Certified

I dragged myself out of bed at 5:00 AM yesterday in order to catch a Metra train to Harvey, IL. A coaches' clinic was held out at Harvey Boxing Club that morning. I had been expecting to have a hike to get to the gym once I got to Harvey, but it was practically around the corner. Carlos ran the clinic, which I found out normally runs for six hours. Mike Q. was there before it began to collect the applications and the fees.

Erin's uncle, John, was there to re-up his certification. "She can come to my garage and workout. I have it set up with boxing equipment," he said. I had seen Carlos before, and I'm acquainted with Mike Q., but other than John, I didn't recognize the other guys there. Carlos was a professional boxer, and now he's a professor. He was very clear, and made sure we received lot of valuable information. I took a lot of notes that I plan to review often. He gave us his business card at the end of the day in case we had any boxing questions in the future. I was the only woman in attendance.

The Harvey Boxing Club is a nice facility. I had heard about it many times. During a break, I peeked in on the kids training. There was one girl in the gym, and she looked like she was either 12 or 14 years of age. The girl looked very comfortable working out with the boys, which is always a good thing.

I got most of the questions on the test right, so now it's a waiting game to receive my license in the mail. "It depends on how fast Colorado (home of USA Boxing) will send the licenses out," Mike Q. told me. "Oh, I know. I waited awhile for my boxing license to come when I first signed up for one of those," I told him. The receipt I have should allow me to get into the Golden Gloves finals later this week with no problem. On the way home, I thought to myself, "About time." Ever since I was diagnosed two years ago with diabetes, I kept saying I was going to get a coach's license.

Today, after Easter church service, I told Pastor that I passed the Level 1 certification. "You got it? Great!" he said, and we gave each other a fist bump like Obama and Michelle. Two young men were standing nearby; I assume they were Pastor's relatives. He has several nephews. "She was an amateur boxer, and now she's a coach," he told them. The youngsters had a look on their face that seemed to say, "Girls and boxing don't compute." I smiled to myself.