasn’t more than I could take. And even better, he didn’t stay constantly out of my range. Sometimes a superior boxer will simply not allow the less experienced fighter to land a punch. It’s exhausting for the newer person, and irritating as well. You want to get work in the ring, not run a race.

    With a minute to go he landed the mother of all rights to my unguarded chin. It powered straight through in a split second. I didn’t slip it even a little bit, but took the full brunt of the knockout punch. My head spun to the right and my body followed. I staggered toward the ropes, and muzzily heard him saying over and over, “My bad, my bad.” I felt his two muscular arms wrap around my waist and hold me upright.

    I struggled to find my balance, but with him holding me up, my body could coast while I worked to clear my head. Slowly the world quit swinging madly from side to side and the grey mist cleared. I pushed him off me irritably. “I wanna finish,” I slurred. “Just gimme a second.”

    He withdrew to a respectful distance and I made myself walk the ropes, straight line, straight line, to my corner. Everything was shockingly silent. I felt like I was wrapped in wool batting, but I also felt pissed, and I was hungry for the rest of my round.

    I shook my head gently to clear it, and motioned with my glove for him to engage. He nodded solemnly, put up his guard, and stood his ground. He was going to give me some free shots in payment.

    So I launched every bomb in my arsenal, as fast and as hard as I could. He shouted encouragement and sent out a handful of combinations, careful with his power. His shots increased in intensity as my own faded. The thirty second bell rang.

    My feet gave up before my arms did, so I shoved him into the corner, pinned his shoulders and laid into his midsection. I began to hear calls from ringside, my teammates getting into the action and eager for the hard and bloody finish. I drove my fist savagely toward his liver and heard him grunt; I felt a surge of satisfaction. He was banging me with short, ineffective punches to the head and shoulders, but I refused to give up the dominant position. He didn’t use his weight to push me off and pivot out of the corner, although I know he could have.

    The bell sounded, and I had my victory. I staggered off of him, but he came toward me and threw his arms around me in a fierce hug.

    “That was some good shit, I’m telling you!” he shouted.

    It was.

    Image by JD Hancock on Flickr.