Earlier in the day, I had peered at a newspaper over the shoulder of a guy while riding on the train. He was reading the sports section which had an article with a heading that gave the impression that Diego "Chico" Corrales had retired from boxing. I couldn't see the content of the article. When I arrived at the gym, JJ told me that Corrales had died in a motorcycle accident.
Corrales' fight with Jose Luis Castelijo was the bout of the year in 2005. It was brutal, bloody, and exciting as hell. Corrales looked like he was down for the count in the last round, but came up off the canvas and beat Castelijo down as if the man had insulted his mama. I liked Chico. He always came to the ring ready. He was a little cocky, not annoying cocky like Floyd Mayweather or Antonio "The Magic Man" Tarver can be, however. He didn't make it to 30 years of age. It's a shame.
Mort ran the conditioning session at the end of the night, consisting of push ups and crunches. A little easier for the younger guys to do, but not for me. I did them anyway, because I need to do them. My knees were bothering me, which was a bit annoying since they hadn't done so in several days. I couldn't do squats easily nor practice bobbing and weaving for long.
I showed Steve my medical ID bracelet, and he pointed out something I should have caught. My phone number is on the bracelet instead of my doctor's or another emergency phone number. "It won't do me any good, in case you collapse, to call your house and get your voice mail. 'Pick up your phone! You've collapsed! When you get this message, go to the hospital!' " he said. Both of us had a good laugh off of that one, but it pointed out the seriousness of the situation. I'll have to buy either a new bracelet or necklace with the right info.
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