Yet another quiet night at the gym. . .I walked in to find Alan already working out. "You're the only one here?" I asked. "Yeah", came the answer, and I didn't really expect anyone else. However, Michael (with the glasses) came in, and so did Danny.
Alan doesn't seem to know his own strength sometimes. He and I sparred for three round, and in the first one, a flick of his left hand caught me under the nose. I stopped and went to my knees on the canvas. "Aw, come on," Alan protested. After a few seconds, I got back up to finish the round. "My neck turned a funny way," I said, when asked if I was okay. That's the second time that has happened over the last several days. There's a reason why I always see myself in my 60s (if I live that long), walking on a cane, and constantly complaining the years of aches and pains I've built up.
I got Alan a few times, including some punches on top of his head that were illegal. We were in a clinch, I kept punching, and unfortunately, some of them landed in that spot. He got me square in the face in the second round, and once again, I stopped. That time, I just backed up instead of going down to the canvas. "I didn't hit that hard," Alan said, like he always does. "I'm fine; I was just stunned for a minute," I said. I made the mistake of being near the ropes too often. Alan was on me so much at one point, that I grabbed him by the arms so we could make the break. At the end of the third round, he had me pinned on the ropes.
"I told my wife about hitting you in the nose during sparring. She was screaming at me," Alan admitted in-between sparring rounds. I figured he always tells his wife whenever he sparred with the guys, but I figured he didn't dare tell her that he sparred with any of the women. I laughed and asked, "What did she say?" "She called me a brute. But you understand!" he said. Yes, I do. But I can also understand how his wife would feel. If I had a husband who was a boxing coach, and near 60 years of age, I'd be concerned not only about what punches he was taking, but what punches he was giving while sparring, too. I would admire the woman for stepping in the squared circle with my husband, but I'd wonder about what punishment she was taking.
After the sparring ended, Alan asked, "Was that the first time any guy has knocked you down?" "No," I answered, thinking of the times I found myself on the floor due to blows from my late dad, and once from a now thankfully deceased ex-boyfriend. "Good," Alan said, indicating that he didn't want to feel like a bad guy. He continued, "You did really good. You were not throwing those half-assed punches that you usually do. Now give me three rounds on the heavy bags."
Michael was happy that the shoes he'd left behind last week were found. I had locked them up in my locker. "I owe you a Christmas present," he smiled. "Oh, you don't have to do that," I said. I'm always finding stuff that the guys leave behind. I'd rather not see it walk, so I take care of it.
It wasn't snowing that much when Alan and I went out to his car at the end of the night. There was enough of the white stuff on his vehicle, though. On the way to the lot, Alan joked, "So this was your night to beat on the Jew." "No, Rabbi, that wasn't it!" I laughed. I gotta get it together because there may be a fight at Seward next month. It's not solid on the schedule as of yet, but it may come to fruition.
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