The Glowing Edge

Tag: newbie

When You Have a Bad First Sparring Experience
Sparring is NOT boxing for fitness. When you get in that ring, everything changes. It’s not like drills, it’s not like working the heavy bag, it’s not like padwork.

Sparring is radically different. Someone is trying to punch you in the face, and when you’re new to it, this can be not only terrifyingly alien, it can be downright demoralizing.

Here’s an email I received recently about exactly that:
I love The Glowing Edge, and it has been an invaluable resource to me as I begin to take the sport more seriously. I wanted to write to get your take on beginning to spar.

I have been going to a boxing gym for two years. The structure of the gym is mostly boxing-for-fitness classes. There’s only one other woman at the gym who spars and I finally had my first experience sparring with her.

I only went three rounds and I was rattled. It’s much more intimidating than I thought. I don’t know this fighter well. I didn’t feel comfortable asking her to ease up, I was worried that it would embarrass my coach and even though I’ve been going at it so hard in classes and training, all of a sudden I felt like there had been a gap in my education.
1. What can I do to move forward from a first night of sparring that felt sort of demoralizing?
2. Am I just being a whiny dumbass?
I don’t want to be one of those types who only shows up to sparring once or twice and then fades out. But I don’t know how to approach my coach about this. I also don’t want to go back to just doing classes for fun.
Hey, sparring sister. I know EXACTLY the stage you are in and NO you are not a whiny dumbass. This is 100% normal, and many of us have this same experience. More in a sec. First let me say this…

Sparring takes some getting used to

It really does. It’s a whole different game than pad work, drills, everything. That you went 3 rounds as a newbie is damned impressive. It’s some scary shit, right?

You had your first sparring experience with someone you didn’t really know, and I get that you wanted to not disappoint your coach. Sounds like she kinda overwhelmed you.

Here’s what the BEST sparring partners do for you

The best sparring partners hold themselves TO or JUST ABOVE your level so that you can get some good work without getting hurt or demoralized.

Sure, you may be bruised and headachy, but not so much that you’re like, “I don’t know if I want to do this again.”

The best coaches make sure this happens. But not everybody gets this kind of attention. Just a fact of gym life.

This is why you might not get much help when you’re new to sparring…

Boxing gyms do not survive because pro fighters train there. They don’t make money because someone wants to learn to compete in the amateurs, either. The trainers and coaches are not always even boxers themselves.

Boxing gyms survive financially because people want to get fit, not hit.

That’s just how it is. That’s where the money is, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

However, that means you have to take some initiative if you want to get your higher-level training and sparring work. SO. Here are a few tips for that.

The process of finding and getting to know sparring partners takes time and balls (ovaries?). If your gym doesn’t always give newbies excellent sparring partners who know how to do this, you gotta start building your own sparring program…

How to build YOUR OWN sparring program at ANY gym

1. Get to know some sparring partners.

Good sparring partners are SOLID GOLD to have. So make sparring friends. Travel to multiple gyms if you have to. Trade phone numbers. Friend them on Facebook.

The more you actually know other boxers as friends, the more comfortable you will be talking to them in the ring, letting them know what you need, helping them adjust to you.

Guys are fine for this. Just because you’re female doesn’t mean you have to only spar women. (That is such a bullshit attitude and I see it now and then from coaches.)

In fact, befriend some big guys. Charm them. Ask them for their opinion, for tips on certain moves. They are men, they love this shit. I’m telling you, this works every time. Hello men? Am I wrong? No I am not. 🙂

Let them feel like they are “mentoring” you — because guess what? They actually are.

Then when they’re getting in the ring, ask for their “warm up” rounds. In other words, you’re making it clear that their “warm up” is your “training.” They stop feeling pansy-ass working with a “girl” and start feeling all helpful to a woman.

I know, cheesy manipulation tactics.

But it really does work. Women have to be sneaky-asses sometimes in pursuit of bigger goals.

There will come a day when your rounds are nobody else’s warm ups, and when you’ll shine in the ring. You will be the one all the new people ask for help.

2. Don’t wait until “sparring night.”

Hijack the process and make your own timeline.

I told you this would take balls. Stop being so damn polite!

The more you can pass off your sparring as “just working on some tactics with so-and-so” the more pressure you take off everyone involved, including any coach who might be nearby.

FAKE it till you make it. Pretend it’s all very casual — force it to be. Believe me, that helps SO much.

3. Be consistent.

Keep at it. The longer you go without sparring, the scarier it gets.

I’m still boxing while I stare 50 in the face, and loving every day of it. I love when sparring is magic, and I even love the days when I get my ass kicked (the good kind of ass kicking, not the demoralizing kind).

There’s so much joy and empowerment in this sport; I really hope you’ll stick with it!

Let yourself be a newbie for a few years

You are brand-freaking-new at this. I know it doesn’t seem that way, but boxing takes FOR EVER to get good at.

You’re going to get better at dealing with the punches. You’re going to get better at moving your head and feet. You’ll learn to control the ring.

And you’re going to get to know more and more people in the boxing world the longer you stick with this. This may be the biggest, most life-encompassing challenge you’ve ever faced on a daily basis.

It’s totally worth it.

Photo Credit: kate.gardiner via Compfight cc
April 7, 2015
Interview with Catherine J. Howard
Catherine Howard doesn’t sit still very often. Her love for traveling keeps her from settling down in one place, and she’s about to head off on a 13-country art collective journey, but for a few weeks now the two of us have been training together in boxing.

These few weeks have been her very first experience in the sport, but in high school her best friend, Joshua Tufte, trained intensively in kickboxing. He went on to become a professional boxer, and is currently blazing through the competition on an undefeated streak of 10 wins and no losses. Inspired by her friend and the timing of an invitation to train together with me and another woman new to boxing, Catherine decided she just might try to surprise Josh one day by showing off her own powerful body shots, or a quick couple of stinging jabs…

I’ve enjoyed watching Catherine soak up boxing. She showed up the first day pretty fit, but has learned a whole different kind of fitness in taking on this crazy sport. She also was almost immediately interested in sparring, and just recently had her first experience in the ring. She’s fiercely energetic, and woe to anything that gets in her way.

I wanted to capture some of her story while it was brand new and still fresh for her, and she graciously agreed to be interviewed…

What sort of responses did you encounter when you first started boxing?

My parents and my partner have all been very supportive. They all just smiled knowingly — “Ah, of course you are doing that.” The only voices of dissent have been from friends who see me as too sweet. (They haven’t seen my jab yet.)

Share a little about how you are training right now.

In the past, I’ve trained for a marathon, taught both yoga and pilates, and completed multiple rounds of p90x. However, I find the most satisfaction from workouts that stress my entire body for a functional task. That is why I particularly enjoy the killer Beachbody Asylum routine. It’s designed specifically for athletes to become better athletes by focusing on agility, speed, and plyometrics.

My current schedule is

Mon: Asylum and shadowboxing on my front porch

Tues: Asylum and shadowboxing

Wed: Sparring with Lisa

Thurs: Asylum

Fri: Asylum and shadowboxing

Sat: AM Boxing technique training with Lisa, PM Pullups and core

Sun: Bikram yoga

You just had your first sparring experience! Tell us about it.

First, I made the mistake of watching a series of pro women boxing fights the night before, and in the final bout, a girl who was obviously outmatched had her nose broken in the first round. A good way to give myself the jitters. To cope, I arrived at the gym 30 minutes early to run sprints on the treadmill. I was still talkative and jittery, but I was slightly more at ease in my skin with the endorphins raging.

Once we warmed up and I stepped into the ring, the nerves disappeared. I was there to learn, and I knew that I was going to be terrible, and that was perfectly okay. And I was terrible. And it was okay.

My cardio gave out much more quickly than I had anticipated. Anaerobic exercise is no joke. But because I am already decently fit, I was able to jump back in after a few rounds and go again. I was slow and awkward, but the experience of working offensively and defensively simultaneously was exactly what I needed to understand if I was going to continue shadowboxing and working with pads. I needed to know how punches would be thrown, what an experience with a live opponent feels like. If I had continued training just in technique, I have every expectation that I would have given up, either out of anxiety or sheer boredom.

I left the ring feeling more determined than ever. I am going to figure this out. I am going to be good at this. Not because I am especially talented. I am just, like with everything else in my life, doggedly stubborn.

Were there any “ah-ha”s or “oh, no”s that you can share?

After working in the ring, all of a sudden the footwork and punches started to work together. The full-body nature of boxing clicked, and that is what I will be focusing on as I continue working on my own.

My “oh, no” came when realizing how much energy I was losing by automatically tensing my whole body when the punches started flying. Have to focus on maintaining a calm stream of breath so that I don’t burn out after two rounds. Yoga is a good compliment to boxing for this very reason!

Got any advice for someone thinking about taking up boxing?

Don’t be afraid. Your body can handle anything. All you have to do is remind your body (through exercise, meditation, and nutrition) every day of how it should be reacting – with speed, with confidence, with power.

Find someone who is patient and willing to teach you the techniques. And then, always respect their time and expertise. Always arrive early. Always put in 500% more work outside of the gym than you do inside the gym. Never allow them to regret their decision to help you for even a second.

What are your goals, now that you’ve sparred for the first time? Why do you want to box?

Catherine and Josh Tufte. This guy better watch out!

One of my goals for my boxing training is to be able to surprise Mr. Tufte with a powerful body shot. And then laugh at him.

More seriously though, I want to box. Boxing is what I have been seeking; I bound out of bed, excited for my workouts. I want to train with focus, to continue sparring, to build my speed and power so that I can go toe-to-toe with boxers much more experienced than myself.

I want to box because I feel more confident in my own skin after just three weeks of boxing than I have felt in my entire life.

What is something you already love about boxing?

I love the seamless integration of strategic planning and instinct. I love feeling strong. I love feeling connected to all parts of my body. I love the experience of connecting to another human being as equal opponents.

What’s your biggest fear related to boxing?

Giving up.

What do you feel like you’re missing in boxing right now?

The confidence that comes with trained muscle memory. That’s why I box on my own every day. Muscles just need to know how to move reflexively rather than consciously. All that requires is time and dedication.

What phrases are starting to come up on your “Boxing Manifesto”?
- Stop. Clenching. Your. Shoulders. BREATHE!
- Always approach your opponent with grace and respect.
- Do it again. And again. And again. Until your arms literally fall off. If they are still miraculously attached to your shoulders, then do it again.
I know you’re new to this, but have you begun to see ways that boxing relates to life, in your experience?

As creative individuals (artists, musicians, writers, teachers, thinkers, doers), opportunities come barreling our way all the time. We watch those opportunities approaching as we shift our weight in our shoes in anticipation. Feeling the ground underneath us, shaking our arms to loosen our shoulders, gnawing on our mouthguards. Once the bell rings, if we allow our creative selves to spring into action, and allow our creative instincts to autopilot, then we will find ourselves capable of more than we ever imagined.

You can follow Catherine’s 13/13/13 Sketchbook project on Facebook and Twitter, or on her website.

I hope you’ll leave a comment below and ask Catherine your questions, or just offer her your cheers and encouragement! — Lisa
November 13, 2012
What Happens When You Get Punched in the Face

It’s easy to work out in a boxing gym, pounding the heavy bag, focusing on your combinations, power, footwork, and cardio. You can do round after round on the speed bag and double-end bag, getting your timing and coordination right. But when you get in the ring and get punched in the face that very first time, pretty much everything you’ve worked so hard to learn flies straight out the window.

Mike Tyson said it well. “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face.”

When you’re working with newer boxers, it’s not hard to accidentally tag them hard. Even if I’m pulling punches, working for touches rather than hard hits, sometimes they walk into one. And it is no fun, I know from experience. That damn glove pops you bam! on nose and you think, Shit! What the hell was that!?

You immediately drop your guard, your plan, your everything, and try to figure out whether or not you’re bleeding, whether this is important, whether or not you intend to keep boxing.

I did this to a friend in the ring recently, so it’s fresh in my mind. And I’m remembering my first few (dozen, hah) sparring rounds and how much of a shock it was to actually be hit, hard. Not necessarily because someone has it in for you, but come on, this is boxing. It’s going to happen. I knew that. My sparring partner who took two heavy straight rights from me this week (in the very first round, ugh) knew that. But it can still put a hard stop on operations.

What happens in your head, when you take your first hard shot

The first thing you experience is outright shock. You know you’re boxing, but being punched in the face is just not something we’re used to. How could it be? The shock is what causes you to falter, to stop working and stand there in disbelief.

This is the first and greatest hurdle to get over in boxing, and of course there are lots of people who say “Why would I want to get over that hurdle? What an insane sport.” And I understand those people, I truly do. But the simple fact is that learning to take a punch taught me a much bigger lesson about myself, and about life.

Let’s admit it, life is not an insulated little nursery school play yard. If you don’t grow a pair (ovaries or balls, you choose) NOW, you are actively, knowingly putting at great risk all the good gifts you’ve been given and the future you deserve to have. There are things in life you must fight for, or they’ll be taken away from you by force.

Learning that I could take a punch and not be stopped in my tracks by it was one of the most empowering moments of my entire life.

The pain sets in a second after the shock. And it’s tempting to let pain derail your plans the way shock can. Pain is powerfully persuasive. A straight shot to the nose stings, makes your eyes immediately well up, and sends a jolt of sparks across your whole face. Your nose feels squashed, although it won’t swell for another minute or so. Sometimes you bleed, sometimes your nose simply drips. It’s hard not to believe you’re seriously injured, but usually you aren’t. You simply aren’t used to it.

What happens to the rest of your game

Nothing, that’s what. You drop your guard and paw at your face. You stare at your sparring partner as if you’ve never actually met before. You shake your head and try to figure out what to do next. You swear over your mouthguard.

If you have a good sparring partner or trainer, they’ll pick up the slack for you by telling you to get your guard back up and get your ass back in the game. The bell hasn’t rung, and it’s your job to keep working until it does.

Why it’s important to get punched in the face, hard

If you intend to box you are going to take some hard damn shots. It’s a thousand times better to experience this in the ring with a trusted partner than it is to learn it for the first time when you’re in a real match against an opponent who really is trying to knock your head off.

The simple truth is you get experienced at taking shots. You find out what it is going to feel like, you begin to understand how to avoid the worst of the pain, you learn how to deal with the shock and keep fighting, blood or no blood. That’s a hugely valuable lesson.

One time I was driving on the interstate when I saw a powerline suddenly snap loose and drop down across the highway, and a policeman on a motorcycle (right in front of me) hit the cable and went flying off his bike, right into oncoming traffic. It was a damned miracle that he wasn’t killed outright. I immediately pulled into the central lane that divided the highway and came to a quick stop, as did several other cars whose drivers saw it happen.

I distinctly remember standing in the middle of the highway in shock, staring at the downed officer laying in the middle of a lane of traffic. It was exactly like being punched hard in the face. I was in complete shock when I should have been working with the other people jumping out of their cars to stop traffic, get to the officer, and call for help.

Fortunately, others on the scene were more experienced than I was, and the end of the story is that the officer and the motorcycle were banged up but essentially okay. There were no other wrecks. The power line was taken care of.

If I were to be in a similar situation now I know I would do a better job of shaking off the shock and working through a plan. Maybe I wouldn’t perform with style and grace, but I’d at least have a chance at it.

One last truth, one secret joy

My husband is reading Moneyball: The Art of Winning an Unfair Game, by Michael Lewis. (You may have seen the movie with Brad Pitt and Jonah Hill.) The author talks about how the major leagues are great at chewing up and spitting out hitters. You might be able to hit in the minors, but when you come up to the show, every pitcher in the game has studied your weaknesses, and if you don’t like ’em high and inside, that’s what you’re gonna get. They’ll find out exactly what you can’t hit, and pitch it to you.

Sound anything like life? It’s definitely true in boxing. You have to get good at being punched hard in the face, because that’s exactly what someone is going to be doing to you. And the better you can shrug it off, slip it off, let it slide past without stunning and stopping you, the faster you’ll move up in the game.

And the secret truth that every boxer holds tight in his or her soul? It’s empowering. It feels fucking awesome to be able to take a hard shot and keep fighting. No other way to say it than that.

It’s a high cost, perhaps, but well worth the pay out.

What do you think? What was it like, the first time you took a shot, in the ring or in life, and how did you do? Would you do better now? Leave me a comment and share your story!

CC image by ennuiislife on Flickr

October 28, 2012
What to Expect the First Time You Spar in Boxing
Whether you started boxing for fitness or because you want to compete, one of the most scary and exciting things you’ll ever do is step into the ring for your very first sparring session.

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

First of all, your conditioning sucks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll start thinking seriously about your gear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You may be ridiculously self-conscious.

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

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

You’ll come out feeling like a superhero.

If you have the right kind of trainer and gym (and not one of those crappy places where they beat you up in order to feel like they are bad ass and way cooler than you’ll ever be), you will be so grateful to have survived without weeping, puking, or dying! Your brain will be firing all kinds of crazy messages like
- “Did I really just do that??”
- “Damn, I rock!”
- “Wow, my conditioning sucks.”
- “Damn, I rock!”
- “I am so glad I didn’t puke!”
- “I really did do it, didn’t I??”
In fact it was a post by a friend of mine (and regular TGE commentor) Amy, who got me thinking about this again. You definitely need to read her thoughts on her first time sparring.

The next day, say hello to your sparring hangover!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Superhero image by Gomez-C on Flickr; the rest are (of me on a sparring night) by Ken Hall Photography
July 8, 2011
Fighting the Dread of Boxing Training

Having just moved to a new boxing gym, I’m once again reminded of how hard it is to make inroads into a new gym, a new team. I don’t mean overcoming the reluctance to train, but rather the simple and profound fear of boxing itself, and all the insanely hard work it takes to stand in the ring.

Part of my newly re-awakened dread has to do with moving up several levels to train with a much more intense, powerful, competitive crew. I really did think I was in shape until I showed up at Second Round, and I’ve been struggling for several weeks to be able to train there two days in a row, without at least one or two days in between to recover.

So my first tactic in fighting the dread of boxing training is — crazily enough — to train harder.

My husband thinks it’s ironic that I run several miles, jump rope for 20 minutes and do hurdles on my “off” days. But we’re both starting to understand that some of that off-day training has to do with a mental leap that I’m making every time I show up at the new boxing gym. I need to know that I’m capable of working hard on my own, that I can endure the heat and the struggle without someone urging me forward; I need to believe that I’m doing this because I choose to do it, even on the days I don’t love it. The power is mine.

I also maintain a fair amount of mental radio silence.

Every day that I plan to go to the new gym I start to get gut churn around noon. I could give myself pep talks, but I’ve found that there really isn’t anything I can say to convince myself not to sweat it so hard. Boxing training is not about talk, it’s about work.

You would think that I might have learned this life lesson by now. It’s true in my writing, which I do both professionally and recreationally. I don’t waste much time telling myself that I should write, or that I’m good at writing. I don’t spend much time planning my writing, either: I write. I sit down, power up my laptop, and do it. I make mistakes, I edit, I polish, I publish; that’s how it gets done.

Unless I’m actually prepping for a fight, it doesn’t help me to think about boxing training in advance. Instead, I have to jam the channel. I mentally tune my brainwaves to a smooth light hiss, not unlike the sound of the ocean. And I trust myself to be able to face it when I’m actually stepping into the gym.

It can be difficult to accept all the unknowns in boxing.

If there’s a sparring opportunity, I get in the ring. It’s the hardest thing in boxing to do this, over and over again. And everyone who has ever rolled under the ropes understands firsthand how terrifying it can be to not know anything about the person you are about to fight. But there are other, more common unknowns as well.

For example, I’m still learning how training happens in my new gym. There doesn’t seem to be a regular way of doing things (regardless of any schedule that may or may not exist), but team training does come together under the direction of a coach sometimes; it’s almost like the conditions just have to be a certain way for it to happen — and you have to be there at the right time to catch the wave.

You also have to be willing to drop in on the wave when it happens.

I don’t know if I’m going to be able to keep up. I don’t know if I’ll hold back the entire team, or be able to give my drill partner the kind of work they want and need. I don’t know if I’ll slip the right way or get repeatedly punched in the face. But I’ll never know unless I jump in and take my place with the team. No one invites me to join in; I have to do it myself. But every time I’ve stepped forward, I’ve won another small nod of respect from my teammates and coaches.

I’ve learned that I perform well under pressure.

Channeling fear into energy takes practice. There are always plenty of fighters who are better than you. There are four boxers currently in the Olympic pre-qualification process at my small urban gym. Four! They are extremely skilled and they work far harder than I do, every day. It can be intimidating for me to walk in and share a heavy bag with one of them, or join their training rotation, but I do it. I work very hard to channel that intimidation into training energy in the same way that I let faster runners spur me on. And while I might find that I don’t measure up to someone else’s level, I have discovered that I consistently perform better when I’m challenged.

More and more I’ve come to wonder if boxing imitates life.

And I’m laughing, because boxing is so much gentler. There are rules, and safety precautions, and coaches. You get to leave the gym any time you want. You might be bloodied and bruised, but there are no broken hearts, or terminally ill friends, or moral dilemmas in boxing. There are no looming deadlines or financial disasters.

But every day you step forward and fight, despite the dread. Not to win a prize, or build a record, or turn back the clock, but because it’s what you do. It’s how you live.

It’s who I am honored to be.

Image by jnyemb on Flickr

June 1, 2011
The Body Forgets, The Body Remembers

The first week in December I got a little overzealous about increasing my number of unassisted chin-ups and wrecked my shoulder. It’s an old injury and I’ve been through the re-healing process before, but this time one of the pro boxers in my gym suggested I come see her to help get it taken care of. I looked at her, baffled.

“I’m a physical therapist, you know,” she laughed.

Sometimes I forget that the boxers at the gym have jobs, families, lives. But the thought of a trained medical person who wouldn’t berate me for boxing and who might actually speed the healing process had tremendous appeal, and I found myself booking the appointment.

So for two months I stayed out of the ring and off the heavy bag and worked through an intense physical therapy program to heal my shoulder up as much as I could. I missed boxing horribly, and consoled myself with running the shame line at the “normal” gym and becoming fiercely competitve in everything cardio. Slightly depressed, I ate garbage and became nostalgic about push-ups, but by God, I ran. And threw sprints on the jump rope, and cranked up the elliptical machine.

By the time I could move my shoulder again without spikes of pain I felt like I had forgotten the ways of moving in the ring. I started standing in front of the mirror and sending out slow-motion jabs: is this how it works? Is this still right? Jabs seem like such a simple punch, but they are stunningly complex and there is a galaxy of difference between a good jab and a crap one. A good jab can save your ass in the ring, warding off your opponent’s punches or breaking up her combinations. They can measure distance, letting you know whether you’re in range or not. They deliver most of your messages, front your bombs, secure territory, and with power they can beat a tattoo of pain into someone’s face. You can’t think about your jab in the ring, it just has to be there, ready to fire. Boxing without a good jab is like swimming without arms and legs.

You gotta have a good jab, and I feared my body was forgetting mine.

My feet were forgetting, too. I stood balanced in my stance in the middle of the bedroom floor, and tried to recall how it felt to train on the tractor tire that sat on the loading dock behind the gym: rocking my weight quickly, lightly, back and forth between my feet to allow me to move with balance and speed.

I stood in the bedroom and looked down at my forgetful feet and sighed.

When I finally began to shadowbox again I knew my form — which is still a novice’s, even after nearly two years — had grown blurry, but there’s really no simple cure. There’s only the long, repetitive road of work ahead.

Last week I finally got back in the ring again. It was after team training — my first in more than two months. I had substituted legwork for all the training that directly hits the shoulders (mountain climbers, push-ups, burpees, etc.) and with that and the fact that I’d maintained my cardio, I realized I still had some energy left. Our trainer closed down the session and I looked around at my drenched and winded teammates. My shoulder felt okay: no spikes of pain. It wasn’t strong, but it didn’t feel injured any more.

“Anybody want to give me a couple of light, easy rounds in the ring?” I asked. “I’d really like to test out my shoulder. Nothing serious, though,” I added, knowing everyone else had worked much harder in training than I had.

A couple of them groaned and declined, heading for the showers. But one of the newer guys offered to stay. Because he’s new and doesn’t have much experience in the ring, I got permission from our trainer to spar, and we both geared up.

The gym had cleared out and it was late; the headlights on the cars headed out of the parking lot flashed through the windows. Someone had turned down the volume on the ever-present thump of hip-hop, making the bell that starts the rounds sound incredibly loud. I moved out to the center of the ring, shivering with anticipation and nerves. I was more flat-footed than light and balanced, but I was in the ring.

We had a satisfying five rounds. No one cornered, no one watched. He was too inexperienced to know how sloppy my form was, and my jab wasn’t so out of practice that he didn’t feel it. Like most newbies, he apologized once he began to land some power punches. They felt great. I was remembering. He kept his gloves in front of his face against my jab so I repeatedly hooked to his head: around the guard, straight to the ear. Connection. My shoulder held up. I began to feel exultant.

The next day I had a slight headache and my neck and shoulders were sore from the tension I’d carried in the ring. It sounds counter-intuitive, but you absolutely must relax when you box, just like you relax on the landing of a long fall, in order to transfer the shock through more of your body and allow the impact to flow on through without breaking anything. My body was reminding me of the patterns and necessities of boxing.

I pressed my fingers to the slightly bruised and tender bridge of my nose; I ate a healthy serving of punches from the newbie. Dude was quite promising, much better than I was when I began boxing. He had some power, too, as my nose was telling me. There was a tender spot on the underside of my jaw as well. I laughed; he’d fired quite a few uppercuts and at least one of them connected. Uppercuts! From a newbie.

I smiled, remembering.

Image by isabel bloedwater

February 6, 2010