Friday, June 18, 2010

No, I'm Not Pregnant, Just Fat

My thumb and middle finger on my right hand (that finger was injured on Monday as well) was good enough to tolerate sparring this past Wednesday.  Once again, I was paired up with Alan.  We started in the middle of the first round, ending up doing two rounds and a half.  Before the last round started, Alan told me, "I'm going to get you in this next round."  Shay and Evangelina were watching from the other side of the ropes, and their eyes grew bigger.  "See how he treats me?" I joked to them.

No knockdown this time, but I was hit in both eyes, and took some shots to my stomach.  Try as I might, I could not break through Alan's defense to give him an uppercut.  That punch is the least used when I spar, and I wish for once I could get one in and make it count. 

The gym was filled mostly with newbies that night, with the exception of Danny, Ralphie, Jamil and Eric.  No sign of Stacey, Roshawn or Toya.  Eric showed me a picture of his oldest son (another child is on the way), an adorable boy who was posed on top of a motorcycle. 

I'm still adjusting my schedule to accommodate school and the studying/homework that comes with it.  Normally, I would have done a boxing workout at church yesterday.  Since the weather was cooperating, I rode my bike for a few hours instead.  The trail I took -- the North Channel Trail -- has some uphills that are hard, hard labor to manuever.  I kept adjusting the gears on my bike, but that didn't help a lot.  "I wish had taken some Advil before I left the house", I thought to myself after my knees protested.  Some of the city streets I rode along weren't any better.  Encountering speed bumps are just as annoying on a bike as they are when one is driving a car. 

I was supposed to start doing crunches this week.  I used to be able to do 50 of them at a time about a couples of years ago.  I fell out of the habit.  Now I have to build myself back up to that number and beyond.  If I do 10 a day, or every other day, I should be able to do it.  The strongest indicators that my gut has gotten out of control was a) when my stepmother asked me suspiciously back on Thanksgiving, "Why is your stomach so big?" and b) too many guys on the street asking me if I'm pregnant.  Apparently, a lot of people can't tell the different between being fat and being pregnant.  Not wishing to be mistaken for any woman who is, I need to whittle down my middle. 

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