The Glowing Edge

Tag: trainer

How to Succeed in Boxing

Success in boxing isn’t always measured by the number of “W”s on your passbook. It’s something hard-won over time with plenty of blood, sweat, and the right attitude.

Take a look at the following 11 keys to success in boxing, and join in the discussion by leaving your ideas and additions in the comments below.

1. Don’t ask who will let you learn to fight. Ask who will stop you.

This was my very first lesson in learning to box, and not coincidentally, in learning to live the life I dreamed of but didn’t have. The voice inside your head that says you can’t do this is a liar. If you want power, fight for it. If you want love, fight for it. If you want your art, your career, your relationships, your health…there isn’t someone you need to ask permission from. But there may be people, roadblocks, and personal limitations you’ll have to push past.

2. Find a coach you can trust.

Great boxing coaches almost always have boxing experience of their own. But just because someone was a boxer does not mean they’ll make a good coach. You want someone who understands how to teach boxing by careful increments, not the “throw ’em in the ring, beat ’em up, and see if they are ballsy enough to come back” school. Avoid any trainers who teach by routinely belittling, cursing, bullying, or humiliating their fighters. Certifications are overrated; what you want is someone you feel can bring out your best game. You can’t always put a certification on that.

3. Accept that blood happens.

Black eyes, bloody noses, busted ribs, torn muscles, knockout punches, and even serious ass kickings do happen in boxing. No, boxing is not all about beating someone up or getting beat up, but if you try to get through this sport without your fair share of pain, you may be knitting but you aren’t boxing. As it happens, the same is true in life. Sometimes you get punched in the face, hard. It’s far better to have some experience with that so that you know how to respond to it.

4. Play to your strengths. Train up your weaknesses.

As you start to learn to box, you’ll discover that you have certain strengths and liabilities as a fighter. You may have great reach, but you don’t like the inside game. Maybe your punches pack power, but you can’t seem to get your feet to move lightly in the ring. You never manage to land an uppercut, but your jab stings like a bitch. Figure out what you’re good at, and put it to extra use in the ring. Accept that you have vulnerabilities, and seek training partners who excel in those areas and will help you train up your weaknesses so that they don’t present a fatal crack in your armor.

5. When you can’t do something everyone can do, train until you get it or find a workaround.

I learned a long time ago that as a boxer in her 40s I can’t always do the same things in training that the teenagers do. I’ve learned to come early to warm up more, find alternate exercises when one they’re doing won’t work for me, and modify some of the “routine” training patterns of my boxing team so that I can do the same work in a way that fits my body. For example, if the call is for 40 push-ups, I’ll do mine in sets rather than all in a row. One size does not fit all in boxing training; push yourself, but make it work for you and not against you.

6. Keep climbing back into the ring.

Learning to box takes years. It isn’t something you can try this week, and be “naturally” great at. Street fighters do not have an advantage. Muscle-bound tough guys do not have an advantage. Football players, rugby players, hockey players or other athletes do not have an advantage. (MMA fighters have an advantage.) Boxing is its own game, with unique challenges and rewards. The only way to become good is to train consistently over a long period of time. Set goals and work to achieve them, but remember the scale of this sport and allow yourself time to improve.

7. Fight until the bell rings.

Your first rounds in sparring are a real eye-opener as far as showing you exactly what’s required in this sport. Even once you have lots of experience, you’ll go in the ring some days thinking those three tiny minutes last about a hundred years each. But giving up mid-round sends the message that you just aren’t serious.

8. Cross train.

Going to your boxing gym three or four times a week may make your game good, but throwing in regular cross training will take you to the next level. And if you can make your cross training fit the rhythms of boxing (for example, fit exercises into 3 minute intervals with 30 second rests when possible), you’ll make your game the best it can be. Cross training strengthens the muscles that boxing doesn’t hit, alleviates boredom, and opens you to new experiences, coaches, and communities.

9. Seek out experienced fighters and listen to what they have to say.

Learn from the boxers who are already good. They know a lot, and can show you things you haven’t figured out yet. Watch them when they’re in the ring. Ask them questions. Train alongside them. One way to get good is to copy someone who is already there.

10. Seek out new fighters, and listen to what they have to say.

If you’re new, they will make you feel less alone. If you’re experienced, they will keep you on your toes and even teach you things you’ve missed or forgotten about. It’s always valuable to have the perspective of someone new to boxing. It’s also important to give back by listening to newbies and offering what counsel and encouragement you can.

11. Remember to breathe.

This sounds ridiculous until you’ve gone your first few rounds in the ring. Holding your breath while punching, forgetting to relax while in the ring, taking tiny, shallow fearful breaths… There’s so much strain and fear and work in boxing you can frequently find yourself fighting without breathing. A good coach and corner will constantly remind you to breathe, and you will have to work and focus hard to obey them. (You’ll be glad you learned it, though.)

I know there’s plenty missing from the list. What you would add? And I’m curious to know how well you think these keys translate to other sports as well. Leave a comment below and weigh in!

Photo of me training by Melissa Eggleston

November 4, 2012
Listening to Your Coach: The Mind-Body Connection in Boxing

Seventeen young men, most of the court-ordered to be there, are standing with me in lose rows in their boxing stance, guard up. Coach “One Bad Jab” Massey calls the shots.

“Jab, jab, jab, squat. Jab, pivot…jab,” he calls, never raising voice overmuch, mixing up the timing of his commands, and watching us with an eagle eye. The shots are called slowly, with plenty of time in between for Coach Massey to walk among the rows with a boxing glove that is stuffed and taped to one end of a long shovel handle. These are standard tools in boxing gyms.

The trick here is that if he jabs that thing in your face you DO. NOT. FLINCH. You don’t duck, you don’t do anything. Unless he shouts “Squat!” to the group, and then you better get low or risk having your head popped by his glove-on-a-stick.

“I did NOT say ‘squat,’” Massey comments calmly to a young man who saw the glove coming and wrongly anticipated the coach’s command. “Give me 15 pushups.”

The young man drops and the rest continue. This isn’t an exercise in jabs, or squats, or even overcoming the flinch reflex. They are lessons in listening.

In fact, if you were to regularly watch the training sessions at Second Round, there would be plenty of days when you might think the coach was working harder at teaching the kids to listen than he is at making them sweat.

And you’d be right.

Why boxers need to develop an instinctive response to a coach’s voice

There’s a lot of mental work that goes on when you’re in the ring. But then there are times when you’re too fatigued to work your strategy, or you’re under so much heavy fire you just can’t think, all you can do is survive. That’s one of your coach’s most critical jobs — to call the shots when you can’t do it any more. But it doesn’t begin there.

1. Creating safety out of chaos

Second Round held a sparring night for all of the new boxers in the gym recently. Once everyone was geared up and gathered around the ring apron, Massey climbed into the ring and called for everyone’s attention.

Our kids are mostly there by court order. They have a lot of street tough in them. But even if they didn’t, most people come to a boxing gym expecting to “fight.” They have images of brawls, fistfights, and lots of anger and frustration coming out inside those ropes.

Which is a big mistake, and the first one Massey points out.

“What are we here to do?” he asks the kids, who are anxious and jittery, shuffling and bumping each other. But they think they know the answer.

“Fight!” they tell him, and it comes out like a cheer.

“No,” he responds, shaking his head. “We’re here to box.” He doesn’t elaborate, but his point will be illustrated soon, when they see how easily a more experienced boxer will evade their wild, messy, craziness in the ring, and return smart, quick, stinging punches as they flail around.

“I have three commands for you to remember tonight,” he continues. “You’ll hear them from your ref at the beginning of your match, and you’ll hear them during your rounds. If you forget everything else while you’re in this ring, I want you to remember these three words.” He pauses to make sure he has their attention.

“The three commands are ‘box,’ ‘break,’ and ‘stop.’” He fires off each word like a rifle shot, and they pop against the cinderblocks and echo back.

He explains, but I know the real understanding won’t come until much later in their training. Because as they brawl their messy way through those initial rounds, these three commands help put the first, rough boundaries on what they are trying to learn. They keep the kids safe in a very chaotic place.

If you can hear nothing else (and you can’t hear much) during the war of your first rounds, you hear those words, and respond. And that’s where a powerful relationship with a great coach begins.

2. Stopping a new boxer’s tendency to overthink

I’m a thinker. I have a bachelor’s and a master’s degree. And when I was a new boxer, my brain frequently held me back in the ring. When faced with a complicated situation I wanted to stop and carefully analyze all the multiple pieces that were going into my work. But my brain wasn’t boxing-smart. And often there were too many pieces to think of at once, and I ended up paralyzed and unable to move, or else I just looked a mess.

Over and over I would hear my coaches say, “You’re over-thinking it.” And I was. I found that often my body could respond more quickly and easily to my coach’s shot-calls than my brain could make sense of everything, stitch all the pieces logically together, and tell my body to execute the command.

Sometimes you have to cut out the middleman. Sometimes the middleman is your own brain. Use your coach’s brain instead, because it’s boxing-smart.

I was teaching proper form for a jab to a friend recently when I was reminded of this again. She wanted to “talk through” each part at length; it’s a complicated creature, the jab. We’d been going through the motions carefully for a while, but the whole shot wasn’t coming together for her.

Eventually I interrupted her verbal processing, which was getting us nowhere. “Stop thinking about it,” I told her. “Just pop it into my hand on my command.” And an instant later I called, “Jab!”

And damned if she didn’t throw the prettiest bee-sting jab you ever saw straight into my upraised palm.

Your body may be able to learn boxing faster than your brain does. You need both, but more than that, you need a coach to tell you when to shift gears.

3. Getting you through rough rounds against superior opponents

Your coach helps you build your strategy as you prepare to face a tough opponent. And while you may start your bout with your plan firmly in place, sometimes you find yourself outmatched or getting eaten alive by your opponent’s strategy instead.

At some point you default to simply protecting yourself; you become all defense. You stop scoring, and you will lose the fight if you’re all on your own.

A good coach in your corner can turn that completely around for you, in many cases. But you have to be able to tune out the roar of the room, the sound of punches banging against your ears, and the random cheers and jeers of onlookers. You have to have one channel only open, the one between you and your coach.

When she or he calls the shots, you let your body respond. Your coach then has the control, and can guide you through the jagged reefs and safely into the harbor, if you can listen and respond.

As it is in boxing, so it is in life

I find myself saying this more and more these days. Good, clean boxing informs life, and vice-versa. Get a coach you can trust, just like you have mentors upon whom you can depend to guide and train you in the best possible ways.

Nobody owes you training, no matter how much you paid for your gym membership. The best training is earned. It comes in boxing as it does in life, when you develop a relationship with someone who is willing to teach, if you are willing to listen and work hard.

So who comes to mind as you read this?

I’ll bet you have some coaches, mentors, and trainers who absolutely changed the course of your life. I hope you’ll take the time to leave a comment and share your story. And even pass this on to a coach or teacher you’ve deeply valued…

My own fist bumps and grateful appreciation go out to Coach Bonnie “Queen B” Mann, and of course, Willie “One Bad Jab” Massey. Many thanks to both of you, as well as to several other incredible coaches who have worked with and influenced me — Terri “The Boss” Moss, Paul “The Italian Hit Man” Marinaccio, and more. You guys have changed my life for the better!

Image: That’s me, being cornered by pro trainer Xavier “Bad Pads” Biggs during my very first fight.

October 13, 2012
Sustaining Damage During Sparring
A boxing sparring session is radically different than an actual match. If I had to choose between the two, sparring wins every time. It can be unbelievably beautiful to watch, particularly when the two boxers agree — implicitly or explicitly — to maintain a certain flow, to match and challenge each other but not overwhelm.

You see this kind of beauty in many professional fights, although not as much in amateurs since both fighters are jazzed on nerves and gunning for the knockout. It’s rarely as controlled.

Dave G. sent me the link to this incredible sparring session between Julio Cesar Chavez Jr. and Vanes Martirosyan, and I’ve watched it several times now, just soaking up how fabulous it is.

But it’s clearly between pros who are at the top of their game and ungodly strong. Did you see all those uppercuts Martirosyan landed? Holy sh*t. Of course he got his nose bloodied by Chavez, but I’d rather have the bloody nose than have to take those punishing uppercuts.

And these guys are working for the cameras… This is not your average-Joe sparring session. (I’m fighting the urge to add “Do not try this at home, kids.”)

Dave asked a question about sparring, as well:

What is the damage you sustain after an average sparring session?

I sustained a bloody nose and again a bruised lip this week. Since a lot of the fighters matching my skill don’t show up anymore, it’s slim pickings. People tend to drop out a lot in martial arts I noticed. 🙂 Anyway, if I want to spar I have no choice but to fight against the competitive fighter who is always around. I outweigh him about 30 pounds, but he sure is fast.

I am aware that you seldom get out unscathed from a session, maybe I should switch to headgear with a nose guard but those seem way too bulky.

I’d love to hear your take on this!

The main injuries are fairly simple.

I often have a headache the next day after a hard sparring match, but it’s usually treatable with an ibuprofen or three. I don’t really count that as an injury, but it’s part of the package.

My single most common issue is bruised lips, which isn’t surprising, since your lips and nose are the least protected parts of your face when you’re wearing headgear.

I have a friend (Hi, Eric!) who seems to get nosebleeds a lot, and that’s not too unusual for the same reason. We both hate the headgear with the bar across the face because they are so bulky and they obstruct your vision more, but it’s an option.

The black eyes are less common, but I’ve had a few. I would guess that heavyweights get them more than lightweights like me; our punches just don’t pack the same kind of power. I got every single one of my black eyes when sparring with a heavyweight partner.

I also got my broken rib during sparring, but that was more unusual. I’ve only seen that happen two other times in the years I’ve been boxing.

There are several things that go into determining how much injury you commonly get during a sparring session.
1. The weight match of the sparring partners. I typically expect bigger partners to control their shots so that I don’t get hurt, but it doesn’t always happen that way.
2. How hard you both agree to work. It’s best if you can be explicit, but sometimes you think you have an agreement, but one person starts to increase their power. You have to continue to communicate — either with words or with force — or you can get in trouble here…
3. Experience level (whether or not you have good control of your punches). Newbies are notorious for causing damage, but more experienced boxers should be able to move faster and avoid the damage. Sometimes this works, sometimes it doesn’t.
4. What kind of gear you’re wearing. Like I mentioned, I hate the face-savers, but I love a no-foul. You can see that both boxers in the video above are wearing groin protectors and both of them got shots that landed on them. These take the edge off rib shots, too, not to mention the dreaded liver shot.
5. The number and length of rounds you spar. I like being a part of a team session where we’re trading off rounds; you can endure for longer and get a lot of learning in. But there’s great value in sparring the same number and length of rounds you do in a fight, too. I almost never get to do this since I’m usually the only woman in the gym, and men’s rounds are 3 minutes rather than 2. But when I’m getting ready for a match I insist on 2 minute rounds so I can get used to the rhythm.
6. What kind of trainer you have. Sometimes one or another coach who is overseeing the sparring is out for blood, and is urging their fighter to rip you to shreds. I hate being in that situation, but I’ve definitely been there. I try to avoid this kind of session and this kind of trainer; I don’t respond well to being screamed at. But you do see it in boxing gyms, that’s for sure.
The truth is that I try to avoid bad sparring matches, although I’ve had a few, and I will go out of my way to set up sessions with partners I know I can trust and get the best work with. I’ll travel to another gym if I can’t get good sparring where I am, and I really try to maintain good relationships with several area gyms so that I can do this.

I also don’t spar all that frequently, since it’s pretty hard on the body. At my last gym we sparred every Friday, and you better believe there were plenty of people who showed up once or twice for a Friday, then dropped out completely or only came on other team nights.

There’s a huge (huge!) difference between training for boxing and actually boxing, and it’s definitely a big hurdle for people. I completely understand why lots of people would not want to spar; I really do. It’s not for everyone.

But I think it could be for more people if gyms would set the right tone, and help make the matches better.

I’d love to hear what everyone else has to say; leave a comment below and let’s mix it up!
January 13, 2012
What You Should Know Before You Spar

I have written about what you can expect the first time you spar, but my friend Amy Scheer — also a boxer — recently asked me what I thought a new boxer should know before getting in the ring for the first time.

She also framed the question this way: Which Comes First, the Learning or the Doing? You should definitely click through and read about her experience. The post below is my response.

There are two schools of thought in boxing.

The first — and the one through which I came into boxing — says that you have to earn the right to get in the boxing ring.

The second says throw ’em in, knock ’em around, wait to see if they are “man” enough to come back for more.

I’m sitting here trying to think of a justification for the hard knocks school, and I can’t. I think it’s bullshit, to be honest. I think it’s usually a way for the guys who are already “in” to keep all the others out. It’s all about who’s king of the hill. A boy’s game, not even a man’s.

But the way I came in isn’t easy either. Anyone who has ever rolled under the ropes knows just how frightening it can be. You don’t know what will happen, how you will hold up; you may not even know who you’ll be in with and whether or not you can trust them. That’s why I say again and again that the single most important thing you can have going for you in boxing is an outstanding, trustworthy trainer.

A good trainer trumps everything else

From the outside, boxing looks like an individual sport, but that isn’t actually the case. Not only do you need a great trainer, you also need a crew of boxers around you to encourage, support, challenge, and work with you. But even if you don’t have a team, you must have that trainer.

My trainer made sure I had several things before I got in the ring for the first time. And since I had such an outstanding trainer and such a great experience coming in to the sport, I’ve naturally copied her in pretty much all of my basic approaches to boxing. (Any mistakes I make, however, are my own!)

A rant, before I move on

I need to get this out there. Putting two inexperienced boxers in the ring for the first time together is minimally useful at best (what can they possibly learn?), and dangerous at worst.

Would you ask someone who doesn’t know how to swim to get in the pool and help your child learn to swim? Of course not. That’s ridiculous.

Sure, they can both splash around in the shallow end and maybe they’ll be fine, but did they learn to swim? Did they gain skills? Have they moved forward?

About the only good thing you can say about that situation is that they both got to get in the water. How much better it would be if they both got to get in the water with someone who can teach them something and also keep them safe?

Okay. I feel a little better. Onward.

Have some basic conditioning

Before I began sparring, my trainer ensured I had a basic level of conditioning. I had come to her gym with what I thought was decent cardio (I’d been running regularly), but I didn’t realize that boxing is more like a series of hard, three-minute sprints rather than a lovely string of 10 minute miles.

She got my cardio up enough to make it through a single round my first time. Ever try to sprint for 3 minutes without stopping? Yep, that’s pretty much what it felt like.

She wanted to instill in me from the beginning a principle of boxing that sounds easy but is actually incredibly difficult: you fight until the bell rings. You don’t quit partway through. You come out working and you finish the round. Period.

Bonnie made sure I could go a round before she put me in for one.

Use your jab

Before I got in the ring for the first time I had a crappy but dogged jab.

I knew from repeated drills that a jab was the foundation for all of the punches in boxing. I didn’t yet know how to advance on the jab, but at least I had something to get out there in front of me so that I could force my opponent to stop an advance.

I know a jab can also be offensive, but most new boxers need some basic defense before they worry about offense; chances are that they’ll be in the ring for their first sparring experience with someone who is — hopefully — much better at boxing than they are. A solid jab will help protect you in this situation.

Keep your gloves up

It was the one piece of advice Amy got before she rolled into the ring for the first time, and it’s good advice. “Cover up,” her trainer said. “Protect yourself.”

This goes with a defensive jab; you need to bring that glove right back to your chin and keep it there, parallel to the other glove. It’s like having two big pillows in front of your face; they will deflect and dilute the power of a punch to your face.

It’s also good to keep your elbows in and your chin down, but that’s more advanced. Still, a tight guard is what you need for protection, because slips, ducks, and other evasive moves won’t come until later.

Never mind about footwork

I’d love to say that a first-time sparring student should have footwork, but it isn’t likely that they will. You might have practiced some footwork, and you should certainly understand the basics of stance, balance, and how to move without crossing your feet, but chances are that once you get in the ring for the first time all that will fly out the door and you will mostly forget about your feet because you just have too many other things screaming for your attention.

The four biggies, and knowing what’s coming

So there are basically four things I think a boxer should have before getting in the ring: a good, trustworthy trainer, some basic conditioning, a jab, and a tight guard (gloves up, chin down, elbows in).

The thing for a new boxer to know is that they are going to hit and be hit.

That is a crazy thing to get your head around for someone brand new to the sport; especially if they’ve never hit anyone in their entire lives up to that point.

Bonnie didn’t actually throw any punches at me the first time I was in the ring. She just let me throw them and feel what it was like to be in, moving hard, working my jab. The second time she threw easy punches, let me feel about half of her power. It was terrifying at first, but once I realized I could take it — and give it! — I was amazed. It was invigorating. I loved it!

Sticking with it

It got harder, of course, and I nearly always dreaded sparring nights, but I went.

Because I knew what every boxer knows after a while: you can work the drills and train for cardio all you want, but the real learning happens in the ring.

Image by Steve Tolcher

September 15, 2011
I LOVE Not Being the New Person in the Gym

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s usually only the new kids who puke.

September 2, 2011
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
Chevelle Hallback Announces “Fists of Steel Boxing Academy”

Ahh, the powerful, beautiful, pro boxer Chevelle Hallback (28-7-2).

She’s in my top five favorite boxers of all time. I’ve written about Chevelle, interviewed her, and I even got to talk to her on the phone right after I won my first fight, and I am unbelievably happy to hear this particular news of hers. Add to my bucket list a trip to Tampa Bay to train with her in person at her brand new gym. I will be very interested to see how the boxing team there progresses.

Thanks to Amy Green, boxing publicist, fight fan, and sister pina colada drinker, for sending out the press release below! — Lisa

IFBA and WBAN Independent champion Chevelle “Fists of Steel” Hallback is opening her own boxing gym. The grand opening of “Fists of Steel Boxing Academy” is scheduled for Friday, June 24 from 5:30-8:30 PM, in Tampa Bay, Florida at 3020 “B” W. Kennedy Ave. The official opening date is July 5

“It’s going to be a great evening,” Chevelle said, “There will be a ribbon cutting, all kinds of food and drinks, DJ, prizes and giveaways, boxing exhibitions and fitness demonstrations. I am very excited to have my own gym. It’s a dream come true to have the chance to prepare brand new fighters for the future, as well as encourage kids of all ages to get more involved with fitness.”

“Fists of Steel Boxing Acedemy” hours of operation will be Monday through Friday, from 6 AM-10 PM and Saturdays from 8 AM-12 PM. Special training sessions are available by appointment. Ages 5 to adult are welcome and an amateur boxing team will be organized. For more information call 813-270-4375.

Photo by Tony Duffy.

June 22, 2011
Transitioning

I’ve been offline, trying to catch my breath between wave sets and wipeouts.

The turbulence of job shifts (I’m now working from home rather than from an office in another city), training shifts (my trainer moved out of state, my fight is coming up in April), and other big and small events and financial re-arrangements have significantly changed the shape of my days for the past month, and I’m working to discern how I will fit into my own life for the next bit of the future.

Out of necessity I withdrew from nearly all of my social hubs and just tried to hang on. Now the first and biggest wave of the set has passed (that was the biggest one, right?), and I’ve wiped out but I’m upright, catching my breath and trying to figure out how to meet the next one, which I can already see coming. Hell, I can see ten of ’em from here.

I’m in transition, I know this feeling.

In boxing, we work to get good at transitions. The entire purpose of training with intervals, for example, is to get good at physically working hard (sprinting, punching, etc.) for a 3 minute period, then to recover well in 30 seconds or a minute in order to work extremely hard for another 3 minute space. During that recovery time you mentally shift into neutral and try to convince your body to slow down. Deep breaths, hands in the air if you have a stitch, slowing down the heart rate as much as possible. Standing straight, never bending double with hands on your knees. Straight and tall, breathing, looking forward.

I’ve rarely been aware of much outside my boxing corner during the periods between rounds. I don’t hear the perpetual thump of hip-hop over the sound system, the rapid-fire gunning of the speed bag, the shot calls of other trainers in the gym, or the thwack of leather meeting leather on the heavy bags. All those external stimuli are drowned out in the deafening roar of my blood and the heavy buzz of focus that narrows your vision to a 20×20 square of dirty canvas and the ropes that give it boundaries.

The one thing I can hear — and in fact what I am listening for — is a corner.

During the period between rounds, your corner is telling you that you performed well, that you can breathe, that you are okay. You stake everything on believing them.

After a few seconds your corner begins to set your course for the next interval. She outlines a strategy, notes what strengths you should employ, and points out the lapses in your opponent’s style or form and how you can take advantage of them. And in all of this, more than anything else, your corner communicates that she believes in you. I know few powers on earth more significant than that one.

When you are in transition, you need someone to believe in you.

Someone to remind you of the many things you already know, to point out the skills you have worked so hard to build, and the goals that brought you to this point.

As I write this I am one week into training for my next fight, without the trainer I’ve loved, learned from, and counted on for the past two years . Her life has undergone a series of changes as well, and now she’s in New York launching her next big thing.

I’m sporting a black eye just turning to green and nursing a severely strained shoulder. My normal training schedule is completely wonked because I’m no longer at my office, no longer enjoying the work perk of a fitness gym one block from our building. I’ve missed two weight sessions and am looking at a week of restricted activity because of this injury.

I can feel myself thinking, “Well, you aren’t off to a great start, are you?” I took my first round hard, and am having a hard time figuring out how to get through the next.

Listening for the voice of a corner.

And there has been a new voice — entirely unexpected, but there nonetheless.

When I called Terri “The Boss” Moss, promoter of the upcoming Atlanta Corporate Fight Night, to let her know my job had changed, my trainer had moved, and I’d been injured and might have trouble getting ready for my fight, I was expecting her to be polite as always, but privately frustrated and annoyed. After all, she has a lot riding on this event, a thousand details to oversee, and lots of boxers to coach.

What I got was a corner. The voice of an experienced boxer, a woman who knows how training can go awry, who understands the position I am finding myself in, and who immediately began the litany of “You’re doing fine. Breathe. Here’s what I want you to do.” It looks like I may be driving down to Atlanta for some serious corner time.

I have to say this about the women boxers I have met during this strange and beautiful journey: you are the most incredible women I’ve ever known. I can’t imagine how I would have made it without you. Thank you for the hard training, the indefatigable spirit, and most of all, the graceful cornering.

Here’s to the next round.

Image by akeg on Flickr.

March 7, 2011
Basic Boxing Workout
It comes and goes in waves: you get in really good boxing shape and stick there for a while, then you suddenly remember that you have to parent, your job heads toward overtime, you get behind in the universe, and one day you are in the ring wishing you had one of those oxygen canisters and a little plastic tube to blow it into your nose so you could finish this round without passing out.

Hello, that’s me.

And last week I was working on the heavy bag and my trainer strolled by with her arms folded, evaluating. I immediately sucked in my gut and racheted up my punch count. Bam! Bam bam bam! Dance to the side. Three killer combos in a row, fast. Hope she quits watching soon, cause I need to suck for air. My jabs were dropping down to oh, about waist level. If only my opponents would lay on the floor, maybe I could stomp on them; it would be easier.

She said nothing of course; she didn’t need to. I confessed on my own, later: “Ahem, my cardio’s down a bit.” As if she were my priest and could give me penance. She knows boxing is its own penance. You get in the ring with low cardio and you aren’t going to go very far. Your opponent’s gonna chew you up and spit you out and you’ll just be grateful it’s over with.

She gave me that half-smile of hers and shook her head. “It may be boring, but you just gotta get in here and do the same thing, over and over again. It’s how you get back.”

She’s completely right. You can come up with all the new diet plans and cardio exercises (run, elliptical, skate, row, etc.) in the world, but in the end, it’s about boxing. Round after round of it.

So today I got back in the gym during my lunch hour and spent some time working the hell out of the basics. Since my cardio is low, I set the round timer on 2 minute rounds with 30 second recovery. And here’s what I did, and plan to do again for the next several boxing workouts, pushing up my numbers and moving eventually to 3 minute rounds.
- 2 rounds jump rope; sprint the last 30 seconds of each round
- 1 round stretching
- 2 rounds shadowboxing
- 5 rounds on heavy bag; speed punches the last 30 seconds of each round
- 2 rounds on the speed bag
- 1 round shadowboxing for cool down
- 10 minutes on the spin bike to finish
Grab a shower and get back to work!

Photo by Wootang01
June 21, 2010
Make Your Punches Count

Eight phenomenal non-stop rounds in the boxing ring last night with my trainer.

I am consistently amazed at how much my boxing improves when I’m in the ring with her. I work so hard, learn so much, and have such an incredible experience.

I had gotten to the gym an hour early to do 30 minutes of slow cardio and a long, careful stretching routine. I felt pretty warm and flexible, but wanted to preserve my energy for our rounds. I have not been training with intervals lately so I knew I’d have to work harder than usual to go whatever distance she chose. She knows I always want at least 6 rounds, but she has the capability to do far more; I’ve seen her go 15 straight rounds as fresh boxers on our team cycle in and out with her. She has phenomenal stamina.

Last night I was a little nervous before we began; I couldn’t get the image of Bonnie’s last fight out of my mind. The jab-right combo — which instantly dislocated her opponent’s jaw and ended the fight with a first-round TKO — played itself over and over again in my head. I didn’t want to say too much about it in advance to Bonnie because I didn’t want listening bystanders to make jokes.

It helped that she was relaxed but very serious as we geared up; this is a pro boxer coming off a big win, maintaining her form for her next fight in August. It could be a title fight. What we’re doing together is for real.

Right before the bell rang I caught her eye. “I’m a little nervous,” I said, tapping my left glove to my jaw.

She immediately caught on. “No need,” she returned quietly, shaking her head slightly. My fear immediately dissipated. What this woman says, you can take to the bank. The bell rang, we tapped gloves, and began to box.

She almost always lets me throw the first combinations. Sometimes it’s spooky; you have the sense that she’s sizing you up and once she has your measurements will quickly put you on the canvas. When I’m in the ring with her I can feel her coiled power, all that potential energy swirling and packing into her body and awaiting release. Mostly I take the open shots she gives me with the sure and certain knowledge that I have one solid defense against a boxer who is better than I am: one million jabs.

I have to throw more shots, whether they are good, bad, or otherwise. Jabs are the way to keep your opponent from thinking and planning. They keep her off of you, make her hesitate or defend. A wall of jabs is the surest way to open a path to a real shot, a solid right or a hook to the body, whatever it takes to get in on your opponent and score some pain.

Lucky for me the old Bonnie, the pre-getting-ready-for-a-fight Bonnie, was back last night. She was content to make me work hard for four rounds while she sat back and sipped lemonade, periodically shooting a wicked punch out to make me remember just how deadly she can be.

I was thrilled and amazed at how many of her left hooks I slipped. I got into a pattern with my combos — finally! — of punch-punch-punch SLIP. And it worked, because Bonnie loves to throw those hooks at my head when I come in at her. Several caught me clean, but many more slipped, catching no more than the edge of my glove or headgear. I was jubilant.

In round four I began trying to throw my own left hooks. We’re both orthodox boxers but I frequently circle left on her for fear (respect, I meant to say respect) of her left hook. Last night I was circling right, having figured out the left hook but now being wary of that deadly right cross. I threw several hooks, but they were all in my arm, no body power behind them because I was staying to my right. Where the hell is Mike Tyson when you need him? I kept at it until I saw her grinning.

“What? I’m trying to get in a left hook, dammit,” I slurred over my mouthpiece.

“I know,” she said, “but you have to move in closer to get it.”

Yeah, right. Move in closer to that right cross. My jaw ached just thinking about it.

“Use your jab,” she advised. “Get in behind it, then whoomp.” She demonstrated for me.

I tried a few times, even demanding that she slow down and let me move through it a few times on her. But when we got back into the action, I bailed. Back to a thousand jabs and slips, at least that was working for me.

In round five she started in with her real power. “Bonnie’s warm!” I shouted to the gym. “That means cheer for me, not her,” I joked to one of the guys watching ringside. I was comfortable, in the zone, stoked. Honored that she knows she can unleash that kind of power on me, and more: I can take it!

The gym echoed with the sound of serious blows being exchanged. I went ahead and exchanged all my chips for power and threw the hell out of what I had. She and I both roared with that crazy, brutal, we’re-in-it-now joy. I was drenched, working hard to breathe after combos. The world faded and there was only boxing.

At the bell for the seventh round I realized a small crowd had gathered to watch. I suddenly realized that this was the first time Bonnie had been seen in the ring since her fight. I had made my six rounds with joy, with pleasure, with power. And now I was sucking for air and people were watching. Oh well, I thought, let’s see what I have left to give. And we boxed.

Unfortunately, I caught a solid uppercut to the diaphragm toward the end of the seventh round, and all oxygen exited my universe. Bonnie knew it immediately, and I turned to the ropes and raised my arms to let some air back in to my lungs. “Just a second,” I gasped, “…need just a second.” She backed off and paced, and I cursed gently (because I find this helps) until I could breathe again.

Ten seconds later I banged my gloves together. “Let’s finish this,” I called, and we touched gloves and worked.

I finished the seventh round and collapsed gratefully against the ropes, finished. Except Bonnie wasn’t finished. “That was seven rounds?” she asked our ringside crowd, sneaking a look at me. “That feels so… unfinished.”

I groaned.

“I hate odd numbers,” she continued, laughing. “And I’m not even tired. Let’s do one more.”

She knows I can’t resist. I’m helpless against her charm. Or else I am stone cold crazy.

Yeah, probably that latter one.

“You got it, Boss,” I told her, dumping half my water bottle over my head. I had no jabs left. I’d thrown everything I had. My arms were marshmallows. I got back in my corner, mentally prepared a battle plan for keeping out of range and covering up with a tight guard, and awaited the bell.

It was true, she looked fresh. She performed with power and precision, hardly winded at all. I survived the eighth round with determined grace, and stripped my gloves off at the bell. I felt incredible, awesome. Best night of my week.

But I was thinking later about why she was so fresh after eight rounds.

As I looked back on it I realized that as the better boxer, she knew she didn’t have to throw as many punches as I did. She threw far fewer, but many more of hers were good or even excellent hits. Many of my jabs, which are effective at keeping her out of my space, don’t land with power or don’t land at all. They are still effective, but it means I’m throwing far more than she does. I go after her with everything I have, staying on offense at least 80% of the time, rarely resting.

She boxes as if on very serious holiday, absolutely nothing is wasted, no moment is unplanned. Every combination, every segment of footwork, each careful moment of rest and defense is laid out like a fierce ballet. Every single punch counts.

God, I want to box like that.

I’m guessing she’ll give me more lessons. Meanwhile you can call me Woman of 1000 Jabs.

And keep your eye out for my left hook, people. It may be young, but it’ll mature and bring a house of pain with it.

Image of me sparring by Ken Hall Photography.

May 20, 2010