The Glowing Edge

Tag: learning

  • Signs Your Boxing Team is Coming Together

    Signs Your Boxing Team is Coming Together

    Are you hoping to get in the ring? There’s actually a way to know if the gym where you train will ever have a boxing team that you can learn and grow your game with…

    I train and also volunteer as a coach at a downtown boxing gym that serves primarily inner-city youth. Because the gym is also a gang-related outreach program, the kids have to fulfill certain requirements — maintaining certain grades, staying out of trouble, working hard, showing up regularly, etc. — in order to stay in the program.

    As a result I frequently see kids come in then drop out or be evicted from the program before I even learn their names. So we might go months without ever having anything resembling an actual boxing team come together.

    Just this week we had an amazing sparring night, and I was once again aware that we’d made it to the point of having a good boxing team come together. It feels awesome, and it’s really satisfying to be a part of something like this.

    Here’s how I know when it’s happening at my gym, and it’s pretty much how you can know if it will happen at yours, too. (more…)

  • Let Go of the Rope!

    Let Go of the Rope!

    Wipeouts happen, right?

    But there’s a trick to getting through them that I just didn’t learn in boxing. But I was recently reminded of that lesson in the facefull-of-water kind of way that only a real wipeout can teach.

    Learning to hang on to the rope

    My grandfather had a cabin on Pickwick lake and a small, light boat called the Flutterby, perfect for towing skiiers. When I was about seven or eight years old, he showed me how to wedge my feet into the wet rubber shoes of an old slalom ski, handed me the tow rope, and helped me slip over the side of the boat.

    Several times he emphasized to me that I should hold on tightly to the rope, so I clutched the plastic handle in both hands with a death grip and anxiously tried to keep my balance in the water as the Flutterby drifted slowly away and the slack was pulled out of the towline.

    I got up on the very first try; I couldn’t believe how easy it had been. (Classic beginner’s luck; it didn’t happen that way the next time.)

    It was an incredible, triumphant moment, and I was exhilarated by the cool shock of wind against my wet skin and the thrum of the lake beneath my feet. My teeth were chattering uncontrollably, but I grinned and emphatically nodded my head: I’m doing it! I’m doing it! My grandfather smiled back and waved, one hand on the steering wheel of the boat as he watched me.

    Learning to let go of the rope

    It seemed like I skiied forever on that smooth green ribbon that unfurled behind the Flutterby. I watched the scenery whiz past, I grinned for my grandfather, I gazed hypnotically at the water. And after a while I wondered… Once you get up and ski for a long, beautiful stretch, what do you do next?

    Well, you try your luck at crossing the wake, of course. And you experience your first wipeout.

    I hit the water face first; the ski snapped off my feet and I was dragged hard against the surface of the lake, which had seemed friendly and soft a few minutes before, but now felt as hard as a parking lot.

    Which might have been fine in the end, except my single lesson in waterskiing was stuck doggedly in my mind. Whatever happened, I KNEW to hold on to the rope. No one had said anything about what do to when you fell.

    Of course my grandfather saw me pitch forward into the water and immediately pulled back the throttle and tried to circle around to pick me up. When he got close enough he called out. “Next time, let go of the rope,” he said simply, and I thought “Oh. Okay.”

    I swallowed a significant part of Pickwick lake that day, nearly lost my bathing suit, and sported a stinging red face for a bit, but the most important thing that happened was that I learned the second vital lesson in waterskiing.

    Sometimes you need to let go of the rope.

    My first speedy li’l boat

    There isn’t an exact analogy in boxing for this, which is perhaps why it took me a while to let go of the rope I was hanging on to so hard recently…

    Many of you know I’m a full-time freelance writer. I’ve been writing all my life. And yet I haven’t published anything (other than the posts on this website) of my own. Nothing with MY name on it…

    So a couple of months ago I got inspired by another author and friend of mine, the incomparable Johnny B. Truant, and I took the content from some of my most popular posts on The Glowing Edge and created the mini-book 37 Reasons to Take Up Boxing.

    It took me a bit more than a week’s worth of spare time to write it, get a cover made, figure out the technical logistics, and start offering it on my site. It was lightning-fast, in terms of ebook projects. I created it, powered it up, and that little baby was off like a remote control racing boat with a spanking new, fully-charged battery pack. Zzzzzzip! and it was gone.

    And what happened next…

    Approximately 7 seconds later, I began thinking about the next one I wanted to publish. And I immediately set to work writing a book about the biggest, most life-changing lessons I’ve learned in boxing, and how they translate to life. The Badass Manifesto was born.

    This book was bigger and certainly packed a good bit more power. I finished the writing in about three weeks of spare time, despite my client workload. This time, though, I wanted beautifully-designed interior pages, an audio version, and lots and lots of extras. This little boat would have racing stripes, multiple camera mounts, high-intensity halogen tower lights, and…

    And two months later the good news was that the engine worked great; my boat was fast as hell. The bad news was that the accessories were taking forever. I was bogged down in technicalities and specifications and making no headway at all.

    I’d created my second little boat and it was already flying across the water like a speed demon, but I felt like I’d done a faceplant and was being forcibly dragged along.

    It’s hard to accomplish much when you’re flying face-first across a lake.

    The aerial catalyst

    And suddenly this story came up in my life. An image magically floated past on Facebook or Twitter of a trapeze artist about to let go of her trap bar, and I suddenly recalled my grandfather saying calmly, Let go of the rope.

    So I cleared my calendar and set to the work of letting go.

    I let go of the lovely interior page design I wanted, put off recording and solving the hosting/plugin decisions for another day, and bid a fond farewell to the great majority of further modifications I had wanted or started. I let go of that damn rope.

    And I have to say it feels really good to climb out of the lake for a moment, wring the water out of my hair, and contemplate the lessons learned. I feel a little bruised maybe, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be back out there again in record time.

    After all, you can’t start your next ride until you let go of the rope at the end of this one.

    SO. There are no racing stripes or tower lights, but there’s a helluva fast boat waiting for you here. I hope you’ll fall in love with it, learn from it, be annoyed, intrigued, frustrated, and thrilled by it.

    And most of all, I hope you’ll grow from it, just like I did.

    PS: Watch for it at 2:46 in the video above. Boy do I *ever* know how that guy feels. : )

    CC image by solata on Flickr

     

  • 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.

  • When Sparring is Magic

    When Sparring is Magic

    I can’t remember when I last had one of these days, but this week it all came back to me in one of those clear, beautiful, pristine experiences of pure sparring magic.

    Sparring is always hard boxing work. It’s actually much more pleasurable than having a fight in many ways — less stress, less endless waiting, more actual time in the ring, and you often learn more as well.

    But in the sporadic sparring experiences I’ve had in the past 6 months or so, I haven’t had one of these surreal days in the ring where everything came together like magic. This week they clicked.

    Coach Massey was training a team of people in a different gym, and I wanted to get up there to see Eric, a friend of mine, who recently started competing. I also hoped to get some new and different work — working in a new gym with new people is a great way to shake up your training routine and test yourself. I hate it, and love it at the same time.

    The dread that comes before

    I woke up with the dread churning in my stomach. What if I suck? What if I humiliate myself? Have I been training hard enough? I have to stop slacking on my intervals. Etcetera. I forced down some bran flakes for breakfast and had a banana an hour or so later. I hydrated constantly. I stopped periodically during my morning to get mentally centered, rolling the tension out of my neck and reminding myself to relax.

    And of course I took a wrong turn on the freeway and was abysmally late. Ugh.

    But the moment I walked in, Coach Massey hailed me from ringside, and I immediately saw my friend Eric shadowboxing in the back. The place was filled with sunshine (unlike every other gym I’ve trained in recently) and the doors were propped open for the breeze. A former trainer of mine was working hard in the ring with a man holding pads and wearing a heavy punching vest; both of them glistened with sweat.

    A pleasant surprise

    And get this: two women were geared up and waiting to roll under the ropes next.

    Two women! Both about my size. About to spar! In case you’re missing the import of this, let me assure you that this is unprecedented where I live. I rarely have the chance to train with one woman, and two is somewhat mind-boggling. I watched them for a moment and realized I was going to get a chance to get good work in — both of these awesome women were paying attention, working hard, and neither seemed out for war or bloodshed. This wasn’t going to be an ego session; it was going to be honest boxing labor.

    I was so excited I could barely stand to warm up. I gave Eric a hug and put in a halfhearted round or two of stretching and shadowboxing before I eagerly geared up and stood ringside, waiting for my chance.

    Do women box differently than men?

    Just this week I had been having an email conversation with Adam Welsh (you’ve heard from him before here on TGE) about a comment pro boxer Anne-Sophie Mathis made recently about preferring to spar with men, because in her experience, “men are much more technical, their body language is more beautiful. The girls are certainly more vicious and aggressive, but they lack a little consistency…”

    I’d been turning this thought over and over again in my head. ARE women more aggressive in the ring? If we are, it’s because we know that we have to fight twice as hard to be taken half as seriously. Or at least, that’s my feeling. But I hesitate to paint with so broad a brush, and say that all women are like this…

    But I was ready to say that I preferred male sparring partners, too. Not for the reasons Mathis states, but because I’m more used to them, and they don’t seem to need to prove anything with me (most of the time). There’s not much respect to be gained by a male boxer from beating the crap out of a woman — but if she brings game, there can be a good sparring session for both partners.

    But yesterday I changed my mind.

    Both these women were so good to work with. Christy was — amazingly — a new Master’s fighter. I’m not sure I can name even ONE other female Masters boxer in North Carolina. My opponents are always out of state. Christy and I were exactly the same weight and height. This NEVER happens!

    The second boxer, Erica, was perhaps in her early 20s, and had just won the Golden Gloves. A bit lighter than me, but same height.

    I would work with both of these women any day of the week, any time. They gave good game, and I know I drew great pleasure out of our work and got some good stuff in.

    Burning off the edge

    First Coach Massey put me in with Nassir, a former trainer of mine, and he effectively warmed me up and burned off my nervous edge, although it’s hard to box with him because he’s so fast. He can stand in the middle of the ring and never move his feet and you still can’t seem to nail him with a solid punch. If you give him his feet, just hang up your gloves and go home; you don’t stand a chance of landing anything.

    If I had to name his weakness it would be that he depends so much on his hyper-speed that he punches less than he probably should. But I wouldn’t be idiot enough to tell him that while I was in the ring with him.

    Next I had rounds with each of the women, and suddenly the pace was slower and I could see everything that was happening (which I can’t do with Nassir).

     The step-off

    You know how boxers have a little switch-foot stutter step thing they often do in the ring? They’re in their stance, right foot and shoulder forward and left foot back. Then suddenly, they switch stance (left foot and shoulder forward) and step off? Easy, right? Yeah, everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face. My sparring partner Sinclair was working with me on this move a few weeks ago. And it was just not happening unless I expended superhuman effort.

    In the ring with these women, it suddenly was there for me. I didn’t have to think about it, it was just magic. My brain worked on other things and my feet did the step off at the right moments entirely without my input. It was beautiful.

    Coach Massey saw the first one and whooped. I had no idea what he was excited about. I could feel the glide, the move, the pure lack of effort, but I didn’t know he was watching my feet. Both of us paused in our round and looked at him.

    “Lisa pullin’ the step-off!” he hollered, and I grinned, taking full credit even though I’d had no part in it.

    Boxing is so like this. You work your ass off on something and NEVER get it right for AGES, then suddenly, it’s burned into your muscle memory and it comes together. Magic.

    If you do it once, it’s a fluke. But I was doing it regularly, every round, with just the right timing.

    What the hell? But I wasn’t complaining.

    It made me feel great that Coach called over another boxer and instructed her to watch my feet to see how I was doing it. It’s just a good thing I didn’t have to explain it, because I have no idea how it got there, hah. I probably couldn’t have done it on command.

    The slip

    This was another muscle memory move that came together nicely, but this one happened because I wasn’t in with Nassir or Sinclair, or any of the regular guys I fight with who are blazing-fast. I was in with women closer to my own experience level, and I could Flat. See. And evade. Damn near everything.

    Thank you, Baby Jesus and all those hours spent eating punches while struggling to overcome the hop back, flinch, blink, and turn away reflexes. It was worth every sweaty hour of that work. I was ducking under (!) slipping side to side, and keeping just inches out of range.

    I did notice that I tend to slip right more commonly than left, but NEVER have I slipped so many punches that I noticed such a thing before!

    Ahh, I love the magic.

    The fuel

    The last good piece about this awesomely awesome sparring experience was that I didn’t gas out. I had the fuel I needed to do what I was asked to do. Gotta tell you, I CURSE those intervals when I’m running steps, but I am SO glad I suffered through them when I perform well in the ring.

    Your heart just needs that kind of hard training in intense, 3-minute bursts with 30 second recoveries in order to be able to show any kind of chops in the ring.

    I hate intervals, but I’ll tell you now, I’m a believer.

    And I’ll keep doing them.

    Meanwhile, I’ll be curious to see if my next sparring experience goes as well as this one did. Can’t wait to work with Christy and Erica again! Ladies, I salute you; you were gutsy, beautiful, and I enjoyed every second of our work together…

    Stay strong everyone, and if you’re struggling and wondering if it will EVER come together — it will! Promise.

  • 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.

  • New Lessons in Boxing

    New Lessons in Boxing

    I’m making my way back from the Christmas holiday slouch — a much-needed break — and I’m doing okay. And the first challenge of the new year was sparring with a group of young men from the UNC boxing team (yep, they have a boxing team! No women, though.), who joined us recently at the gym.

    Sparring with the UNC Team

    It is admittedly nerve-wracking, having a bunch of big, muscled, fit young college men show up at your ring. You never know how all-out the mix-up will be. The first time I ever experienced this I completely bailed out, the level of testosterone and terror was so high.

    And that’s precisely what happened for our younger and newer team members. This time, though, I was determined to stick in there.

    The UNC guys came in with almost no entourage and a good attitude, joining in our warm-ups, joking and friendly. And even though there were some politics and a small amount of drama involved, we had some good sparring together.

    Sparring with the Second Round Team

    So I was feeling much better when a week later, another boxing team showed up at our gym unexpectedly (detail mix-up) for sparring. This team’s rather extensive entourage arrived before they did, and it completely set us all off guard. We eventually learned that this was the team we were expecting to meet the next morning at another location for a three-gym sparring session.

    But, given that our two gyms were here on the night before, we did our best, and amazingly (given my discomfort and nerves), I boxed well that night. I worked primarily with my own team mates, but also did three rounds with one of their up-and-coming young female boxers, as well as a very memorable round with their 6-time national champion Olympic hopeful (male).

    I was confident and strong, and I went home at 9:30 pm, showered, changed, and went out to for a few drinks and some local rock music with my husband.

    The next morning he woke up with a fever. One of our sons had just been sick, and so I braced myself for the inevitable domino effect to run through my family. And I checked myself constantly — was my headache due to boxing, drinking, sleep deprivation, worry, or was I getting sick too? Was my muscle soreness from the hard workout the night before or did I feel feverish? I had promised to be at the 3-gym sparring session, but was I well enough?

    I went anyway. I was nearly an hour late, arriving dehydrated, exhausted, and anxious. Bad mix.

    Sparring with Second Round and LA Boxing Raleigh

    There were a ton of boxers there, mostly experienced and strong, but a few greener boxers as well. It was probably one of the highlights of my boxing career to date that when I was called into the ring, my coach told me to “hold back” and the opposing coach told their fighter to “go all out.” It’s so rare that I get to be the superior boxer! But I felt like crap, though, and even before the bell rang I knew I was in for a whuppin’.

    And I took my licks. The two boxers (both women) that they put in with me were certainly greener, but that didn’t mean they weren’t hitting me with every ounce of power they had. I stumbled once, early on. My feet refused to move. My head refused to think. My gloves rode low and I took hit after hit to the head. Once I was so ungainly that I got head-butted — her head to my chin — and I have a whopping bruise and a sore jaw as a result.

    Absolutely 100% of the damage I took was my own damn fault.

    I was slow, tired, and unprepared. I am easily the better boxer and yet I let the newer boxers take me down. I barely made it through four rounds. I deserved every bit of my pain, and I’m doing my best to call it a lesson well-learned.

    Here’s my recap:

    Lesson One: Hard sparring two days in a row is advanced.

    If you decide to do it, you need solid cardio, good sleep, no drinking, and plenty of hydration. Eating right is essential. Fuel your body in all the right ways in advance. As one of the coaches ringside said to his miserably flagging fighter, “Anybody can box when they’re in shape.” Avoid the misery. Be ready.

    Lesson Two: Sparring with another gym takes a greater toll than sparring with your own team.

    People are scared and uncertain and some have things to prove. Everyone fights harder; there’s never “light” sparring. It’s often harder than an actual fight, because you’ll have more rounds and more opponents. Be aware that the next few days you will need to pamper yourself and recover. Also you’ll want ibuprofen.

    Lesson Three: Always protect yourself.

    If someone is throwing heat in their rounds, you need to be able to tell them to cut that shit out before you start your own rounds with them. Don’t mice words, don’t be polite. Be direct and forceful. I only did it once with the UNC boys, and it was entirely effective. He pulled the heat and after we sounded each other out, he gave me good work.

    Yes, your coach or trainer is also looking out for you, but frankly, you should be doing this for yourself. Boxing is a dangerous sport, no lie. It’s also very individual-oriented. There’s no team of players in there with you who can protect you if you falter. You can’t call a time-out and ride the bench for a few minutes — you’re in there until the bell rings. Every boxer has to evaluate the danger and operate within risky boundaries. You don’t want to screw around with this, or leave it to someone else.

    Lesson Four: You can learn a shit-ton of new things if you are willing to do it.

    The young up-and-comer from the unexpected sparring night was incredibly fierce. She constantly came forward on me, bringing me game. She had a high punch output and made me use a little more power than I should have in order to hold her off of me. I want to work with her again in order to practice blocking more of her shots.

    The Olympic hopeful dude was a sheer joy — his coach put him in on defense only with me (which I often hate, as it makes me feel like a baby) but he was so good that I could hardly lay a shot on him. His foot speed was great, but he really shone when he stood still and let me throw combos; his ability to evade my shots with fades, slips, leans, and ducks was amazing. Once I tried to pin him in a clinch and he simply wrapped my arms and turned me neatly 180 degrees with a quick spin. Utterly illegal, completely hilarious. I loved it.

    And damn, I can hardly wait to get back with those girls from the three-team day of sparring! One of them was incredibly effective at pinning me to the ropes with her wide hooks. She was shorter than me but she was great at using her extra weight to wear me down. The other was  quick with her right, and I don’t think I blocked a damn one of her power punches. I want her again, too. Both of those girls would make me use my feet and responses to evade their combos.

    Lesson Five: Facing fear needs practice.

    It’s incredibly useful to go spar with new people because it lets you experience the adrenaline dump, the fear, and the nerves, which are all a part of an actual fight, and a part of life.  Part of me thinks that if I can just go through it enough in boxing, it will quit having so much debilitating power over me. Who knows.

    I do know that I have some mental work to do, to build myself back up after sucking so bad on that third sparring event. Mental and physical. But for now I’ll take a couple of days off, ice what’s sore, and take another dose of aspirin. I have new lessons to assimilate before I go hunting for more.

    North Burnaby Boxing Gym on Flickr.

  • New Lessons in Sparring: Controlling the Ring

    New Lessons in Sparring: Controlling the Ring

    I like to box from the center of the ring.

    I was never that boxer who floats endlessly around the ring, dashing here and there and making the entire fight more of a dance than a boxing round. It’s a thousand times easier to stand in the center and pivot to face those opponents who like to run laps in the ring.

    I guess I must have been used to standing in the center with few to challenge me for the privilege, because on Sunday I had a new sparring partner, and I never once wrested control from him. It was a bit of a surprise, and a deeply pleasurable learning experience.

    George is a philosopher. As we were warming up and casually discussing use of power in the sparring arena, he sagely pronounced, “The amount of power a boxer should be sparring with should be such that if you make a hit square in the nose, it might bleed but it won’t break.” I loved that.

    George is twenty-one years old, 145 pounds and close to my height. I saw some video of him sparring with a newbie and immediately understood several things about him. One, he has a teacher’s heart. Two, he isn’t a giant ego, waiting to show off his stuff on someone who is not as good a boxer as he is. And three, he clearly loves fight sports and wants everyone else to love them too — he has an infectious grin that rarely leaves his face.

    As soon as I saw the tapes, I immediately began working to arrange time in the ring with him, and he was most gracious and accommodating.

    On Sunday we bumped gloves and settled into our rounds. He let me take the lead, dictate the level of power we would be trading. He smiled and nodded, encouraging me as I worked my combinations. I could see his strong martial arts training in his stance, his way of using his entire body — rather than just his upper body and feet — to box. There was a sense of poise, of balance in him. He wasn’t afraid to lean waaaay back to avoid a punch, something boxers rarely do. He used my own momentum to swing me into positions I hadn’t planned on. And his gloves were blindingly fast.

    Four or five rounds in I suddenly realized it: I’d not once controlled the ring. His offense was constant, no rests or pauses, and I was forever on the defensive and near the ropes. But there was something else, too. I stopped us.

    “Why am I never able to gain the center?” I asked, pulling my mouthpiece out to talk.

    He grinned, pulled his own mouthpiece out and pointed it at me. “You’re always in the center, aren’t you? I’ve seen you spar; I don’t think anyone’s challenged you. I like to keep control of the ring, too. And I haven’t been letting you take it.” We walked through some moves and he showed me how he was constantly staying one step ahead of my pace, cutting me off whenever I tried to get past him. And for some reason I was often inclined to circle left on him rather than right, even though we were both orthodox fighters.

    It was in naming that last fact that I realized what the extra “something” was. “You’re squared up!” I cried. “You’re facing me dead on. Boxers never do that!” We always try to keep one shoulder forward, presenting as small a target as possible. His wide, straight-on stance had been triggering my desire to circle left, as I would on a southpaw. On a conscious level, I knew he was orthodox, but on a subconscious level, I had never been certain which way to go.

    He laughed. “Not quite,” he corrected. “I’m squared up until we engage, then I shift to throw or defend.” He demonstrated. Full on, then shift to an angle. Then full on again. Quick, economical movements. So that was one of the factors that had kept me off-balance.

    Add to that the fact that he never rested. Dude had a full tank of gas and was willing to burn it. I have been in the habit of throwing, resting, throwing. Or even allowing my opponents to throw themselves out so that I could then move in with my own offense. George never quit throwing punches! He was a master of flurries, and there was nothing to do but defend, eat some punches, and throw despite an oncoming combo. It was fascinating to realize it, and hard to break through.

    One step ahead. Full-on approach coupled with an angled defense and delivery. Constant offense.

    Utter control of the ring.

    This is what having a new sparring partner does for you. I was absolutely thrilled to encounter it all.

    And I can’t wait to get in the ring with him again.

    Image by melanieburger

  • Lessons in the Ring: Footwork

    Lessons in the Ring: Footwork

    Recently I had the privilege of working one-on-one with a favorite trainer of mine; his name is Mike and he has the moves of a ninja assassin (I know tons of those guys) and the heart of a teacher. He mostly teaches MMA, and I frequently find myself thinking, “If I could box like he fights…” So with that in mind I arranged for a little bit of training time with him.

    It’s amazing how much you can learn in one short hour. Mike had me shadowbox for a few minutes or so, and gave me some pointers that will take me months to integrate.

    1. So much hinges on balance.
    I didn’t realize I’d been keeping most of my weight either on my front foot or (more frequently) my rear foot. This means I’m slow to move and if I add leaning back (which I tend to do) I could easily end up on my butt on the canvas.

    We have an old tire out on the loading dock behind our gym. I’ve spent time standing on it in my boxing stance, shifting my weight forward and back in the classic boxer shuffle, trying to get the hang of keeping my balance so precisely carried between my front and back foot that I can move quickly in any direction.

    Sound easy? I wish.

    2. Use the ball of your rear foot.
    I had been letting my toe pivot when I threw a straight right or a right hook, but I wasn’t keeping the ball of my back foot in solid contact with the ground and using it to push my punch out. This means I’m letting my arms do all the work when I could use my legs too.

    3. Duck under with a crescent step to the side, right hook.
    I really wasn’t working any angles, just boxing straight on. Mike drilled me on this simple “crescent” step — where you slide your right foot up and out to the side — before throwing a right hook. The ducking and sliding is in combination with a wind-up for that hook, which can go to the head or body. But all of it depends on getting the footwork right.

    4. Keep toes on front foot pointed straight at your opponent.
    I had been pointing mine to the right slightly, as if I were trying to get a head start in moving to the right (customary, when two orthodox fighters are working together). But this leaves me just slightly off balance and prevents me from moving quickly to the left.

    Just four more lessons on the way. Shout out to Mike Velotta: thanks so much!

    Image by danielmorris (kinda Christmassy, dontcha think?)

  • 3 New Lessons in the Boxing Ring

    3 New Lessons in the Boxing Ring

    My newest sparring partner is 6’4″ and two hundred and please-don’t-hit-me pounds. Monstrous. And wonderful in the ring. We had a very respectable five rounds in the ring this weekend and he taught me a lot.

    Obviously a guy this big has to work with care when sparring a skinny chick like me. So we did what you do when you know it’s not evenly matched: you warm up a round or two, then begin to work on some very specific skills. In his case, defense, and in mine, getting past his defense. So I started out working my way past his ridiculously long reach to land a punch to his head or body, and being deeply satisfied when I could land something solid without taking too many of his jabs in exchange.

    But after a while I began to notice how much chasing I was doing in the ring. We were circling at a pretty high speed, and I could feel myself wearing out. The constant advice from my trainer and my corner was to keep moving, keep moving. It was imperative to slip and dodge as many of his punches as I possibly could. And I was pretty damn motivated to do so, but was starting to really get winded by the third round.

    On the bell I heaved my mouthguard out and panted, “I feel like I’m having to chase him all over the ring. I can’t figure out what to do; I have to keep moving.”

    “You do have to keep moving,” my coach replied, “but you need to quit chasing him. Move your head, slip his punches, but stay in the center of the ring and let him come to you for a change.”

    You would think this would not be so difficult, but I feel like I’ve been diving after my opponent since the first day I stepped into the ring. I’m not sure why I do this, but for the first time ever I forced myself to put all other systems on auto-pilot (keep the jab out there, move the head), stop circling, and try to wait for my opponent to come to me.

    It’s agonizing, the waiting. And it wasn’t working right, I could tell. At the end of the third round I groaned my frustration to my trainer. And she gave me a magic word that made it fall into place. “Pivot,” she said. You can’t stand there and get pounded, you have to move. But you don’t want to burn up your energy circling all over the ring. So stay in the center, throw your combination, then pivot away so that his returning fire hits the spot you just left. And then he has to come to you to throw again.” Suddenly everything came in to sharp and immediate focus. I saw — literally, as if someone had projected it on a screen — how this tactic could work. I bit down on my mouthguard, banged my gloves together, and when the bell rang I surged to the center of the ring.

    It worked. Throw, pivot. Throw, duck, pivot. I was awkward and sloppy, but onto something. Coby grunted encouragingly when I got it right, and we worked the round three more long minutes, swinging, sweating, and making our brains teach our bodies new patterns. The fourth round passed in a haze of hard labor.

    At the bell I poured water over my head and asked for help again. I could feel it coming together, but was having trouble keeping command of the center of the ring. “Why am I still losing control?” I asked, working to recover my breathing.

    “Because,” she said, “you are moving at the same speed as your opponent. You’re running less because you’re pivoting, but he’s able to circle the ring on the outside enough to keep wearing you down. You have to cut him off, and to cut him off you’ll have to move faster than him for a minute. Dart in front and force the confrontation. Punch and pivot. Recover while you wait for him to come to you. If he starts circling again, cut him off again. Dart ahead, throw, pivot, rest. You’ll get it. Keep working.”

    How did I never realize I was constantly matching, but never exceeding, the speed of my opponent? But it was totally true. And I found that the short darts, the burst of energy, served me well. There was no finesse left in me, no secrets, no subtlety. But new knowledge buoyed my spirits and I pushed myself on, finishing our fifth and last round feeling like a rock star.

    Stop chasing and pivot. Wait for him to come to you. Cut off the ring by moving faster than your opponent. Three new lessons, and dozens of sparring sessions stretching ahead of me in which to practice and learn them. It feels awesome to be growing and learning in the ring.

    And it’s even better knowing I have incredible sparring partners and trainers there helping me become a better boxer. Exuberant and grateful fist bumps to all of you: Coach Bonnie, Lisa (in the corner), and Coby. You guys rocked my week.

    Image credit: helico on Flickr
  • How To Throw A Punch

    How To Throw A Punch

    Every woman should have the opportunity to throw a punch, just to see how it feels.

    Lots of guys have done this already, either in the mosh pit at a Bad Brains concert, behind the high school where the bad kids smoked, or in a bar after three too many PBRs. Sorry people, Wii Boxing does NOT count.

    So, ladies. They’ve done it, and now it’s your turn.

    Get in position
    If you don’t know anyone who has a heavy bag, get a friend (preferably male, just because you’ll enjoy it) to hold up a big fat couch seat cushion in front of their upper torso. If you are right-handed, stand with your left foot ahead of your right, with your left toe pointing toward your human punching bag, and your right foot pointing out to the right. Bend your knees just a touch, and keep the same amount of weight on each foot. You should feel solidly planted, not tippy. Your left shoulder should be in front of your body, so that you’re slightly sideways to your opponent. (Switch the whole deal if you’re southpaw.)

    Make a fist
    Curl your fingers into your palms, and DON’T put your thumb inside your fist. Curl it around your clenched fist, not over the top. Bring both fists up to your chin, and keep your elbows in. Keep your chin down. The second (middle) knuckle of your left index finger should be touching your chin or cheek.

    Since you don’t have wraps or gloves on, you’re going to throw a few easy punches rather than all-outs. After you fall in love with boxing (in oh, about 10 minutes) you can run down to Dick’s Sporting Goods and purchase wraps and gloves and hope your friend is still game. But for now…

    Throw a slow-mo left jab
    Slowly push your left fist straight out from your chin toward your, um, friend. If he doesn’t have the cushion up high enough yet, he soon will. As your fist goes out to make contact, it should rotate so that the point of impact is between your first two knuckles (index finger and next finger). Your arm should be fully extended. If you are too close, now is the time to back up slightly so you can get full extension.

    Stance check
    Leave that jab out there and check your stance. Are you still balanced? Is your right fist still up at your chin? Is your chin still tucked in? Alrighty, then. Bring your left jab back home and prepare to throw it again, only faster this time.

    Throw a real left jab
    Give your partner an evil grin. Here comes the fun part. This time when you throw your left jab, let it start slow and finish fast, with a snap at the end. Mmm, this is gonna be yummy.  Technically your left jab should be aimed toward his nose, but since he’s being helpful, keep it aimed at the cushion on the center of his chest. (For now.) Throw that left jab a few times and enjoy feeling it thwock home. Lovely, isn’t it? Does he look slightly worried yet? He will.

    Now throw the right
    The left jab is your lead punch; it sets you up for the Real Deal, which is your power punch on the right. Where the left jab has pop and sting, the right should carry weight and pain. Throw the right with the power and motion of your body behind it: when this punch is fully extended, your right hip and shoulder will rotate forward and your right heel should leave the ground with a slight pivot. Throw this slow-mo, and make sure you aren’t putting yourself off-balance when you throw it. Do two or three for practice.

    The old one-two
    Now put the two punches together. Left jab, right power. Be sure to draw back each punch before you throw the next one. Keep your fists high and don’t square up to your opponent — stay in your stance.

    Has your friend asked for a break yet? Feels powerful, doesn’t it? You like it, don’t you?

    I thought you would.

    Image credit: ajdagregorcic on Flickr