The Decision

 

See the little girl in the photo above?  That was me when I was in sixth grade.  I was eleven when this picture was taken.  Yeah, okay. . .it's a bad picture. Dig the modified Afro puffs (my mother pressed my hair out back then; she didn't allow my younger sister and I to have perms).  I was not and have never been, a beauty pageant contestant.  I know that.  That school year was the only one I had during my entire grade school career where I wasn't involved in constant fist fights with other kids.  Maybe it was because I had a tough but fair teacher, Mr. Marwick (God rest his soul).  Maybe it was because I had a different attitude that school term or was hanging around kids who weren't picking on me all the time (which was the main reason why I fought in the first place).  I'm not sure, but it was nice to have a breather from being punched and kicked every day.  Of course, it was back to the business during the brief time I was in 7th grade (I got promoted to the next grade in December of that year), and the rest of my time in 8th grade. 

After a week of getting used to being 50 years old, I had to ask myself a question:  What I am fighting about these days and who am I fighting?  There are still bullies in my way.  Prospective employers who look at my graying hair, ignore the accomplishments on my resume and decide I'm too old to be hired; smart-asses on the Internet who don't like my opinions, and verbally beat me down, often anonymously; and men who want to date me, but have a problem with me not being dumb enough for them to manipulate, are some of them.  I still have to fight some people -- not always using my fists -- and continue to do so probably until the casket is closed on me.

But in terms of boxing, why do I keep going to the gym, why do I keep sparring, and why am I eager to participate in bouts?

Well, as far as exercise goes, it's not a matter of whether or not I feel like doing it anymore.  It's come down to I have to exercise.  There were a lot of things I got away with regarding my health before I turned 40 and was diagnosed with high blood pressure, arthritis and diabetes practically back-to-back.  I have family members who suffer with those conditions.  Some are dead now because they didn't take their health concerns seriously.  A friend of mine has diabetes, and they are on disability now because of it.  Menopause has slipped into the mix for me, too, and that has its own set of problems.  If exercise, as well as eating better will help put a few seconds extra on my clock, as well as make me feel better, I need to do it.  I like boxing because it's not girly-girl aerobic-type exercise, which I never got into, not even way back in sixth grade.

I believe boxing is a valuable skill for a woman, especially in a world where women and girls continue to be thought of as weak and gullible, and in some places in the world, disposable.  I stopped growing when I was thirteen years old.  At five foot one, I'm not exactly looked upon by most as a threat.  Now I don't like going around being a b&%$#, but there are times when I've had to do that.  There may be times in the future where I will have to come hard, because somebody will think "she'll be an easy mark to take".  It might be on a dark corner at night, or on a busy street in broad daylight.  No, I can't move as fast as I used to do.  But just because I'm old, that doesn't mean my hands (and feet) have lost the capacity to hurt an perp.  I may not win, but I want the other person to at least feel the pain of messing with me.

I like the thrill of being in the ring.  That's not to say that it is not nerve-racking, even if I'm just sparring as opposed to having an actual fight.  I'm still learning how to harness the nervousness into energy to use.  I also like the feeling of having accomplished something, even if I took a bad loss.  My only regret is not taking up the sport earlier.  Maybe I could have been like Laila Ali.

Part of it also had to do with quieting the naysayers.  I've chronicled in this blog many times over the years how people have tried to convince me that I should not box.  When the admonishing started back in 2001, it was coming from only a few individuals.  The only person whose comments I took seriously was that of my doctor's, and even then, I just made the necessary adjustments to keep going.  Everybody else, I laughed their opinions off.  But my group of protestors grew over the years.  "Oh, you're telling me that I shouldn't do something, that I can't do something, women shouldn't do this and that, that maybe I'm getting too old, etc.? Watch me," I thought as I dug my heels in further.  The other day, I saw an old match featuring Archie Moore.  He was well up into his 50s before he retired from competing.  I have aches and pains, but I'm not decrepit. 

Besides. . .I still want to fight. I was a good roller skater from the time I was fourteen up until I was in my late thirties.  Then the closest roller rink to me shut down, and that, along with the arthritis that showed up a few years later, sort of closed the door on me doing that regularly.  I love to ride my bike, but arthritis was also a factor as to why I didn't ride much this past summer.  I was a fair ice skater.  The last time I was on the ice was back in 2004; I scheduled an skating outing for the church's singles group.  Only I and Pastor Roger were in attendance, and he didn't skate, but he watched me zipping around the rink.  I haven't practiced martial arts much since 2001, and I was involved with that for only eight months of that year.  I've loved a lot of sports activities, but my admiration and respect for boxing has continued to grow strong over the years. 

This is why I can't let it go.  That day will come.  It is going to come.  One day, I will have to join the other old folks that sit along the walls in the boxing gyms and who bark out orders to young fighters.  But not now.  Continue to wring your hands and admonish me if you must, but that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.