The Glowing Edge

Tag: work

A 2013 that Doesn’t Suck (at All!)

It’s that time of year. The gym is jam-packed and your Facebook stream is clogged with manic resolution-making fiends. That’s fiends, not friends. Although they’re probably your friends, too, and otherwise normal.

I resist the resolution-making frenzy, probably in the same way I unplug from Thanksgiving (“traditionally,” we do a day hike, and eat PB&J or Vienna Sausages from a mountaintop), Christmas and birthdays (we do parties but not gifts), and other shit. Oh, and we don’t have a television, of course.

Go ahead, call me a Luddite and a grinch. But I’m a pretty damn happy one, as these things go. Srsly, getting untangled from all that stuff (and it IS only stuff) will liberate your soul, de-clutter your house, and renew your spirit.

And with that in mind, here’s what I did this year — more how I try to live every year — and why it might just offer YOU a juicy, yummy, spinning-in-the-sunny antidote to the ridiculously intense pressure you may be feeling to lose weight, finally write your book, quit your job to become an internet millionaire, etcetera.

Not that there’s anything wrong with those things. But these are bigger, better, and easier on the soul…

Make Joy the Boss of You

You know me, I fucking love a spreadsheet. And I have a sliding, screaming avalanche of ideas that could kill me (if I were to let it) with the weight of all the new project spreadsheets I create to get them done. But in the end, the deadline doesn’t rule. Joy does. It’s not about constantly chasing happiness, it’s about letting the things I already do every day be things that nourish my soul and bring me joy. In daily doses.

So. Search out beauty. Be unabashedly goofy. Indulge your creative passions. Tolerate less bullshit. Sharpen your ignoring skills. And don’t let fear make you her bitch.

If you aren’t doing stuff every day that brings you joy, do something different. That’s the spreadsheet to put at the top of the motherlovin’ pile.

I’m not saying all that’s easy, you’ll have to fight for it. But you can get there.

Find and Build Your Tribe

Go on a serious, single-minded pleasure-treasure hunt for people — in real life and online — who are living according to joy and make them your friends. Cheer madly for them, support them, and send them sparkly things. Skype or coffee with them regularly.

Relentlessly unlink from the people who are sucking the life out of you; instead make connections with people who are sheer, unapologetically badass life-livers. Hah. “Livers” sounds like an organ nobody wants to eat. (Amazing how easily distracted I am.) (But that was funny, wasn’t it?)

Use A Sledgehammer to Break Shit

You’ve been nice long enough. You’ve probably been repressed, actually.

When do you get to grow bigger, rather than constantly being shoved into progressively tinier boxes? Fuck that, break a few of those rules and restrictions you think you have to live by. Not the big ones, like being faithful to your spouse, but the little ones, like believing you have to maintain a clean kitchen, or worrying that you’ll be laughed off the team if you can’t do as many push-ups as everyone else.

You are surrounded by tiny-minded rules! You’re inundated with them! Please: the rolls don’t have to be homemade. Just because it says shampoo doesn’t mean it can’t also be used for body wash. You are allowed to go on a wild goose chase. You can speak your (actual, real, substantial, and intelligent!) (and sometimes wonderfully ridiculous) mind. You get to overuse parentheses! (AND wear your slippers to the grocery store, I just need to add that.)

I can set me some big fat badass goals, and I love me a To Do list. But I can also take a sledgehammer to them if I need to.

Embrace Your Inner Mule

I love mules. They are sturdy little bastards. I don’t care how fugly you think they are, they are patient, strong, and independent-minded (polite word for “stubborn”), and they will flat get the work done.

I’m a writer. And my rather embarrassing mulish vision of myself and my creative work process was utterly crystallized and confirmed when I heard Elizabeth Gilbert’s TED talk about her own rather mundane source of creative genius.

If you haven’t already seen this one, you MUST watch it! (The “mule” part comes about 11 minutes in, but if you’re a creative — and you ARE — invest 20 minutes and watch the entire thing.)

I don’t walk around just waiting and hoping to be sparkled with inspirational fairy dust. Um, actually I DO, but the way I get work done is by showing up and writing — a mule plowing the field — Every. Damn. Day.

Well, most days. Sometimes I get a little burr under my saddle and I honk and bray and gallop off in search of wild romp or a mouthful of something delicious and forbidden with friends, some of whom are as mulishly awkward as I am.

Make a little progress every day, and laze away your off days. Be stubborn, sturdy, and hard working. Embrace your inner mule. Hug her and pet her and bring her apples and tell her she smells fabulous. Where would you be without that gal?

So. That’s my version of New Year’s resolutions. Not so much resolutions as a way of living that I find deeply satisfying, year after year. Meanwhile, I’ll try not to slap you when I see you posting that shit about “getting to the gym more often.” Cause you’re part of my tribe, and I love you.

And I hope you’ll bring me sparkly things. Or bubbly things. And maybe something to get all these mule hairs off my couch.

December 29, 2012
I Love to Fight

You knew this. I knew this. But periodically I’m reminded.

Last night I went 4 rounds (at the end of my workout, I must add, because I’m vain. Also a masochist.) with a good friend and freaking awesome sparring partner at my boxing gym.

Sinclair is a phenomenal peer coach; he’s forever smiling and goofing around with the kids, and yet he moves so fast on the bags and in the ring you’ll wonder if he’s real, and not just a ghost. You punch, he’s not there. Except for that blinding mouthguard-enhanced grin.

He also spontaneously breaks out and dances. In the ring, in the gym. He just a dancin’ kinda guy. I love Sinclair.

And yesterday he offered to give me some rounds in the ring and I took them before he could change his mind.

All my joy comes out when I fight well, but with someone like Sinclair, it comes out even if I’m tired and draggin’ ass, which I was.

Somewhere in the middle of the second round, Sinclair did a little stutter step, looked off to the left, and before I could pivot he nailed me with a gorgeous stiff right. I stopped in shock — not because the right stung (it did), but because the whole combination was so unexpected and… so pretty! So danceable! And damned effective.

I immediately demanded that he do it again.

Well of course he loved that. He laughed and took me to the whupin’ shed again. And this time I tried to watch for it, but he still caught me. Fast boy.

I made him stop, of course, and insisted he show me the move. He did, patiently demonstrating several times and encouraging me to try it.

I got it in my mind, we bumped gloves and circled, I launched my offensive and waited for my opening.

Whoop, I slipped it in, and found myself reeling from his counterpunch. I say counter punch, but he actually anticipated my tricky new move and prevented it! That wily rat. Taking advantage of a mere uneducated girl. (See what cards I pull when I want my way?)

I shouted my outrage, and dug in for a battle.

He told me to bring it, and I did. What I had left, anyway. I caught him once or twice with a power right (my fave) and a couple of inside shots in the clinch, but I held off on the tricky new move, instead opting for what I knew worked.

That and any other slop I had left.

He shouted for our coach to come over and watch just as the bell for the fourth round sounded.

Crap. Tired as I was, I scraped the bottom of the barrel and dove back in. I had one goal: pull the new trick in front of Coach Massey and give Sinclair a little party favor to remember me by.

And I did it!

I was so overjoyed at catching him clean that I turned around in the ring (don’t ever do that, boys and girls) and demanded acknowledgement from Coach Massey. Sinclair was laughing his head off behind me.

Massey tried not to grin. “You need to sell that move better,” he commented dryly. “You got to look off in the direction you’re stepping off in. Make him believe it. Then the right.”

I sighed happily, and plowed back into my round.

Massey had 6 succinct words for me, as I staggered out of the ring.

“You gotta get in ring shape.”

He’s right. I’ve been out, maintaining “normal athlete” fitness levels, but ring fitness is a totally different level, and after my last fight, I took a break from it for a season.

But damn, people, it just feels so good to fight.

It’s it’s own motivation, truly.

If you’re thinking about boxing with any kind of seriousness, I hope you find a great gym, a great trainer, and an incredible sparring partner like Sinclair.

There’s plenty of joy in there for you, too.

Image: That’s me in the gold and black, fighting in Atlanta (my second fight).

February 1, 2012
Fighting the Dread of Boxing Training

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

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

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

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

I also maintain a fair amount of mental radio silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ve learned that I perform well under pressure.

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

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

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

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

It’s who I am honored to be.

Image by jnyemb on Flickr

June 1, 2011
It Will Be Enough

There are days when you train really hard.

You put in so much effort, you sweat and sprint and throw and suck for air. You push yourself through the last rounds, then the ab work and the slow stretches intended to keep your muscles from cramping on the long drive home from the gym. Or the gravel lot, or wherever you’re training.

The next day the soreness kicks in, and the lactic acid makes itself known in one or another muscle group that you didn’t realize you’d been neglecting.

Today I’m giving myself an unplanned day off of training. My knee aches, my abs ache, and I have a few spots I’m icing. (What’s up with that right forearm and wrist? Ah, the uppercuts. Need to stiffen that wrist, maybe back off on the arm power and put body power behind it.) My fight is coming up but I’m not fretting about a missed day of training.

I’m not fretting about it.

Because it will be enough. I will look back on this and be able to say that there were days when I could have added another set, another round. But on the whole, I’ve done well and it will go exactly how it goes in the fight because I’m doing all the things I set out to do.

If your trainer moves, you find another. Things shift, you muddle through the transition. If you can’t work in the gym, you work in a gravel lot. You don’t worry about the money. If your knee hurts, you rest it. You delight in the many cheers of your friends.

And you live in the midst of hard toil, intermittent pain, and the sheer joy of laboring toward something you love.

That’s what I’m doing. And it will be enough.

March 24, 2011
9 Reasons to Start Boxing After 40

1. Street cred

Think about the difference between saying, “Yeah, I play a little basketball,” versus “The stitches don’t bother me. I have another fight next month; you should come.” C’mon, it’s just cool. And when was the last time you had legitimate Cool Points, when you downloaded the Zippo lighter app to your iPhone? Puh-leeze.

2. Business smarts

If there is one thing you must do to thrive in the ring, it’s develop the ability to think clearly under massive pressure. That translates really nicely to the business world. Mergers and acquisition? Hostile takeovers? High finance? Forty-seven third graders? Bring it.

3. Get your mind off of work

Forget business smarts, if you’ve been racing your career motorcycle this long, you might want to ease up on that throttle and get off the bike now and then. It feels great to unsuit and pound the crap out of something. And taking a few good hits will definitely clear out the last of your desire to work 24/7, I promise.

4. Increase your bone density

Ok, you’re over 40 and it’s time to lay off the loaded potato skins at T.G.I. Friday’s and get under that bench press bar. Your bones aren’t going to get stronger unless you bring them some game, and weightlifting — a boxer’s primary tool for building muscle — is just the way to do it.

5. Muscle is sexy

All that weightlifting and other training is going to pay off in terms of the way your body looks, feels, and delivers. You’ll like what you see in the mirror, and so will whoever’s looking at you when you step out of the shower. Hubba hubba.

6. Me time

It wasn’t so long ago that you couldn’t take your eyes off the kids for a second or they’d eat all the buds of the neighbor’s peonies and you’d be on the phone with Poison Control. These days, they’re a little older and you only have to worry about paying the extra car insurance, who they’re dating, whether they’re texting and driving, and… whoops, sorry about that. My point was going to be that you can get away some nights and have “me time” without them. Boxing fits the bill.

7. Mentor someone

Ok, if you just don’t get enough with the kids, you’ll find some at the gym. They will be faster and have a higher punch count and they will bring a serious press to you in the ring, but you’ll be able to outlast and out think them. And you have the maturity to see a much bigger picture than they do. Why not be a good influence and also kick their butts (in the later rounds) too? Now that’s what I call a satisfying mentoring relationship.

8. Get out of your comfort zone

Let’s face it, you’ve been trying to find a place of comfort and ease for years. Stop that, it’s not good for you. Get off your butt and out of your rut and learn something new. Growing means risks, and boxing has just the right balance of risk and safety to give you a jolt and still send you home in one piece. Mostly one piece.

9. Eat better

Believe me, you are not going to work hard enough to go a few rounds and then sabotage yourself with crap eating. If you take to boxing, you’re going to want to support it every way you can, and that will spur you to make positive changes to the way you fuel your body. You’re sick of sports bar food anyway. This is gonna be purely delicious.

There’s never been a better time than now.

Original Image by savaman on Flickr

September 18, 2009
One Moment of Glory

I got home at 10:30 pm and my bottom lip was swollen and dark, my shoulders aching just a little. The tide of fear ran high in me again Friday night and I had to put my thoughts on lockdown in order to make it to ringtime. Just one more small step up this ice-covered mountain, just one more step; I’ll be damned if I let it defeat me. I love being in the ring but I hate the waiting.

I got in with Mark, who is known for his fast jabs and the high explosive sound he makes with his breath with each punch he snaps out there. The way he turns his left over as it accelerates out from his chin is a thing of beauty. He has several years of experience and is a sparring partner whose time you definitely appreciate.

I didn’t feel as heavy and slow as I did last Friday night, but nothing I had matched the lightness of his feet over the canvas. I kept finding myself squared up rather than in position, and my breathing was off. He threw jab after jab after jab in my face; I faded back from a few, ate a few, let a few slip left or right. They didn’t stop, those relentless left jabs. My shots were constantly interrupted, not by tidy parrying, but simply because they encountered a continuous spray of jabs. A few of my own left jabs popped home but his poured out like stormwater from a flooded culvert. One caught me clean and heavy on my still-healing nose and I startled like a deer. “You arright?” Mark slurred through his double mouthguard. I did a mental check.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” I mumbled, feeling some small amount of surprise. I was okay. I was taking heavy fire to the head but I hadn’t allowed a single serious body blow, I had a little reach on him, and I could do this. In fact, I had some shots of my own to deliver. I started leading with my power right, even throwing in a couple of right hooks, a shot I try not to rely on — it’s just too dangerous and leaves you exposed if you’re in with a better boxer.

“Bite down on that mouthguard,” I heard Bonnie shout to Mark from the side. Hah! That meant I was landing a few clean. I bit down on my own mouthpiece and barreled in. The anxiety started sloughing off like sheets of ice sheering off an iceberg. We worked.

My trainer must have caught the feel of my heart rising up because there was only one moment in that hard field of labor when I really shone. Just one, and she was the genesis: “Parry that jab,” she called from the side of the ring, “and return a straight right.”

This is a good combination for me, one that I love, and if I’m quick and thinking and I see or anticipate the jab just right, I can get juice off this move. Serious boxing joy. My whole body wants this one simple gift.

The din and chaos of the gym — the frantic thump of hip-hop in the speakers, the televisions, and the calls and talking of my team ringside all slowed in my ears as Mark’s left white boxing glove floated out like a dove. I tapped it lightly to the inside with my right to slew it off course, and quick as a snake, struck home with power, my hip turning in, my right heel rising up, and my whole body behind the punch. This is what boxing is supposed to be, this is what I’ve been working for. This is right and good and holy.

And the rest was like breaking rocks in a field with a sledgehammer. Just damned hard physical labor with no beauty to redeem it. But I had the moment, I had it in my hands and heart and it sang to me. And it was enough. Enough for one night where I showed up, bit down, and slugged my way through my rounds.

But it isn’t enough for another night: I want more than one moment. I want two, ten, dozens.

I want to get back in the ring.

Image by slopjop on Flickr

June 20, 2009
Blood Happens (but I’m really sorry)

Image by paperrocks a.k.a. evalinda

It’s a major balancing act, bringing a new boxer into the ring. Especially if it’s a woman. Women who actually want to get in the ring are just such rare occurrences that when one comes around I keep my fingers crossed and do my absolute best to encourage rather than scare them away. However, blood happens.

Yesterday I was warmed up and ready to spar when a woman I’d never seen before came up to me with a friendly smile and a warm greeting. I will admit, in advance, to my utter inability to carry on any sort of normal conversation, I was so floored:

Newbie: Hi, are you Lisa?
Me: Yeah.
Newbie: Great, the coach says I’m gonna spar with you.
Me: Oh! Cool. Um, I haven’t seen you around here before; been coming here long?
Newbie: Nope, three weeks. By the way, the coach said I was just going to be on defense, so you get to beat up on me.
Me: What?
Newbie: Yeah, aren’t you the one who broke your rib?
Me: Yeah, but…
Newbie: Right. So you can be on offense, and I’ll just take your punches.
Me: Oh. So you’ve boxed before, I guess.
Newbie: No, this will be my first time!

[protracted silence, while I try to get my brain to work out why she would sign up for this]

Me: Do I understand correctly that you’ve never been in the ring before and Bonnie actually told you to get in the ring with me and let me box with you throwing NO punches??
Newbie: Oh, no! I told her I wanted to do it and she said okay.
Me: Are you crazy? Why would you want to do that?
Newbie: Well, I’ve been coming here three weeks, and it’s a boxing gym, and I just figured, well, I’ll try it out!

I had never heard that before in my life. I’m constantly trying to persuade women to give it a try in the ring. They rarely want to. And here’s a woman who not only wants to, but is actually telling me that she’s not going to throw a punch.

No way would I go for that. Yes, I’m just healing up from an injury, but that’s just nuts, and I told her as much. We would box normally, and I told her I’d be very careful and control my punches and that she should throw whatever she could, although I did state a preference for head shots, since I’d never seen this woman box and I had no idea if she had the power to re-fracture my rib free of charge.

In we went, and she did just fine. She was a southpaw and after we stepped on each other’s feet a few times she asked me if she should aim for my face, which cracked me up entirely. “Yes,” I encouraged, and tapped my headgear, “Come on, let’s do it.” After a bit she landed an easy jab. I was already prepared for the apology which poured out and both Bonnie and I said it in unison: “Don’t apologize! Box!” It did make me laugh again, though. I gave her some light jabs, and was actually enjoying myself when I landed a very pretty body shot to her stomach, only a touch. But she realized what had just happened, and sucked in her breath. “Wow, that could have hurt,” she noted. I nodded — body shots suck — and we continued to the second round. I started letting her feel some jabs, and several times put my goves up and leaned into her to let her work on me. The first time this confused her a bit, but Bonnie explained that I was giving her a chance to do some offense without having to think about taking a punch, and she accepted that.

It was right at the end of our second round that she stepped smack into my straight right jab. She was wearing a face-saver with a bar across the nose, but it was a solid little pop. Her head rocked back, and I immediately swore to myself. I just lost another woman boxer, I thought.

“Woo!” she cried; it was her first real hit and she knew it. I asked her if she needed a minute, or was okay to go on, and she blinked a few times and ducked back in. “Oh, thank God,” I thought, “she’s gonna be okay in the ring.” But a moment later she said “That made my nose run a little,” and my heart sank. I couldn’t see it yet, but I knew I’d bloodied her nose. We all deal with bloody noses and split lips; it’s just a part of boxing. But I’d hoped the face-saver would prevent it. She finished the round and Bonnie pulled off her headgear; we both knew what we’d find and Bonnie was ready with a paper towel. It wasn’t a big bleeder, but I figured I’d never see her in the ring again.

But Bonnie is smart. She kept me in the ring and sent in Tim, an excellent boxer who brings out the best in me. “Give me real jabs,” I told him, and he delightfully obliged. Our newbie stood holding the paper towel to her nose and watched Tim and me work; she saw me get rocked a time or two and still keep going.

But I don’t know if she’ll be back. I really hope she will.

April 6, 2009
Piano Genius or Airplane Pilot?

Seth’s Piano Composition from Lisa Creech Bledsoe on Vimeo.

This composition arrived in my lap via paper airplane. So I’m thinking he could go either way, vocationally speaking.

*Note: Something is wrong with the encoding settings on this video; I’ll work on it and re-upload. Until then I’m leaving it here so that no one get’s 404’d. WHEN will we get standardized codex for video?? Grr, grumble, grumble : /

March 27, 2009
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.

January 22, 2009
Getting in Boxing Shape: How Many Ice Packs Does One Need?

I would like to pretend otherwise, but after my first boxing class I hurt so badly I could not sleep soundly for about five nights in succession.

I would wake up in tears just trying to roll over in bed. I did that thing where you hook some part of your body that isn’t in severe pain (foot? elbow? fingers?) over the edge of the mattress and try to haul the rest of your body into a less agonizing position before falling back into an exhausted half-sleep.

And it isn’t like I wasn’t in reasonable shape, either. I could easily run a 5k and I went to the gym two or three times a week. I’ve given birth three times at home with no drugs; it hurt. Getting over my first boxing class was worse.

After the initial shock I began to adjust. I was able to go to one class a week, then two. For the first three months or so I needed an icepack pretty nearly every time I came home. Since I have three boys, we already had one standard-grade icepack in the freezer. It stays cool-ish for about 15 minutes and has soothed many a contusion and more than a few sprains, strains, and black eyes over the years, but I had no idea just how small and inadequate it was until I started boxing.

My local drugstore got me the hookup, though. I gratefully and without whining paid fifteen dollars for a Serious Icepack, the kind that is wretchedly, blissfully, miserably ice-freaking-cold for a good 80 minutes or so; nothing namby–pamby about that bad girl. You can do unanesthetized surgery on yourself after using that thing for a half hour.

It has one slick and exposed-to-the glacial-ice side, and one covered-by-fabric but still arctic side, plus a looong industrial-grade four-inch-wide strap with Velcro and a buckle so that you can affix that mother to your dying flesh and still be able to mix a Bloody Mary.

Problem was, the Serious Icepack was frequently a great boon to my shoulder, but my wrist or elbow or knee would still be crying silently in the waiting room, begging to be moved out of triage and into the trauma room where people were paying attention.

So I went back to the drugstore and got a second Serious Icepack.

And truth be told, there were times when I wasn’t ashamed to have three ice packs on various parts of my body doing their stop-the-pain routine. But I was actually too much of a weenie to return to the drugstore (although on reflection, I could have gone to a different drugstore) for another ice pack so I just used peas.

Peas are great. Not arctic circle great, but still pretty decent little helpers. I kept some at work too. No one notices that you’re defrosting dinner on your knee if you roll your chair up close to your desk.

Image by Juan-Vidal on Flickr

November 14, 2008