Comments On My Boxing

Last Thursday, one of the choir members, Paulette, dropped me off in front of my apartment after our rehearsal. I had told her that I was very sore from participating in boxing class the night before. "You know what you have to do to keep that from happening," she said. She meant that I should stop boxing. She's always telling me, out of great concern, that I should leave it alone. In true mom fashion (she has two daughters, and is a grandmother), right before I went inside the building she said, "Make sure you take some ibuprofen!"

Margaret, the choir director, and her husband, Glynn, were on me for a long time about taking up pugalism. Margaret would groan and say things like, "What about your face? Your head?" Glynn took it one step further. We always stand in a circle and pray after choir rehearsal. For weeks he would burst out with, "And I pray that Hillari stops boxing!" Now when he sees me, he greets me with "Hey, Champ!" Others at church have taken to calling me that as well. The pastor even used me as an illustration in one of his sermons. He was preaching a series of sermons on the book of Nehemiah. Nehemiah went off on some nobles who were exacting usury from the people. The Scripture reads, "I consulted with myself and contended with the nobles". The pastor gave an illustration of what contended means. "When our dear sister Hillari steps in the ring with an opponent, she contends with them!" The congregation got a good giggle out of that.

Now I wouldn't say that Roger, the pastor of my church, is a champion of women's rights. We were in a deacon's board meeting a few months ago, and the wife of the chairperson came in briefly to speak with her husband. Roger joked, "Alex is giving her his dinner order!" He has made other comments that place him on the anti-feminism side. However, he has never said to me that he thought I should not box. In fact, I invited Steve to church one Sunday, and on his way out, Roger shook his hand. When he found out that Steve was my coach, Roger asked, "Is she any good?" "She's gotta stop dropping her left hand," Steve smiled.

I remember when I told my boss, Les, that I boxed. I hadn't been working where I'm at now for very long, and I don't remember how the subject came up. However, I'll never forget the look of concern and shock on his face. "But Hillari, you could get hurt!" he exclaimed. Another time he told me, "You really should find another sport to participate in." I think I had been dragging around the office because I had a hard sparring session the night before. "But Les, I like the sport," I protested. "Why don't you go into martial arts?" he suggested. "It seems to be more civilized than boxing." I had been involved in martial arts, long enough to receive a yellow belt. I often went home sore after those classes, as well. "People hit each other in martial arts class, too," I said, looking at him over my glasses.

After listening to him attempt to warn me away from the ring several times, I grew curious about his aversion to boxing. "Have you ever been in a fist fight?" I asked him. "No," he replied. "Not even with your sisters?" I queried further. "Oh, no! If I had hit one of my sisters, I would have been in big trouble," Les said, in a serious tone. I had to investigate further. "Not even in grade or high school?" "Nope. Guess I was too chicken," he chuckled. I have known other guys who have never used their fists on anyone, but it's still a surprise to me when I hear that. Guess I'm a little old fashioned about men and women's roles sometimes, and I should know better. I tried to invite him to a boxing show last year, when I thought I would have a match, but he shook his head. "You're not that squeamish," I teased him. "No, it's not that. I just don't want to see you get hit," he explained. Well, he's a peaceful, mild-mannered man, and that is to be respected.

What tickles me is when kids in the fieldhouse see me in the gym, especially the little boys. A couple of weeks ago, I entered the gym, and two grade-school age boys were sitting and talking to Steve. I greeted Steve, and the boys gave me odd looks. I heard one of them ask Steve, "She boxes?" I thought to myself, "Yes I do!" The kids seem to get over the idea of a woman boxing rather quickly, though. I'll often stop and show them around the gym, then ask them to stop in again when Barry, the youth boxing coach, is present. I remember three kids, two boys and their sister, who used to hang around the gym a couple of summers ago. The girl was interested in boxing, and I used to let her wear my bag gloves sometimes.