Mostly Women, All The Time

It was just Brandy, Amy, myself, Tommy, and of course, Alan, in the gym last night.  A guy named Joe who knows Leon came in briefly to check the place out.  Joe said that Leon gave him the impression that he was a coach there.  Alan and I chuckled and shook our heads.

Brandy and I sparred for four rounds.  Whenever I stepped in and put pressure on by throwing flurries of punches, Alan would intruct her, "fight back!", which she did.  Brandy has to watch out for that, because that's exactly how many of the women she will face at the Golden Gloves will operate. 

I had to check myself for throwing too many right hooks to the body too often.  Brandy saw those punches coming, and nine times out of ten, she quickly avoided them.  I put too much energy into throwing those hooks, and I would turn myself around and get off balance.  I do that too much while throwing straight rights, as well.  Then I'm open, and it's easy for someone to step in, pop me, and step back out.

When I got home later, I noticed the same spots that Brandy usually catches me -- the sides and the ribs -- were hurting again.  They still feel that way today.  I groaned as I poured myself a cup of cider in the Pastor's office this morning.  I don't feel the effects of the punch she landed dead in the middle of my torso -- yet.  That was a good solid punch.  If she catches her opponents with that one, they will have no choice but to back up.  If Brandy really times that punch right, they'll be on one knee on the canvas.  I didn't go down, but I did fold over for a minute.

Brandy is now at her exact weight for the Golden Gloves.  She did admit to eating several donuts and some chocolate earlier in the day.  Donuts and sweet rolls were my breakfast of choice back in the day.  I often wish I could go back to that.  Alan suggested that she not eat that stuff.  "I had a Shamrock Shake during lunch," I confessed.  "Well, you're not trying to make weight for the Gloves," he said.  "But you should yell at me anyway for having a shake because of my diabetes," I said.  Alan gave me a look.  "Yeah, you have to watch out for that," he said. 

Alan brought up the conversation about me applying for a coach's job again last night.  I'll have to craft a good cover letter to plead my case to the Chicago Park District, as well as to private boxing gyms in the area. That would be a great job for me, even if it was only part-time.  I've been trying to figure out a way to make money in boxing for awhile.  Of course, I couldn't do it via being a fighter; I often wish I started boxing when I was sixteen, as opposed to being darn near 40 years old.  But there are other positions to be had in boxing, and coaching is one of them.  Running a web site about it is another, which is another angle I've been pursuing.

Some who read this blog have wondered, "You're always mentioning the church you attend/work at and the fact that the pastor's not exactly a fan of boxing. . .who is he and what does he look like?"  Earlier today, I tried to sneak and take a photo of Pastor Bolander, but he slipped out of the way.  Needless to say, that picture didn't look right.  "I don't want to take any pictures until I've lost some pounds," he said.  "Pastor, you sound just like some women who say they want to lose weight before they'll join a gym," I laughed.  "Amen, sister!" he chuckled (and he made sure I deleted that picture, LOL).  But he did tell me that I could use a Christmas portrait of him, his wife Virginia, and their bundle of energy, Isaac (otherwise known as Bam Bam), on the blog.