Kenny and I sparred this past Wednesday. Yesterday, I had what Oprah would always refer to as an "ah ha!" moment. I have to really learn how to fight differently because of my height. Kenny and Alan always point out how I throw punches out when the opponent is way out of my range. The other fighter can always zap me, however, because of their longer arm reach. I've also noticed, especially over the past few years, that it's hard for me to chase opponents around the ring. Their longer legs give them the advantage of covering more ground in order to avoid my punches.
Which reminds me of a story from back in 1988. It was early on New Year's Day, and the guy I was dating at the time and myself were leaving a party that had been thrown by radio station V103 at the McCormick Hotel. It was bone cold outside, and we had a bit of a walk to get back to the nearest public transportation stop. I had been foolish enough to wear low pumps and not carry a pair of boots along with me. Ice and snow covered the sidewalks. I was stepping fast because I wanted to get out of the weather. The guy laughed when he noticed that for every two steps he took, I was taking several. He was 6'3" with long legs. I'm still 5'1" with short, stubby legs.
I can't think of any male boxers who are short, although I'm sure there are some. But there are plenty of professional female boxers who are 5'5" and under. I need to watch film on them to see how they get around the height disadvantage. I know someone short can take down someone who's taller than they. Like my Aunt Mary is fond of saying, "Dynamite comes in small packages." She's only 4'11". It wasn't too long ago that some guy was messing with her on the street and she knocked him to the pavement. Didn't I mention that my aunt is in her late seventies? My mother is 5'3", and she and my late father, unfortunately, had their dustups before they eventually divorced. Yet she managed to put a few scars on my old man, who was 5'9", and bigger and heavier than she.
Now that I further think about it, I need to muster up more of the fighting instincts that Ma and my aunts have, too. While I was in the ring with Kenny, Alan barked, "Hillari, come on! You're not even trying to hit him!" In the back of my mind, I'm always thinking I never really want to hurt anyone. I'm too nice in that respect, but it doesn't serve me well in the ring. I've mentioned before that my maternal grandfather had been an amateur boxer; my mother and my aunts learned how to throw punches by watching their dad whenever he taught my late uncles how to box. My uncles had plenty of stories about the spectacular street fights they were in -- and often won -- but my mother and my aunts were (and are still) not slouches when it came to defending themselves.
Maybe it would help more if I pretended my opponents were people who had pissed me off. I have a long list of plenty in the past who have that I could use. Just recently added someone new to the list last night. I ordered food, and the delivery guy called up to my place on the intercom. I buzzed him in. A moment later, he calls back. "Is the buzzer not working?" I ask, which is usually the case. "Yeah, it does, but there's a woman down here who told me she wasn't going to let me into the lobby until she leaves," the guy replied. I knew exactly who that woman was. In my last post, I complained about both of my knees hurting. I forgot about the pain and ran downstairs as fast as I could.
The woman in question was sitting in the lobby. There are several human irritants who have taken up residence in my building over the past couple of years. She's one of them. The woman does not speak when "hello" is said to her, prefering to look through people as if they weren't there. A neighbor down the hall from me had to tell her off when the woman tried to prevent them from putting their clothes in the dryer. The woman had decided the dryers were her personal property that day, and she felt no other tenant was allowed to use them. She has attempted to block other tenants -- including myself -- from entering the building if they happen to be walking in behind her. She'll ask, "Do you live here?" when she knows good and damn well she's seen that person coming in and out and getting their mail numerous times before. The woman continuously displays all manner of rude and odd behavior.
"Why did you tell the delivery guy that he couldn't come in here?" I demanded as soon as I got down to the lobby. She dabbed her face with a napkin and blatantly ignored me. I asked her again, and still no response. I was calling her all kinds of foul names in my mind. It ocurred to me to snatch her arm and shake her violently. All I had to take was two steps to grab her, and it would have been a done deal. It was pretty stupid of her not to consider that she might have set herself up for some major unpleasantness. But I remembered that I do know how to box, and no, I didn't feel like explaining myself to the police that night. "Don't do it again," I said coldly, before letting the delivery guy in. I stomped back up to my apartment with my food, wishing that I hadn't taken the high road with her. But that's another major thing I've learned since taking up boxing. I have to walk away from some people in order not to make it a bad day for either me or them.
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