Not many of us were in the gym last night: Tommy, Sarah, her sister Amy, Nathaniel, Renee, and Jacob. Nathaniel and Jacob sparred, and once again, Nathaniel's nose became bloody. "I have to learn to keep my hands up," he said afterwards. "Always keep your hands in front of your face, because the first thing most boxers will do is try and throw straight punches to the middle of your face. Bring them back a little by your cheeks to ward off the hooks," I told him.
Alan decided to get a piece of Jacob next.
Of the women present, only Sarah was willing to spar. I felt off because of my low energy. Perhaps I could have just gone ahead anyway (most likely going in the ring with Sarah). However, the times that I ignored that "off" feeling, and I went ahead and sparred anyway, I ended up paying for it. Sarah sparred with Alan instead.
I didn't do much of a workout last night. But I was suddenly animated while Sarah sparred with the coach. "Watch out for that sneaky left!" I told Sarah, when I saw Alan throw his patented underhanded jab a few times. It looked like she was giving him some soft punches at one point. "Hit him harder. He can take it!" I said to her. Alan popped her with more than a few jabs, rights, and hooks. But Sarah hung in there with him, backing the coach up a few times against the ropes.
Alan talked to Mary about changing the date of the upcoming boxing show. He can't be there because the date of the show falls during Rosh Hashanah. "I never change the date of the show," Mary said, and she explained that was because of other Park District and Loyola Park field house activities that go on around and immediately after the boxing show. Alan joked, "You've never had two Jews coaching at one time," referring not only to himself, but Barry as well. Mary said Barry doesn't have a problem with being there during the show, so Alan said that he'll take off that evening. "If you had told me four months ago, we might have been able to reschedule, but. . . next time, tell me in advance," Mary smiled.
When Alan dropped me off at my apartment, he told me to be careful walking back over to the house of my friends who are out of town. "I'll carry my brass knuckles," I joked, but I've been keeping them at home. I'm still irritated about having the last pair taken from me at the Daley Center. Yeah, I admit it was stupid of me to take an illegal weapon down to the courthouse (I had forgot to take them out of my purse). But that was a good pair. Luckily, I was able to get another set. Alan showed me a baton that he carries around. "I thought those were illegal in Illinois like brass knuckles are," I said. "No, they're not. You can get them online," Alan said. I made a note to surf the 'Net to find some.
I get inside my apartment, and the first thing I notice is that my TV was gone. I've had a TV stolen from me before, twenty-one years ago, during a break-in that happened when I was out of town. I took "after" pictures of how the exterminators had moved things around, while trying not to explode in anger. I called the management company and the maintenance guy and left angry, but controlled voice messages. In other words, I used no curse words, and I didn't yell. Further proof that I must be getting old. I was two seconds off of calling the police when the maintenance guy called back to say, "We moved your TV and a box containing albums and 45's to an empty apartment so they wouldn't get damaged by the heat treatment." Okay, that solved that. But, come on. . .they couldn't have left me a note to that effect?
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