Tag: punch

  • What to Do When You Get Hit HARD in Sparring

    What to Do When You Get Hit HARD in Sparring

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

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

     

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

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

    We were there.

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

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

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

    1. DON’T shake your head.

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

    2. Let someone know.

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

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

    3. Be calm.

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

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

    4. Keep moving.

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

    5. Take a drink of water.

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

    6. Fix what went wrong.

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

    7. Get back in. ASAP.

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

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

    8. Know when to stop.

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

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

    9. A note on “faking it.”

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

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

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

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

    Ever been rocked?

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

    Stay strong, fighter.

    CC Image by kizette on Flickr

  • What Happens When You Get Punched in the Face

    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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    In your corner

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

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

    Down (or out) for the count

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

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

    Pull your punches

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

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

    Punch drunk / Punchy

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

    On the ropes

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

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

    Roll with the punches

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

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

    Knockout

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Toe to toe / Infighting

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

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

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

    Square off

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

    Saved by the bell

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

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

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

    Throw your hat in the ring

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

    Beat them to the punch

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

    Low blow

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

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

    Throw in the towel

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

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

    Keep your guard up / Taken off guard

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

    Come out swinging / Go down swinging

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

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

    Heavyweight / Lightweight

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

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

    Take a dive

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

    In the clinch

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

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

    Fight until the bell rings / Go the distance

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

     

    Creative Commons Image by  SuperWebDeveloper on Flickr

  • Chevelle Hallback vs Holly Holm in “Warrior Vengeance”


    On March 26th Chevelle “Fists of Steel” Hallback (27-5-2), one of the world’s most powerful and athletic boxers, will meet Holly Holm (26-1-3) on Holm’s own turf in Albequerque, NM on the “Warrior Vengeance” card. Holm will be defending her WIBA Light Welterweight title in this rematch, promoted by Fresquez Productions.

    “My first fight with Holly was one of my worst performances for date,” Chevelle admitted. “This time,” she noted, “ I have enough time to prepare for the altitude. I believe when I am in superb shape there is not one female fighter out there in my weight class or above my weight class that can beat me.”

    Of Holly Holm’s three rematches, she has won two and battled a third to a draw, but these stats don’t intimidate Hallback. “I enjoy the role of the underdog. It makes me work harder and the victory that much sweeter.”

    Holm is an incredibly disciplined, thinking, and tactical fighter where Hallback is about angles and pure punch power (which you can really see coming out in the training video above); Hallback has an astonishing knockout rate of more than 30%.

    I’m also embedding a video of Hallback in an MMA cage fight with Melissa Vasquez — the fight lasts less than one minute and ends by TKO in a stunning display of hit power. THIS is the kind of intensity I’m expecting to see in Holm vs Hallback, and I believe it will go on for round after round.


    I’m hopeful that Fresquez will once again offer this fight on PPV webcast; if so, it’s a fight you will not want to miss.

  • 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
  • Bettah WATCH OUT for my jab, baby.

    Bettah WATCH OUT for my jab, baby.

    jab

    Well, well. I received the UNDIVIDED attention of both my trainers last night, and the Shred of the Century ensued. Apparently my jab is more poorly constructed than a Louisiana levee. So it got bulldozed and I proceeded to throw ten bafillion left jabs on command, mostly wrecks.

    One of my coaches put me through the jab shredder and the other one kept dogging my stance. I already knew my stance needed adjusting, but as you know I can only think of one thing at a time, and pretty soon I was in such poor form that I would have had trouble going the distance against Paris Hilton in the ring.

    Well, okay, let’s not be extreme — I’d have put her on the canvas in no time, and used my crappy but ingrained and heartfelt left jab to do it. Heh.

    Whew — just got lost in that fantasy for a minute. Where was I? Oh yeah, whining.

    The evil glowing laser of destruction was humming so loudly and focused so intently on me that eventually my team mates abandoned their heavy bags and came to watch the show. They began to offer their own versions of advice on my jab, stance, guard, position, reaction time, mouthguard, eye color, and choice of hand lotion. I think I took it well. I bit no one, and counted that my victory. And I threw forty craploads (and I mean that intentionally) of jabs.

    I threw so many left jabs that when I got home my sports bra had abraded a line of skin off the left side of my back. It’s a wonder I can move my arm today. But I can, amazingly. Of course, I can’t move it through the motion of a CORRECT LEFT JAB, but I can do 40 standard push-ups in the midst of my regular workout today and hardly notice.

    Okay, I feel better now, thanks for listening. My jab must be fixed. My stance must be fixed. We have the technology. We can repair me.

    And I want to say that I’m actually very grateful for my coaches, whom I adore (in a sick and twisted way), for having taken me to the woodshed. Better them than the boxers I face in the ring. And a particular squeeze of affection fist bump goes out to my team mates, who really did offer me good advice and believe in me despite my inconceivably grotesque left jab.

    I plan to show them my new one up close and personal.

  • Does Boxing Hurt?

    Does Boxing Hurt?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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