Something I Seldom Do

It was later in the day at work when Paulette left a message saying that she was coming by church to put up a sign that the Bible study class was canceled for the evening.  She mentioned that the weather was going to get rough -- high winds and rain -- and that she could give me a ride home if I wanted.

On the way to my apartment, she asked if I was going to stay in the rest of the night.  "No, I'm supposed to go to the gym," I replied.  When I got in, I found no notification on the Chicago Park District web site that any of the field houses were closed.  I called Loyola Park, but no one picked up the phone.  Alan called to say that he did talk to Mary, who told him the field house was indeed open.  However, it had started pouring outside, along with thunder and lightning.  "I'm surprised it is open," I told Alan, "but judging by the weather reports, maybe I shouldn't go in."

It didn't occur to me until later that Alan had to go in because he had talked to Mary.   He had previously passed the field house on his way home from work.  He wouldn't have been able to give the weather as an excuse not to come back out from his home.  Somehow, I got it into my mind that none would show up, so I got on the computer and again started my nightly quest to make some money online (a story that is appearing to be more complicated and frustrating as time goes by).

So I didn't go to the gym.  Alan called again a little while ago.  "You missed a good workout," he told me.  Only Sarah, Amy, and Igor showed up.  While I didn't care about Igor being there, I could have gotten in some sparring with Sarah and/or her sister.  Now I'm ticked, because I should have gone down to the gym instead of listening to the weather reports.  I'm not a weather wimp.  When that blizzard hit two years ago, I would have gone to gym if it was open that day.  I don't like to miss any time at the gym, and I'm irritated that I missed a day for nothing.

"I could go up to Hamlin Park this weekend to make up for the lost workout," I thought to myself.  But my gear is locked up down at the field house.  Normally, I bring my gear to the gym on the first day the gym is open during the week, and I take it home after the second day of being at the gym.  I'm confident that Hamlin Park, like all the boxing gyms under the Chicago Park District banner, has headgear and sparring gloves I could use.  However, I've gotten used to using my own stuff.  Besides, the weekend is already booked up with street fairs, riding my bike (that is, if my left knee holds up), and more time spent online trying to get some businesses started up.

Sigh. . . .now I have to wait until next week to get my boxing fix.  The sport is truly like a drug, at least with me.

Cleaning The Crimson

Jeremy sparred for the first time with Jamil last night.  I watched them during their second round.  Jamil caught Jeremy a few times in the nose.  That was the first time I ever saw Jamil bloody someone up.  Jeremy was bleeding a lot, but he stayed in the ring. 

Alan said that Barry was concerned about blood he had seen previously on the canvas.  "We've just got a lot of bleeders," Alan told me.  Jeremy's shirt was stained with crimson, and some of it did make it onto the canvas.  Near the end of the evening, I got some paper towels from the women's washroom and grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol off of the coach's desk.  "What are you doing?" Alan asked, as I wiped up the canvas surface.  "I figured I'd clean up the blood from the canvas.  There's a few spots," I answered.  "How much of my blood is on there?" Jeremy joked.  "Eh, don't worry about it, Hillari," Alan said.  I saw a broom in an odd spot and picked it up.  "Now what are you doing?" Alan said.  "I'm just moving the broom over to the garbage can," I said.  He thought I was going to start sweeping, which would not have been a bad idea, judging by the condition of the floor.  "There are maintenance guys for that.  We'll coach, and we'll let them clean," Alan grinned.  Jeremy had also gotten blood on the sparring gloves he had worn.  I rinsed those off in the washroom.

Some readers might be saying to themselves at this point,  "No way!  How can she do that?"  I've gotten used to it, and I'm not very squeamish.   Besides, I'm very careful when I'm in contact with blood in the gym.  Unfortunately, one has to be very careful when in contact with any body fluids these days.  The sparring gloves are used by everyone.  There have been many times, when I've put on a pair, only to discover that someone else has used them recently, and the gloves are sweaty.  I noticed a cut on my left thumb right before I got into the ring with John last night.  Before I put on a pair of gloves, I pulled out a bandaid from my gear bag and covered my thumb with it. 

I wore makeup and nail polish the day before, as I attended church and attended the church's annual business meeting afterwards.  Of course I didn't wear makeup to the gym, but I hadn't removed the nail polish.  I like the contrast of the polish on my fingernails peering out from my handwraps.  It's funny to me. 

While at work yesterday morning, Alan called to ask if I could print out the Chicago Golden Gloves registration and bout schedule and bring it to the gym.  I was in Pastor Roger's office at the time; we were talking to Pam, who expressed an interest in doing volunteer work at church.  Pastor looked at me, trying to figure out if the call was for him when I answered it.  After a few moments, he told Pam, "That sounds like she's talking about boxing stuff."  Alan chuckled when I told him about it later that evening.  "Sounds like you're making a boxing fan out of the pastor," he said.  "No, he always tells me that he doesn't understand much about the sport," I smiled. 

Alan told John that the cut off age for registering at the Golden Gloves used to be thirty-three.  Now it's 35 because the Chicago version never seems to support a Masters' division.  John is 34 years old.  "Man, that would be something if after getting all hyped up for the tournament, I couldn't get in due to age!" John exclaimed.