"Coach, I'm Bleeding"

The eight to twelve year old class is full, but only Johnathan, Aaron, and his brother Eric showed up to class.  All of them are eager to fight in the next boxing at Simons Park.  I made a mental note to work with them closely to get them ready.

BJ and Kody were the only ones who came to the gym for the teen class.  Kody kept bugging me to spar, even though today was not a scheduled day for that.  "If BJ wants to spar, then you all can," I told him.  Those two ended up sparring for the rest of the class.  Kody was playing around a lot during and in-between rounds.  I had to stop the action to change Kody's headgear because it was too big for him.

BJ was smiling about getting the best of Kody most of the time.  "I like sparring," he said, and I hoped he would change his mind about not fighting at Simons Park next month.  After the last round ended, BJ said, "Coach, I'm bleeding."  Not seeing anything, I asked, "Where?"  He walked over to me, and that's when I saw a stream coming out of his nose.  I quickly ran to get paper towels to clean him up.

Kody was surprised and concerned at the same time.  "I made someone bleed," he said.  He kept asking BJ if he was alright.  "I'm fine!" BJ answered.  He took it well.  I was amazed that Kody got a punch in like that.

Alexis was the only person who attended the adult class.  "Push me to the limit," she told me.  "I want to get healthy!"  She was tired out, but she soldiered on like a trooper.  I was also tired.  In-between throwing around the medicine ball, showing how to do footwork drills with the cones, showing how to use the slip bag, etc., I felt like I had put in some exercise as well.

Sniffling and Not Breathing

Kishaun (on the left) does a sparring drill with his cousin Derrick Jr., or has Kishaun puts it, "shadow sparring".  Hopefully, both boys will get fights at Loyola Park's boxing show later this week.

While I was at Loyola Park, I got some pad work with Gabe.  Standing next to him really pointed out how short I really am.  I believe Gabe is six feet four.  I lasted two rounds, and learned some new punch mitt techniques at the same time.  Gabe noticed that I wasn't breathing as I threw my punches.  I was a bit embarrassed because that is a rookie mistake.  As much as I tell the kids at LaFollette Park to "breathe!" I should know better.

I was also sniffling.  Right before I got to Loyola Park, I stopped to play with Alex, a tomcat who lives up the street from me.  No sooner than I started petting Alex, my allergies kicked up.

I was running the gym for Alan because it was Rosh Hashanah.  Outside of Gabe, Kathy, David, and Connor were in attendance.  No sparring took place but it could have.  "When I was a volunteer," I told Gabe, "I couldn't let people spar when Alan was out.  But as a coach, I can."  "That's what's up!" Gabe said.

Over the weekend, I brought a new pair of five pound weights for LaFollette's boxing gym.  I was never crazy about the neoprene covered ones that were available in the storage room.  After the kids broke one of them, I was determined to replace them with some real cast iron weights.  As time goes on, I'll build up a collection of cast iron weights for the boxing participants to use.

Another Walkout and More Vandalism

I walked into the gym to find an old speed bag, which I had hung up for the fighters to use as a slip bag, had been torn down and thrown to the floor.  I had just hung that up yesterday, as well as a new slip bag I purchased from Ringside. I guess the rope holding up the new slip bag was too hard to pull down, which was why that was still hanging.  I have no doubt that one of the little wonders were literally swinging on the speed bag that came down.

So I go to the camp director -- again.  I had the downed speed bag in my hands.  "The kids were only in there to get their lunch, but they didn't eat in there," she said.  Regardless of the fact that the summer camp kids don't eat in the gym often, they're always in there long enough to mess with the equipment.  The camp counselors never seem to put the kids in check about that unless I happen to be on the premises yelling at the kids to stay off the equipment.  Fortunately, one of the attendants backed me up.  They had been in the gym to clean earlier in the morning.  "I didn't see that bag on the floor when I was in there.  It had to be one of the summer camp kids who did that," they said.

The camp director had no answer -- again.  I walked away, loudly grumbling, "I'll be glad when these summer camp kids are gone!"  "You and me both, so we can get back to a regular schedule!" the attendant said in agreement.

Later, Nassir and Derrick Jr. showed up for boxing class.  Derrick Jr. was working hard as usual.  Nassir rolled into the place twenty minutes late, then dawdled around for several minutes more.  I kept getting on Nassir to follow the workout schedule which is in black and white, and in plain English up on one of the bulletin boards.  But Nassir didn't want to listen, nor do what was required. "Do you want to win the next fight?' I asked him.  Apparently tired of my nagging, Nassir left early, but not before leaving a parting shot.  "I'll just get out of your way," I was told.  Nassir comes to the gym when the mood hits, often shows up late, is seldom focused on the workout, and then tries to put me on a guilt trip?  Very few have been successful in sending me on those journeys; Nassir better ask somebody.