Intervals With Diana

Both Alan and I asked Diana separately last night, "Do you have a mouthpiece?"  Before she went on vacation a couple of weeks ago, she stated that she would buy one while she was away.  She didn't have one with her yesterday.  "I don't think I'm ready," she told Alan when he asked her about sparring. 

I sparred with Jamil for three, count 'em, three whole rounds.  I haven't done that many rounds with anyone for a long, long, time.  "Good for you," Alan said, when I told him I would do a third round.  I practiced picking out my shots, but I was favoring body shots over head shots.  A few times I backed Jamil into a corner with side shots.  He grabbed me to stop my momemtum.  "Break!" Alan called out.

"So you're no longer nervous about fighting with the guys?" Diana asked me.  "I always fought boys.  I can count the fights I've had with girls when I was in grade and high school on four fingers," I told her.  They may have been a few more than that, but not much.  I hated fighting with girls when I was a kid.  They would swing their arms like windmills, throwing wild and sloppy punches.  I really got mad when they resorted to scratching.  That would set me off like Curly in that Three Stooges short where he would go nuts whenever, "Pop Goes The Weasel" was played.  Luckily, my mother taught me how to throw punches.  Once the scratching started, I would step back for a moment, watch for an opening, then zap them with a right or a left.  "Now, scratch me again, expleted deleted!" I'd yell. 

Alan suggested that Diana and I do a "burn out" (interval training) on the heavy bag.  Alan is a nice guy, but I noticed last night that he can really bark orders out.  "Time!  Go, go, go!  You gotta be quick!  Don't stop!  Keep those hands up!  Don't lose your form!" he repeated throughout the rounds.  Diana was a little slow about switching off to hold the bag for me when it was my turn.  She did pick up the pace of her punches when it was her 15 seconds on the bag, however. 

Most of the guys were MIA again last night.  Jamil, Donald and Ralphie were there.  While Ralphie sparred with Jamil, I noticed he'd put his left elbow up to ward off Jamil's right punches.  "Is that legal?" I asked him after they finished.  Ralphie laughed.  "I don't know if it's legal or not," he answered.  "What's that?" Alan asked.  "Hillari said I was hitting Jamil with my elbow," Ralphie said.  "No, he wasn't hitting him with it, just using it to defend against him," I said to Alan.

Later, as Alan drove me home, he grinned about his wife knowing him "like a book".  "I'd answer a question of hers, and she'd say, 'You're lying, Alan.'  I asked her how could she tell, ad she said it was a look that I got on my face that gave me away," he shook his head.  "Well, you also know how we women tend to remember things you told us 10 or 15 years ago.  We remember what you were wearing when you said it, what date it was, what day it was, and so on," I grinned.  "Yeah, how in the world do you all remember that stuff?  I just figured the best way not to get my wife mad is tell the truth," he said.

The Aches and Pains Have It

When I got to the gym, Mike was waiting by the gym door.  He hadn't been in for a long time.  He's now engaged, and plans to be married sometime next year. 

It was another evening that was light on people.  In addition to Mike, Eric, Donald, Jamil and St. Louis came in.  Alan didn't change out of his street clothes.  He had picked up a lawnmover a few days ago, and it messed with his back.  "I didn't think it was that heavy," he said, but sometimes, it's the things that happen we think are slight that end up hurting us. 

Both of my knees were bothering me, but I forced myself to jump rope for a couple of rounds. After church service yesterday, Yvonne asked if I was still boxing.  "Don't you have arthritis?" she inquired.  "Yeah, and sometimes I can't jump rope.  I have to substitute doing something else," I answered. 

During shadow boxing, I was doing my latest favorite combo:  two jabs to the body, then jab, right upstairs.  "Don't do that because you leave yourself wide open," Alan pointed out.  He was right.  My left hand down during the body shots left my left jaw open to hooks.  "I'd rather see you bend down and deliver a body shot with your right," Alan continued.  I tried that, and it worked.

Donald and I did interval training on a heavy bag, not long after I had done a couple of rounds and a half in the ring with Jamil.  I admit, I cheated a bit by throwing a lot of short uppercuts to the bag when it was my turn.  "You both have to punch like you normally do. . .throw the punches full out and straight," Alan told us.

Bobbing and weaving did a number on my right knee after awhile.  It went "ping!" at one point, and I was hopping around, trying to shake the pain away.  I found some natural remedies for arthritis online earlier today, but like natural meds tend to be, they were expensive.  I would like to try them at a later date, however. 

"My father told me thirty years ago that when I got older, boxing would take a toll on my body.  He was right," Alan said later as he was driving me home.  "The older I get, the more I'm realizing that's true, too," I said.  But boxing doesn't have an age limit.  There are folks older than me who regularly do a boxing workout, even if they don't spar or compete.  The sport has a magnetic draw for many.

An Improvement In Punching

Chloe came in -- with Joe -- but other than that, none of the other women (Toya, Cynthia, Earleatha, Stacy) were present.  Chloe told me that she thinks she is experiencing some nerve damage in her left arm.  "I spar sometimes with an old man who's 65 years old.  He likes to hit me in the back of the head!  Maybe that caused it," she said.  I smiled, remembering a older man named Rocky (it's true) whom I did sparring drills with while I attended Degerberg Academy of Martial Arts.  He didn't pull punches, either.

I sparred with Carlos, who had already done several rounds with some of the other guys.  I did a combination where I jabbed to his body, then threw a jab and a right to his head.  "Nice!" Alan said, from the other side of the ropes.  Carlos stepped back and looked at me.  "Very nice," he commented.  The first round, I had a lot of energy.  I used a few of the other combinations that I have been practicing in the church's gym when I work out.  During the second round, my battery started running down, but I pushed myself to keep throwing some combinations instead of just one shots. 

Demond, who's originally from New York, asked me what I thought about Mayor Daley.  "The current one or his dad?" I asked.  Demond was amazed that the senior Daley had been in office for over two decades and that he remained mayor until he died a few days before Christmas in 1976.  "I went to school in Boston before I moved to Chicago.  New York and Boston are east coast, and Chicago is midwest. . .Chicago is real different from those two cities in terms of the politics," he said.  He asked did I think anyone had a chance in a mayoral election against Daley.  "It could be done, but they would have to have a lot of campaign money and a solid base of supporters in high places, even if they are a Democrat like Daley.  The Democractic Machine politics are still in place," I answered. 

Later, Carlos was attempting to do some interval training on the heavy bag.  "Ralphie can punch real fast when he does that, but I can't do it," he told Alan.  "I'm so tired of these young men talking about what they can't do," I said.  I was laughing while I said it.  Alan told Carlos he can, but he has to work his way up to it.  I was thinking the other day that I wish I had one of those interval timers at home.  Interval training is very good for building up stamina.  I have a half a mind to buy a regular standard timer like the one that's in the gym and store it at church for when I work out there.

Four Guys and A Stiff Middle Aged Gal

Alan received a copy of the roster for the Winter session.  It appears that only one person had signed up for the gym.  "That's odd.  Usually, a crowd of people show up in January," I said.  Maybe people are waiting until the last minute.  But then, the price of admission went up over this year, so maybe the economy is to blame. 

Jamil, Ralphie, JJ and Ed showed up at the gym tonight.  "Are you going to spar tonight?" Alan asked.  I could have, but I figured the four guys were matched up with each other.  Plus, both my knees and my lower back were stiff.  I stretch each time before really getting into the workout, but that didn't help much Wednesday night.

JJ held the punch mitts for me.  I've always said that he would make a great coach.  He was working with Ed earlier that night on his punches.  "You haven't done punches in a long time," JJ said, noting the intensity of the punches I threw.  "No, I haven't," I said.  Alan's wrists bother him, so he doesn't hold the mitts for people.  I became a bit winded, and JJ noticed.  "You're breathing hard, and we're only in the middle of the first round.  Let me know if you're gonna die," he smiled.  "I'm an old woman, JJ.  It takes me awhile to work up the stamina," I laughed.  We ended up doing two rounds.

As I sat down on one of the ringside stools, Alan commented, "You're not huffing and puffing."  "I'm still tired," I said.  "But you went a few rounds with JJ.  That's good," the coach said. 

Ralphie and I were worn out doing an interval exercise.  It was the one where boxers alternate between holding the bag for each other and punching the bag.  My arms felt like they were going to fall off near the end of that round, which would be the last one of the evening.  Ralphie said he had a hard time keeping up the punches, too.  It's such a good exercise, however. 

I keep thinking about that 40-plus pounds that I need to lose.  I finished off the last of a half-gallon of eggnog earlier and said to myself, "Time to replenish the eggnog!"  Luckily, eggnog is only available in the stores during the last two months of the year.  It is also a good thing that I don't know how to make the stuff, or else, I'd drink it all year.  I don't want to make losing weight a New Year's resolution.  That's the best way to make sure that a resolution won't work.  I have to continue to look at it as a lifestyle change decision.

Gym Before Thanksgiving

Ralphie said, "I bet the referees start stopping fights quicker now."  We were talking about all the news of boxing injuries and death that have been happening recently.  Amateur boxing traditionally has been more safety-conscious than professional boxing.  Announcers at various amateur bouts always announce after a stopped fight, "Our number one concern is safety."  But I would not be surprised if stoppages happen faster all across the board.

Besides Ralphie, Johnny, Carlos and Justin came in.  Carlos remained in the ring, as the rest of us rotated in and out to spar with him.  After he and Ralphie did a few rounds, Ralphie told Carlos, "You've got a lot of stamina, man!"  "I'm telling you," I commented. Ralphie said that a hit he took to the stomach nearly caused him to lose his dinner.  The hit I took to the stomach that nearly stopped me.  I narrowly avoided eating a right uppercut, as well.

Justin announced, "I brought a book in today."  The title was I Think I Can Fly; the main character, a pig, was featured on the front cover.  "I thought you told me you didn't know how to read yet.  Oh. . .you're learning," I said.  Justin nodded in the affirmative.  "Do you know the ABC song?" I asked.  "I know how to sing it backwards," the boy said proudly.  "You're better than me.  I always got tripped up on that," I said.

Near the end of the evening, we did some interval training.  One person held the heavy bag, while the other person punched it, then we'd switch places every 20 seconds or so.  Ralphie and Carlos were on the 175 pound bag, while Johnny and I were on the 150 pound bag.  After two rounds, Johnny and I were through.  Ralphie and Carlos kept going for an extra round.  I like interval training exercises like that, but I know my arms will feel it in several hours. 

Getting The Uppercut In

Leon, Ralphie and Carlos did a bit of interval training on Wednesday. The drill went like this: one person hits the heavy bag for 30 seconds while another person holds it. Then the person holding the bag hits the bag for 30 seconds while the next person holds it, and so forth.

I sparred with Carlos again earlier that evening, and managed to make it through two rounds. I caught him a couple of times with uppercuts. "Nice," I heard Alan say from the sidelines. For the longest time, I have been trying to figure out how to get in uppercuts on opponents. As short as I am, it's not easy. Carlos likes to do a lot of bobbing and weaving. One of the times he ducked down is when I got him with a left uppercut.

Alan told Carlos that he was ready for a match, and he told him about a Park District boxing show that takes place next Thursday. Carlos works various shifts at his job, but he thought he'd be able to attend. "I have to talk it over with my wife before I say yes," he announced. "She's afraid of you being hurt," I said, and he agreed. He also talked about the possibility of being in next year's Golden Gloves. Since he's had no previous fights, Carlos would be classified as a novice in that competition.

Carlos told me that his son Justin would like to box, but his wife nixed the idea. He'll put Justin in basketball instead, when the boy turns six years old. Moms either are for their kids boxing or against it. There seems to be no middle ground when it comes to that. The ones who are supportive of it appear to be really into it when they show up at the matches.

The following day, I was on my way to help Pastor and Virginia clean and move some things up to their new apartment when I spotted Barry in the alley. Barry was working; he's with Streets and Sanitation. He was chatting with a neighbor of mine who lives on the other side of the alley. For several years now, I've been exchanging pleasantries with that particular neighbor, but I never knew his name. After I greeted them both, Barry told the neighbor, "Hillari is one of the boxers at the gym."

My neighbor smiled and said, "I figured that she was." To my surprise, I found out that he's Gabe's dad. His name is David. "I was looking for Gabe this summer," I told him. Gabe was going to college out of state, but he would stop in the gym several times during the summers. "He's going to law school downtown now," David said. I've always thought that David was a good-looking silver fox. Now I see where Gabe gets his good looks from.