Showing Up At The End

Alan and I mostly had the gym to ourselves again Wednesday night.  He and I sparred for three rounds.  Once again, the coach caught me in the nose with a punch.  My legs were wobbly during round two, but I managed to stay on my feet.  After we were done sparring,  Jamil came in with a friend of his named Rob.  They chatted with Alan and I briefly, then they left. 

Nine o'clock came and Alan and I were shutting the gym down.  Josh walked in.  "You've got to be kidding me!" Alan exclaimed.  "Can I get a round in?" Josh asked.  "We're closing up," I said, pointing to the timer which I had already turned off.  Alan let him work out for three rounds.  "I heard that you signed up, but it's a waste of time to show up ten or five minutes before closing time.  You don't get enough of a workout that way," Alan told Josh.  Josh promised to come in earlier. 

On The Canvas and On The Ropes

Yet another quiet night at the gym. . .I walked in to find Alan already working out.  "You're the only one here?" I asked.  "Yeah", came the answer, and I didn't really expect anyone else.  However, Michael (with the glasses) came in, and so did Danny.

Alan doesn't seem to know his own strength sometimes.  He and I sparred for three round, and in the first one, a flick of his left hand caught me under the nose.  I stopped and went to my knees on the canvas.  "Aw, come on," Alan protested.  After a few seconds, I got back up to finish the round.  "My neck turned a funny way," I said, when asked if I was okay.  That's the second time that has happened over the last several days.  There's a reason why I always see myself in my 60s (if I live that long), walking on a cane, and constantly complaining the years of aches and pains I've built up. 

I got Alan a few times, including some punches on top of his head that were illegal.  We were in a clinch, I kept punching, and unfortunately, some of them landed in that spot.  He got me square in the face in the second round, and once again, I stopped.  That time, I just backed up instead of going down to the canvas.  "I didn't hit that hard," Alan said, like he always does.  "I'm fine; I was just stunned for a minute," I said.  I made the mistake of being near the ropes too often.  Alan was on me so much at one point, that I grabbed him by the arms so we could make the break.  At the end of the third round, he had me pinned on the ropes.

"I told my wife about hitting you in the nose during sparring.  She was screaming at me," Alan admitted in-between sparring rounds.  I figured he always tells his wife whenever he sparred with the guys, but I figured he didn't dare tell her that he sparred with any of the women.  I laughed and asked, "What did she say?"  "She called me a brute.  But you understand!" he said.  Yes, I do.  But I can also understand how his wife would feel.  If I had a husband who was a boxing coach, and near 60 years of age, I'd be concerned not only about what punches he was taking, but what punches he was giving while sparring, too.  I would admire the woman for stepping in the squared circle with my husband, but I'd wonder about what punishment she was taking.

After the sparring ended, Alan asked, "Was that the first time any guy has knocked you down?"  "No," I answered, thinking of the times I found myself on the floor due to blows from my late dad, and once from a now thankfully deceased ex-boyfriend.  "Good," Alan said, indicating that he didn't want to feel like a bad guy.  He continued, "You did really good.  You were not throwing those half-assed punches that you usually do. Now give me three rounds on the heavy bags."

Michael was happy that the shoes he'd left behind last week were found.  I had locked them up in my locker.  "I owe you a Christmas present," he smiled.  "Oh, you don't have to do that," I said.  I'm always finding stuff that the guys leave behind.  I'd rather not see it walk, so I take care of it.

It wasn't snowing that much when Alan and I went out to his car at the end of the night.  There was enough of the white stuff on his vehicle, though.  On the way to the lot, Alan joked, "So this was your night to beat on the Jew."  "No, Rabbi, that wasn't it!" I laughed.  I gotta get it together because there may be a fight at Seward next month.  It's not solid on the schedule as of yet, but it may come to fruition. 

Another Wednesday

Alan had to attend a coaches' meeting last night.  Eric, Michael, and Leon came in, as well as Josh, who showed up at five minutes to nine.  Josh said he signed up for the winter session, which is a good thing.  The few minutes that he's usually there to work out is not enough to get the full experience. 

Unfortunately, none of the staff had the key to the main boxing gym door, so we had to go through the basketball gym.  Several kids tried to get past Rob, who blocked their way into the gym.  "You can look at it, but you can't go inside," he told them.  Later, the most persistent of the ones who were bugging Rob tried to gain entrance again.  I've been patient with most of the kids who come around lately, but last night, I wasn't in an accommodating mood.  "Did you pay to be in here?" I asked, annoyed that the kid had interrupted me while I was shadow boxing.  "No.  I can't work on the speed bag?" the kid asked.  I caught myself before I really said something rude.  Instead,I came back with, "Did you pay to be in here?  Well, then you can't.  Those are not my rules; those are the rules of the park district."  The kid backed out of the doorway.

Earlier in the day, Pastor, Ken and myself stopped at Home Depot after lunch to get salt to put down on the walks around church.  I saw JJ, who works there, and we talked for a few minutes.  It was very good to see him.  He's planning on turning pro in February.  He'll let people know when that match takes place.

Sort of Like Cinderella

Alan and I were the only two in the gym last night for almost an hour until Danny came in.  "Before I change my mind," Alan said to me, "get ready."  "Get ready for what?" I asked.  "I'll spar with you," he said.

Earlier, Alan said that he usually feels like he's 25 years old.  "I revert to being 21 years old when I'm in here," I said.  However, the next morning, the carriage turns back into a pumpkin.  I wake up, and I'm instantly reminded of my real age.  That was very true this morning, after the effects of sparring with the coach had set in.  I was putting extra pepper on the punches I gave Alan, and he noticed.  "You've hit me harder than you usually do anyone else," he commented.  "I always go easy on the women because most of them have never been in any kind of fight.  But I figure the guys can take it," I said.  "That's how you should hit all of the time," he said.

"Hillari the giant killer," Alan joked before we stepped into the ring, referring to when I sparred with Leon on my birthday last week.  Alan has a way of turning his body to avoid punches, and it's hard for me to land any when he does that.  It's especially hard to get in a right or a bolo (overhand right) punch on him.  Too many of them landed on his left shoulder.  I was better at aiming at his chest and stomach, and I got some hooks in when he bent over.  Alan suddenly gave me a left uppercut that went up my nose and rocked my head back.  Later, I told him, "If you had put more force on that punch, I would have been laid out on the canvas."  Stunned for a moment, I backed up to catch my breath before charging in again.

Another one of his punches caught me in the mouth.  My mouth was open, and the punch grazed one of my front teeth.  "Remember, Hillari, adult teeth don't grow back if they get knocked out," I thought.  Mouthpieces don't always protect from that, truth be told.  Stamina really began to run out in the third round.  I was taking too long to answer Alan's punches.  "Come on, you're tough," Alan said.  Another hit rocked my neck in the wrong direction.  I think Kevin was the last one to catch me like that in recent memory.  I was hanging over the ropes at the end of that round.

"It's all in your head.  You have to pace yourself, and once you get on the inside, go slow and throw the punches," Alan told me.  There is a mental block, and I need to work on that as much as I need to work on losing weight.  What I do on the bags doesn't always translate to sparring or to actual fights.  The hooks I want to throw don't get executed properly; the uppercuts seldom happen, and when they do, they're not strong enough.  Practice, practice, practice. . .there may be another chance for a fight.  Seward Park's boxing show was rescheduled to take place in January.

I keep rubbing my nose today.  It stung when Alan popped me there.  My back, my neck, my knees and my sides aren't doing so well either today.  Pastor Roger saw me rubbing my nose, and asked, "Are you sick?"  He's on guard, because he doesn't want to take any germs home to his newborn son.  "No, I really took a hit last night," I told him.   Today might be a good day to soak in a hot bath with rubbing alcohol added.

Gidget v. Goliath In The Ring

It was a good birthday; usually the better ones I have are because I planned nothing.  The only thing that was on the menu was the fight I was going to have at Brooks Park Wednesday evening.  That didn't happen, so I just let the day flow.

When I got to the gym, I was the only there for awhile  Alan had to attend a sales meeting at his day job, so he was very late in arriving.  Before he got there, Leon came in.  If I remember correctly, Leon is signed up for the gym, but he doesn't come in often.  Alan showed up right after Leon did, and Danny came in a little later.  Alan said, "You can move around with Leon in the ring."  Remember, this is the same Leon who is six foot six, and well over 250 pounds.  This is the same Leon who broke Deo's eye socket during an ill-fated sparring match over a year ago.  But being the reckless middle-aged person that I am, I suited up and stepped into the ring anyway.

Leon did not hit me as hard as he could have.  That was a blessing, believe me.  I'm extremely sure that none of the punches that I landed on him affected him in the least.  Leon had more energy than I, because he was constantly moving, bobbing and weaving.  We went three rounds, and I was wore out.  "Next time, you can go four rounds," Alan told me.  "I used to do five rounds when I first started coming here.  But that was ten years ago," I said. 

After the sparring match, I worked on the heavy bags.  I had to push myself, as I felt my energy draining away.  I kept sitting down in-between matches.  "Are you done?" Alan asked.  "No, I'm just sitting down," I answered.  Usually I'm throwing punches up until the last round of the night, but during the last few minutes, I opted to stretch out instead. 

Fight Stopped Before The Bell Rang

Both Professor and I crapped out when it came to getting fights tomorrow night at Brooks.  No opponents are available for either of us.  My opponent, whom I fought in September, is ill.  It's disappointing.  I'll have to wait a long, long time before another fight is available to me.  The guys have the option of show fights and various tournaments throughout the year. 

Professor and Jamil sparred.  He caught Jamil up against the ropes and popped him with a right hook.  Jamil's head nearly turned all the way around on his neck.  Alan, Kevin and myself were surprised the punch didn't stop him. 

Kevin and I fought, and I still couldn't get around him when he used his long arms to keep me at bay.  Fortunately, we only did two rounds and a half.  Just as with Professor the other week, I couldn't chase Kevin around the ring.  More effort was put into working the heavy bags.  I'm still trying to get the right distance to throw hooks.

I wish that fight was happening tomorrow.  I don't feel that I have enough meanness most of the time to get things done during a match.  However, I would have had a good focus point, because unfortunately, I'm still dealing with the fallout from the disagreement I had with a guy at church recently.  I could have visualized that guy standing in front of me in the ring.  I'm very sure that would have helped me win.  Pastor has a problem with the fact that I just won't take someone coming to me the wrong way.  I have a problem with logic that believes I should show up groveling with my hat in my hand when I wasn't the one who started the static.  There was a short window of time when I was younger when I put up with all kinds of mistreatment.  There was a point where I stopped doing that, and as old as I am, I'm not going back to being a doormat.  Nobody should make it their problem that others have chips on their shoulders and are clueless about stepping to the wrong people at the wrong time.  For the most part, I've stopped apologizing for having a temper and unleashing it when it is warranted on who is deserving of it wherever that may be.

Boxing With a Stuffy Nose and a Cough

Perhaps Alan was right.  I should have stayed home from the boxing gym on Wednesday night.  "If I get sick from you, I'm going to be angry," he joked -- I think.  A cold sneaked up on me Tuesday morning, and knocked me out by nightfall.  I didn't go to work at church Wednesday morning. 

I don't like leaving my gear down at Loyola Park over the weekend, and my hand wraps need a good washing.  Despite feeling like warmed over death, I crawled up to the gym in the cold.  My intent was to get my bag and go back home.  But no.  Boxers can't resist the lure of the gym.  As proof, Alan was hitting the bags even though he was still wearing his suit from work.  I opted not to spar, but I broke a sweat on the bags.

Danny, Eric and Professor were in the gym.  The latter two guys sparred, and Eric caught Professor in the face with a shot.  Professor can take a punch, because he remained on his feet.  I caught all the action using the camera on Professor's cell phone.

Michael, a tall guy with glasses who hadn't been in the gym in a year, came in.  "I thought today was the first day of the new session," he told me.  Actually, it was the last day of the fall session.  Michael signed up for the Winter session at Alan's prompting.  We both told him and everybody else that the gym would remain open during the "limbo" three week period until the new session starts in early January.  An ideal occurred to me: the three weeks could be promoted as a time for adults to come try out the gym before committing to a session.  Of course, they would still have to sign a waiver form.  But it would be a good idea, especially for those who are new to boxing, to get a feel for what the sport is. 

Sparring With the Professor

After he sparred with Jamil, Professor and I went for three rounds.  I used up a lot of energy throwing punches that did not connect.  Professor was very agile, and he turned away from most of them.  At least my jab was better, according to Alan.  Professor was dancing around a lot, and I tried to stay on my toes to match his movements.  It was to no avail.  "My old behind is not going to get anywhere chasing this young man around the ring," I thought to myself. I was plodding after awhile, and running our of stamina. 

When the 30-second bell rings, Alan always points it out to the fighters.  Then he says stuff like, "You're almost home, you've only got a few seconds," when actually, it's more time left than the boxer knows.  "You always say that," I told Alan while trying to keep my eye on Professor.  "It's a lie," he grinned.  "I know," I grinned back. 

After taking the usual break to cool down the hot flashes, Alan told me, "Give me four rounds on the bags."  I ended up doing five, and the last one was a burn-out.  There are so many things to remember, and I was trying to keep up with them all -- footwork, hand positioning, proper form, correct throwing of punches, etc. -- while doing that.  It was a good workout.

I was somewhat impressed that I was able to move as much as I was.  Earlier in the day, I fell down some stairs again in church.  Missed the last step and went flying.  I got up quickly, but I had bumped both knees and landed in an awkward position.  My left leg was turned in a funny way.  I thought about the fall Alan took, and asked him if his leg was better.  "It still hurts," he said.  "Have you gone to the doctor yet?" I asked.  "No, but I'll go," he answered.  "Why is it that men will not go to the doctor?" I wondered.  "Because we think we can heal ourselves," Alan said. 

Sparring With Kevin

As the march towards the holidays continue, the attendance in the gym goes down.  Only Kevin, Danny and I were in the gym in addition to Alan. 

Kevin and I sparred.  He has to be at least six foot one.  He kept me off of him with his long arms. Kevin also displayed a lot of fancy footwork.  He danced away, and I tired myself out chasing him around.  I got in some head shots, body shots, and a near low-blow, but Kevin didn't have a hard time slipping most of the other punches I threw.  Afterward, Kevin and I did a burn out on one of the heavy bags. 

Right now, my back feels stiff.  I don't have the best bed at home; eventually, it'll have to be replaced.  Also I was reaching and missing a lot of shots against Kevin.  That wastes a lot of energy, and also, it can be a bit of a strain on one's muscles.

Slapped By The Coach

Eric, Kevin and myself were in the gym along with Alan on Wednesday night.  The crowd was bigger than Monday's, but not by much. 

Eric and I sparred, and I wimped out in during the beginning of the third round.  I hate when I do that.  Eric got me at the right angle in the solar plexus, and I couldn't go on.  I hadn't been feeling too well all day, but I was going to spar anyway.  But I got taken out.  "I'm sorry!  Are you ok?" Eric asked.  I was after a few minutes, but I was mad with myself for having punked out like that. 

Alan held one of the heavy bags for me to give me pointers about throwing my jabs and rights.  I don't always throw them out completely, especially the jab.  Then we were working on hooks.  I learned that I'm always too close when I throw them.  I should be back a little bit, as not to crowd myself.  Alan was yelling, "Come on!  Shit, if you throw punches hard like that, you'll knock the girls out that you have matches with!"  I had my right hand down at the wrong time, and SLAP!  "Alan!" I protested, as my face was stinging.  "I'm sorry.  But don't drop the hands when throwing the hooks!"  he said.  Only in the gym do guys get to hit me and get away with it. 

Elsewhere, it's been a tripped out week.  An arguement broke out between myself and a guy who attends my church on Monday, and it continued into Tuesday.  I've been hot about that for awhile, so much that my stomach was in knots.  That is never a good thing.  That means that I'm beyond angry.  I don't want to have to revert to my Hothead Hillari days back during my kid/teen/twenty-something years when I would break my foot off in others at the drop of a hat.  I'm old enough to know better to take other tactics to handle a problem, and I should.  But I entertain fantasies, believe that.

About the best news so far this week is that Pastor Roger and Virginia had their baby, a boy who weighs nine pounds.  I joked to Terri, another church member, about how Ma would pull out the maternity card on my late brother Ken when she got mad at him.  Ken was ten pounds when he was born.  There were many times when she'd grumble about the difficulty in pushing out his head when she thought he was being disrespectful towards her.  My brother did have a large rock head; I wish I had one of his old baby pictures to post on here. 

The Distance To The Bottom of the Stairs

What a day. . .a guy who's a member of my church made the grievious mistake of royally pissing me off today.  I don't want to give him much press, or rehash the details of the offense, but in short, he called me a lie.  When I was a kid, to call someone that was akin to calling them a bad curse word.  I called someone that when I was in second grade.  My teacher, Miss Clincy, took me to the janitor's work closet, got a bar of heavy duty soap, and washed my mouth out.  I never forgot it.  I responded to the guy by informing him that I do believe in pushing back, and I dropped him from my list of friends on Facebook. 

Afterwards, I remembered hearing a story of an aunt of mine who pitched her husband head first down a flight of stairs for saying something out of turn to her.  Then I pictured the stairs at church, wondering about the distance to the bottom.  Luckily, I was able to go to the boxing gym and take out my frustrations there.

Outside of Alan, J and I were the only two who showed up to the gym.  J was willing to spar, so we went for three rounds.  "Don't hit me in my head," she half-joked, and I tried not to do so.  I directed the punches mostly at her sides and stomach. 

Poor Alan was limping because he had taken a fall the day before.  His ankle was swollen, and his right leg was hurting.  "Did you go to the doctor?" I asked, assuming that he didn't because he's a man.  Men are notorious for not seeing doctors when they should.  Alan confirmed that no, he hadn't had a doctor look at it, but if it gets worse, he would. 

I did see the Margarito-Pacquiao match.  Before the fight, I saw a news report that showed Margarito mocking the fact that Pacquiao's trainer -- Freddie Roach -- has Parkinson's.  It was so wrong.  I was glad that Pacquiao beat Margarito on that alone.  He was nicer to Margarito during the last two rounds than I would have been.  It was obvious Pac-Man was pulling punches to allow his opponent to finish out the fight.  He could have easily finished him. 

Boxing In A Soccer Venue

I didn't have a fight last night at Chi-Town Futbol.  Yale couldn't catch up with Andrea, whom I fought back in September.  On top of that, my blood sugar was low.  A piece of "wine" candy (a watermelon flavored Jolly Rancher) helped, but I hadn't been training for a fight for yesterday.  I told Yale not to worry about, and I went to the match to observe.

I had never heard of or been inside Chi-Town Futbol before last night.  It's near Cermak and Throop, in an industrial area.  It's main business is indoor soccer, and it boasts two fields for teams to play the game.  The boxing match was in the back of the building.  It was a cool place.  I'll have to come back down there sometime to take in a soccer game.

Most of the boxing matches were good.  I love watching the little boys fight.  They don't have a lot of fear, and they don't seem very concerned about getting hurt.  There were some scrappy little boys mixing it up last night.  Once the small boys were done, it was time for the teens and twenty-somethings to battle.  Scottsdale Park was well respresented, as was CYBA.  Bill had one guy in it from Hamlin, and Antonio had a couple of guys from Chicago Fight Club participating. 

I was surprised to learn that the person behind the promotion organization that put on the show along with Yale, was a woman.  I've seen female boxing managers, referees, announcers, coaches and fighters, of course, but that was the first time I knew of a woman who was a boxing promoter.  Good for her!

Three Rounds

Hayk came in, but had to run back out to pick up his brother.  For about a half-hour after that, I was the only one in the gym, surveying the damage. 

A water pipe had burst earlier.  The field house staff did their best to stop the flow, but plumbers will have to come in and do a more permanent solution.  Barry had a lot of vintage boxing memorabilia, mostly posters, over in the area by the coach's desk.  Only a few posters could be saved; the rest were damaged and had to be thrown away.  The coach's desk, a file cabinet, and the lockers had been pulled away from the wall.  Luckily, there was no water seepage into my locker.

Jamil came in about a few minutes before Alan, who had called Mary earlier to say he would be late.  Jamil and I sparred for three rounds, and it was tough.  Jamil is a southpaw, and Alan kept telling me to throw rights instead of constantly leading with my left jab all the time.  I was usually able to catch Jamil in corners, where I would try to follow Alan's instructions to "work the sides, then go up to the head, and throw some uppercuts". 

The usual hot flashes showed up after the sparring was over.  Alan laughed because I had picked up the box fan and put it right next to my face.  "From now on, you have to do three rounds or more during sparring," he said.  "Okay," I gasped, still trying to catch my breath.  There was a time when I regularly did three or more rounds, but somewhere over the years, I slowed down.  I'm gonna have to pick up that pace again.  I won't be fighting this Saturday at the boxing show that Yale has going, but most likely, I'll be fighting at Brooks Park next month.

Danny came in even later. When 9:00 rolled around, Alan announced that it was time to go.  However, Danny was in the back of the ring, using a medicine ball.  "Come on, Danny, we gotta go!  Why do you come in so late?" Alan said.  "I only live two blocks away," Danny grinned. 

Poor Man's Sport

Jay, a friend of Alan's, stopped by the gym Monday night.  Ed B. and Hatk were walking around the ring during the rest period in-between rounds of sparring.  "Boxing is a poor man's sport," Jay commented, and Ed B. and I agreed.

I remember Steve saying something similar back in the day.  Certain sports, like tennis, horse racing, and professional ice skating, with a few exceptions, tend to be populated by the upper middle class and rich.  Some sports require a big layout of money in order to participate.  Not so boxing.  Show up with wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants or shorts, a decent pair of gym shoes and a pair of hand wraps, and you're good to go. 

Jay also said that Chicago is a "cemetary" for those who wish to turn professional.  There seems to be a long-standing agreement that there's not much boxing talent nor opportunities in the Midwest, period.  "Guys may get 10, 15 fights maybe," Jay said, "but then they run into a boxer from elsewhere and get stopped."  I read the boxers' standings in The Ring magazine, and there are very few pro boxers out of this area.  I don't know what that's about, but there are good fighters around.  Breaks may be hard to come by, but all hope is not out of the window. 

Alan asked Kevin if he wanted to fight at Seward next week, but Kevin grinned sheepishly and said "no".  "You want a fight at Brooks?  With the same girl you fought at our show?" Alan asked me.  "Yeah, I'd like to get another trophy on my birthday," I grinned. 

Good Exchanges

Eric came in and announced that he's a dad again.  The next day after the last time he was in the gym, his wife gave birth to a boy.  Fortunately, labor did not have to be induced.  That was great news.

Hayk (I misrepresented his name as Ike previously, and I hope I'm spelling it right now) came in, as did Danny and Jamil.  Hayk and Jamil sparred; Hayk gave Jamil a lot of good pointers while they were in the ring.  Eric also sparred with Hayk.  Alan kept pointing out to them at various times, "Good exchange."

A good exchange is when the boxers trade a series of good, well-executed punches.  I ended up sparring with Eric, with whom I had never sparred before.  I learned quickly that he hits rather hard, especially when a jab landed square on my nose.  I felt that I was better at deflecting and patting down his punches than I usually am with someone who has longer arms than I.  Eric backed up, then came in, and I threw a bolo punch (overhand right).  It connected.  Alan said, "That was the best I've ever seen you throw that punch."  After the bell rang, Eric said, "It landed a little behind my neck, but it was thrown well.  You got me."

Around 8:45 PM, Josh came bouncing into the gym.  He told Alan that he tried to sign up online, but received a message that registration was unavailable.  It's a little too early for him to sign up for the winter session, anyway.  However, it would be a good idea to pay for the rest of the Fall session.  Neither Josh or Alan needs to incur Mary's wrath. 

Feeling Out of Sorts

Alan was parking his car just as I walked up to the field house last night.  We were the first ones in the gym.  Jamil came in, and so did Leon.  Leon was sporting a beard, and he was talking about sparring and getting fights.

My main gym bag has been light these days.  I try not to carry a whole lot of stuff in it anymore. Have to save wear and tear on my shoulder.  It needs to be aired out more than I usually remember to do that.  Inside is my headgear, mouthpiece, bag gloves, a couple of pairs of handwraps, first aid supplies, lotion, feminine sanitary products, lip balm.  The other gym bag I own has various items, including workout clothes, other handwraps and CDs.  That bag I used to take up to church to work out, that is, until someone stole the good boom box.  A new radio was brought, but I transitioned back to workout out at home when the old radio was stolen. 

Truth be told, I've gone back to only exercising while at the boxing gym.  The demands of paralegal classes have knocked out the other two days of the week that I would like to work out.  They have to be put back in, however.  I was fooled into thinking menopause would not be that much of a problem, based on my mother's easy experience with it.  But suddenly, I've been hit with bouts of irritability, and a bit of what feels like depression.  Extra exercise might help alleviate that; I didn't feel like this during the summer when I was exercising four days a week, I know that. 

Menopause and Boxing

I sparred with Jamil last night, and I had to keep remembering that he's a southpaw.  I didn't use my left hand enough to tap down his incoming rights.  Afterwards, Jamil told me that I got him good with shots to the stomach.  He did stop me a few times by grabbing my arms. 

Jamil expressed doubts about taking a fight at Seward next month.  I hope that he changes his mind.  He has wanted to get a fight for awhile at the Park District shows, and hasn't been able to get one. 

It was quiet again last night, because the crowd was small.  J didn't come in, and neither did the other women who signed up for the Fall session.  Outside of Jamil, Jamelle and Danny were on hand.  I'm beginning to believe that the adult boxing program does make some money.  But participants often put down their money then show up on and off or not at all.

I was not feeling that well on Monday due to menopause.  I try to work through them, especially in terms of exercise.  However, the hormones were seriously out of whack, and nothing seemed to work.  It started at work when as usual, one of two annoying people who regularly show up on Monday morning for the food pantry tried to throw their non-existent weight around.  I often hear that person trying to enforce their opinions on the other food pantry patrons.  That particular individual has rubbed me the wrong way for two years now.  They act like that I should acknowledge them whenever I see them.  But here's what they don't get:  Heather, who was the church secretary before me, is a very nice person.  She was also very tolerant of that particular person.  I'm not that accommodating. I've snapped on that person once, and I pointedly ignore them every time I see them.  Yet, they continue to say inane things in the hopes that I will validate their existance, which will never happen.

I told Pastor Roger that if he hears me snapping on that individual -- again -- it'll probably be mostly due to menopausal irritability.  That person just missed being blasted by my tongue on Monday.  Pastor told me that I should rely on God to help control my responses to people; that person as well as the other clueless wonder who shows up on Monday (whose crime is always trying to scam the pantry) is not my enemy, and so on.  I'm guessing that the Pastor is not totally knowledgeable about menopause, and that a woman's anger/rage/irritability is very real and heightened during that time.  I felt my fists forming into balls when confronted with that smart aleck individual who attends the food pantry.  The only reason I didn't cut them down was that I kept reminding myself that I was at work as well as at church.  But there's always a wrong day, a wrong hour, and a wrong second for some character to approach me, and I might not be able to hold back my hormones the next time. 

The hormonal attack definately slowed me down in the gym on Monday, and I'm glad I didn't have an opportunity to spar that night.  I doubt that it would have turned out that well.  I do believe that boxing, because it's such a complete workout, helps keep a lid on some of my menopause symptoms.  But it's still early in the game.  I might have anywhere from a year to ten years to have to live with it.

Why Things Are The Way They Are

Last night, Alan told me that Mary asked him why the numbers of people in the adult boxing program were down.  Over the past few weeks, there has been a noticeable drop off in people coming to the gym.  It seems to be that way in the youth boxing program, too.  I have my own theories.

1.  Boxing vs. MMA
Since the rise of mixed martial arts began a few years ago, boxing has been derided as "the sport that old people like".  MMA's fans are mostly younger, under the age of 35 years.  They cite that MMA matches are quicker and more exciting than boxing matches.  Indeed, boxing used to be on the same level as baseball, football, and basketball.  Matches were shown regularly on network television back in the day.  Now unless one has cable, one can't see boxing often, and even some of the cable outlets don't broadcast as many matches as they used to do.  Also, there doesn't seem to be as much of the confusion and underhandedness in MMA that has characterized professional boxing for the past decade or so.  When there are matches to be made in MMA, they are usually done.  People are still going 'round and 'round about a Mayweather-Pacquiao match that now looks to be dead in the water, among other boxing matches that should be made, but haven't been.  There are a lot of people who are frustrated with the state of boxing, and I can't blame them.

2.  People Are Uneducated About Boxing
As I've noted on this blog many times, too many people walk up in a boxing gym all hyped up without having done their homework.  Some think they know all there is to know about boxing since they've seen a few matches on HBO, Showtime and ESPN.  Too many think their street fighting skills will translate to the ring easily.  A lot of women in particular expect a boxing gym to operate like Women's Workout World or the East Bank Club, and are surprised to find that they don't work like that.  The lack of knowledge leads many to drop out of the sport before they get into it well enough.

3.  The Cost
I've wondered why boxing program fees vary across the Chicago Park District.  It appears that Loyola Park has one of the highest fees among the Park District gyms (but I could be wrong).  The average age of people who come into Loyola Park Boxing is around 25 years of age, and they are predominately male.  From what I've observed, most of the young men that have come through are struggling to make it.  They either are looking for jobs, working temporary gigs here and there or trying to stretch the short money they receive from the jobs they have.  Some have responsibilities, such as their own young children to take care of, or older parents/guardians whom they are trying to help out.  Quite a few are attending school, and that's another bill to deal with.  Forty dollars every two months or so is a lot of money to someone who's already on a tight budget.

4.  The Sparring Issue
If one plans to compete, sparring is essential.  When Steve was the coach, we'd often go to other Park District gyms to get in extra sparring practice.  The coaches and boxers from the other gyms would come up to Loyola Park in return.  This would happen a lot around the time fights were on the horizon, like the Chicago Golden Gloves tournament, for example.  That has not been the case since the gym re-opened under Alan's watch in late 2008.  The rules have tightened, and Mary does not want anyone in the gym who hasn't paid to be there.  I understand; it's a liability issue.  I don't dig people just showing up looking for a freebie workout, either, especially where security in the gym is concerned.  But a boxer and their coach is not going to pay a full term fee just to come to another field house occasionally to get some sparring in.  There should be a reciprocal agreement among Park District boxing gyms in terms of sparring.  The way to keep down conflicts and confusion is to always make sure that the field house manager is aware that a coach and their boxers know in advance that they are coming by to spar. Coaches shouldn't just make arrangements between themselves and leave the field house manager out of the loop. Boxers from one field house shouldn't just show up to another field house on their own. Their coach should be with them, so that both coaches can monitor the sparring that takes place.  Word gets around that there is good sparring to be had, then that may prompt some to want to sign up for boxing.

5.  The Audience Has Changed and Become Smaller
The last professional fight I went to, there were a lot of empty seats in the stadium.  If you saw it on cable, the cameras made it look like the crowd was bigger than it actually was.  Boxing, unfortunately, has become a niche sport over the past couple of decades.  I noticed that the spectators were largely Hispanic, and much of the advertising was geared toward that ethnic group.  Many Hispanics are still strong supporters of the sport, and there is a major Hispanic presence in boxing these days.  However, whites and African-Americans don't seem to be as enthusiastic about boxing like they used to be.

The Possibility of Hurt

Ed B. came in Monday night and announced that he plans to go pro soon.  I encouraged him to go for it.  He's young, and he's hungry.  Ed B. might as well do it now and see where it goes.  I want to see both his and JJ's debut pro fights when they happen.  Ed B. also goes to school with plans to be a social worker.

I talked to Yale yesterday about getting a fight in November at a boxing event that he's involved with.  He's going to try and get in touch with Andrea, whom I fought in the Loyola Boxing show back in September, and see if she wants a rematch.  Alan told me that I might need a license to participate in that.  Uh-oh.  I'll never have a problem updating my coach's license.  Getting another boxing license with my health issues is another story.  Oh well.  Ed B. told me, "You should have been in the Olympics by now.  For real!"  "I have fantasies about going pro, but they're just that -- fantasies," I said. 

I picked up the DVD copy I had made of the tape recording that Barry made of September's boxing show Sunday afternoon. The first fight was missing the first two rounds, and the tape cut off before the end of the last fight.  Other than that, all the other bouts were on tape.  What Professor and Willie told me about my match with Andrea was true:  at the beginning of one round, I threw punches right after we touched gloves, and I didn't throw many left jabs.  I'm not a natural southpaw, so I don't know why I was favoring my right cross. 

J came in after being missing for a minute.  Alan asked what happened, and she replied that she'd had headaches for days after the last time she sparred.  Guess who she was sparring with?  I swear that sometimes, I don't realize how hard I'm hitting.  I was alarmed when I heard that news.  "The doctors gave me Tylenol," J said.  "Did they do any tests?" I asked.  "No, but the headaches went away.  I'm fine now," she said. 

Yes, boxing can be a dangerous sport.  The object of the game is orchestrate punches like a chess game in order to best your opponent.  Sometimes, great damage is inflicted on both participants in the ring.  I've had ribs bruised, lips busted, numerous bruises and have showed up to work glassy-eyed after getting a concussion.  Things happen.  But it is never my intention to hurt someone so badly that they can't function for awhile, or God forbid, they can't function period.  I would probably have to sit down for a long time if I ever seriously hurt somebody.  Yet in this sport, there's always the possibility of a hurt.  You just have to try to avoid it if you can, and deal with it if it comes to that.

Another Fall Night In The Gym

It was very quiet in the gym, when I realized the radio wasn't on.  I turned it on before Jamil and Ralphie sparred.  Even with people in the gym, the place can seem very silent at times.

Ralphie had about seven rounds of sparring.  He was in with Jamil about four times, and in the ring with me twice.  Jamil is very good at throwing double jabs with his right hand (he's a southpaw), but Ralphie didn't get caught very often.  He's very good at slipping and ducking. 

Jamelle, Danny and Eric did not spar.  Eric told me his wife's date to give birth to their son was yesterday, but no baby yet.  They'll be seeing the doctor tomorrow to make a decision about whether to induce labor or not.  Meanwhile, Heather and Johan, members of my church, finally had their baby daughter yesterday. 

Yale stopped in with news of a boxing match to take place in November.  He asked to make an event page for it on Facebook, and I did.  Fres Oquendo and "King David" Estrada are scheduled to meet and greet fans at the event.

As I was packing up to go at the end of the evening, I thought to myself that even if I could not compete and/or do the workout anymore, I would still be involved in boxing for the rest of my life.  I just enjoy the atmosphere and comraderie so much that I could not see myself not having it in my life.  Where this is most apparent is if I've had a rough day or a so-so day before arriving at the gym.   Boxing just seems to make things better. 

The Smell of Varnish

Tonight was the second time I was greeted by the strong smell of varnish when I entered the field house.  Maintenance laid it on heavy in the gym last week, and I had the fan on full blast to air it out.  "They put a second coat on, and my eyes were watering," staff member Carolyn told me.  I had the fan on again tonight, but it got too cold in the gym, and I had to turn it back off.

Only Jamelle, Danny, Mike L., Charlene, and Jamil were in the gym tonight.  "Where is everybody?" Charlene asked.  "It thins out when it gets cold outside.  But in January, it'll get crowded because of people training for the Golden Gloves," Alan answered. 

Charlene and I sparred, and Alan kept telling me to roll and come up with a hook.  But Charlene has very long arms, and I had to figure out how to get past those first.  I was able to get in a hook here and there, but I took more hits than I gave.  I tried to focus on being an inside fighter, but once again, it was a challenge avoiding her arms.  My chin was up too often, and I ate a lot of punches.  Afterwards, I watched Jamelle and Jamil.  Jamil got three rights in succession on Jamelle (Jamil is a southpaw), and he caught Jamelle more times in the face.  Alan told Jamelle during a break, "If you catch him with a good punch, you could send him flying to outer space."  Jamelle got a few in, but I don't think he hurt Jamil much.  Jamelle's form was very good. 

Taking It To The Canvas

There was a lot of sparring activity in the gym on Wednesday.  A lot of guys on hand, and as usual, I found myself to be the only female on the premises.  "You wanna spar today?" Alan asked.  "Yeah, depending on who's available.  Otherwise, don't worry about it," I told him.  I ended up in the ring with Ralphie.  I have a habit of smothering someone against the ropes and in corners.  "If you smother him," Alan said from behind the ropes, "he can't throw any punches."  In other words, I had to give the man some room to breathe.  Ralphie grabbed my arms at one point to cut my punches.

Carlos returned to Energizer Bunny mode, as he was in with Jamil and Ralphie.  I wish I hadn't left my camera at home.  I could have gotten a good shot of Carlos' son Justin, watching his father spar with great interest.  Professor sparred with Jamil, I think.  I had my back turned while I worked on the bags.

Barry left a message last night to say he didn't see anyone from Loyola at Hamlin's boxing show.  Maybe I should have gone, regardless of the fact that I didn't have a fight.  I like Hamlin's boxing shows; there are a lot of good fighters at that field house.  I was busy fussing with an extra credit assignment that I needed to turn in to my Business Law instructor.  I took the video of Loyola's boxing show up to Evanston earlier yesterday to have it converted to DVD, but I forgot that the Wolf Camera location there is gone.  I'll have to go elsewhere, either later today or over the weekend to get it done.

I had told Pastor Roger about the religious conversations that I have often with Alan.  Pastor had suggested that I come to Sunday School on Missions Sunday later this month.  There will be a teaching on how to talk to Jewish people about Jesus.  My thing is this: most know that I'm a Christian.  I do mention it from time to time, depending on the conversation.  But I don't believe in beating people over the head with the Bible.  It annoys me when other Christians come to me like that.  If someone else is dead-set in their beliefs, then there is not much that I or anyone else can say to change their minds.  At that point, it's best to respect their viewpoint and stop trying to do a military-style conversion.

Alan laughed as he was driving me home, "Your pastor thinks I'm trying to convert you."  I had to laugh at that thought, too.  "I find it interesting to know," I told him.  I know some things about Judaism, but not a lot, and I suspect that a lot of Christians, unless they've spent time in theology school, don't know a lot about it either.

Alan and the Little Boy

Deep voiced Mike came in last night with a five-year-old boy whom he introduced as his cousin.  The boy put on some sparring gloves, and Alan attempted to show him how to keep his hands up and throw punches.  The little boy was very shy.  Several of us in the gym encouraged the little guy on. 

I sparred with J (I had refered to her as Kyra, but I was incorrect), a very quiet young woman who started coming to the gym this fall.  Alan gave his usual instruction to me to throw punches downstairs and then go upstairs.  I did it a little too well, as I caught her in the ribs.  We both had to stop to give her time to regroup and catch her breath.  During both rounds, I got hooks in and dead-on punches to the face.

Later, Alan held the punch shield for me.  Mike's little cousin watched us with interest.  After Alan and I did a couple of rounds, the older man invited the little boy into the ring.  They got into a mock boxing match, with Alan on his knees to give Mike's cousin more of an advantage.  I was hanging over the ropes loudly saying to Mike's cousin: "Get him, get him!  There you go!  Body shots! Get him in the jaw!  Hooks!"  Alan pretended like he was being overwhelmed by the boy, and he fell out on the canvas.  "Don't you feel strong?" Mike asked his cousin.  "Yes!" the little boy said enthusiastically.  "I'm going to get you," Alan pointed to the boy in jest.  I couldn't help but think that Alan may have been remembering good times playing with his son like that when Matthew was small.

Eric came in after being out for a little while.  He said that he may not be back in again for a couple of weeks.  His wife is due to give birth to their second son any day now.

Looks like I won't have a fight at Hamlin this week.  Bill told Alan that the three women fighters he has are already matched up.  There are several more Chicago Park District boxing shows between now and early December; I may get another fight or two before Christmas. 

The Punch Before The Bell

Erica and I were sparring Wednesday night.  She has a lot of power.  It is hard to push her back once she gets started.  We did a couple of rounds.  She and I were both really tired at the end of round one, but Alan told us both to walk around the ring and breath.  It helped, but it wasn't long into the second round where I began struggling with stamina again.  At the end of the round, a second before the bell rang, Erica caught me right in the nose.  I fell up against the ropes.  She hugged me.  "Are you okay?" Erica asked.  "I'm fine. That was a good one!" I said, and it was true. 

Jamelle (not Jamal as I had been spelling his name) sparred with Adam.  Both of them were worn out at the end of their couple of rounds.  Charlene and Erica sparred for one round before I got in the ring with Erica.  Other than that, it was kind of quiet in the gym with everybody doing their own thing.  Most of the new people were not in attendance.

I keep feeling my nose.  It's been punched in more times than usual.  Back in 2003, I had an operation to correct a deviated septum.  If I keep dropping my hands, I'll be back to have it fixed again.

A search around the gym for the T-shirts that were not given out during the boxing show didn't turn them up.  Barry was going to leave them somewhere for me, along with the videotape of the show so I could have it put on DVD.  The plan also included giving shirts to Professor and Evangelina as they participated in the show.  Maybe I wasn't looking in the right places.  I'll ask Barry again where the goods are. 

Three In The Ring

Carlos returned last night with his son Justin in tow.  "You've gotten taller.  Soon, I'm going to have to look up to you," I told the boy, who's now in first grade.  "So am I," Carlos grinned.  He worked a little bit in the ring with his cousin Erica.  He was popping her -- lightly, however -- in her face and stomach.  "You're not wearing headgear?" I asked her.  "I'm okay," she said.  She had told me previously that her and Carlos wrestled each other a lot when they were kids. 

Earlier, Erica and I sparred.  She hit me in the nose twice.  The second nose hit came close to having me laid out on the canvas.  I also took some hard body shots.  Charlene and I sparred before that; she's 6 foot 1, a full foot taller than I.   I practiced on deflecting jabs by patting by swatting hers down. 

Adam, whom I sparred with last, was a surprise in regards to how hard he hits.  I bobbed and weaved to avoid his right, only to catch it on the top of my head.  Then he kept catching me with numerous body shots.  I'm surprised I don't feel any of them today.  But due to my delayed reaction to pain, tomorrow may be the day the pains show up.  

Shanice was another new person in the gym last night.  She and Charlene are about the same height.  Those two would make good sparring partners based on their height alone. 

Looks like the rematch between I and Andrea may be on.  I am free to go to Hamlin Park's boxing show next week.  Alan, however, wasn't sure about if anybody else was going to be able to go. Jamil didn't come in last night, and neither did Eric.  I'm not sure if Professor wants a fight at Hamlin.  Carlos just got back in the game, so it's a little too soon to talk about him getting a fight. 

Giving A Knee

Now I am even more aware of being hit in my eyes.  I sparred with David last night, and got popped in my left eye.  On Monday night, Evangelina got me in my right eye.  Perhaps I will need quad-focals (I already wear tri-focals) after it's all over with.  Alan had told David "you can hit her" when I was in the ring, but when Erica got in with David next, Alan told him to take it easy.  "Why did you tell him to take it easy on her, but to beat me?" I laughed.  I also sparred with Jeannie, but very lightly.  I let her get more hits on me than I did on her. 

I need to call Barry because he has a DVD of all the fights that took place at the boxing show last Friday.  I'll pay for a copy, if that's the case.  I really need to look at my fight again.  Cynthia, a staff member at Loyola Park, told me that I had given Andrea a knee during our fight.  "You were fighting her like she had stolen your purse and you were doing MMA!" she laughed.  "I gave her a knee?" I said, shocked.  "I was hoping the referee didn't catch it," Cynthia continued.  If that happened like that, I glad he didn't see it, either.  That could have been either a point deduction or a disqualification.  It was not intentional, believe me! 

Ralphie had good news: his wife gave birth to a boy, whom they named Gabriel Rafael.  "I'm Rafael, my dad is Rafael. . .I decided to give that to him as his middle name," Ralphie smiled.  Mother and child are doing fine, as they say. 

Walking In As A Champ

On the way to the gym, I ran into a neighbor, Ginny, who was out walking her dog.  "You did what?  I forbid you to fight," she said when I told her about my fight last Friday.  She was so surprised that I had actually got into the ring.  She asked me my age, and said, "That's about the same age my daughter is.  You have to be careful!"

It occurred to me that I was the only one in the adult boxing program who won a match at last Friday's boxing show.  Everyone who didn't see the match was congratulatory when they found out about the win.  "The most beautiful part of your match was when you touched gloves with your opponent, and she thought she was just going to back up.  Then you hit her right after you touched gloves," Professor said.

Earlier in the day, I showed as much of the fight as I could to Jena and her cute little boy, Nico (Nicholas).  There were Internet problems at work.  "Looks like you were pretty aggressive there," Jena said.  I kept coming forward, but so did Andrea.  After church service on Sunday, Ann took one of my hands and said, "I can't believe you hit people with these little hands.  You're tough and feminine at the same time!"  Pastor wondered if I knew what the scores were for my fight, but I didn't ask about them. 

Alan asked me about doing a rematch at Hamlin in a couple of weeks.  Unfortunately, I have to take a final in one of my Paralegal classes that night, so I can't do it then.  But we'll probably go to Fuller, Seward and Brooks' boxing shows as they come up.  I'll be happy to do a rematch.

I sparred twice, with both Evangelina and Erica.  Erica got me hard in the chest and the stomach.  "That must come from sparring with your cousin Carlos," I grinned.  Alan commented, "This is the first time that only the girls sparred in the evening." 

Charlene and Jeannie did some very, very light sparring.  Alan stood in the ring with them, giving directions, as they wore no headgear or mouth pieces.  Jeannie was flinching when Alan was showing her how to throw her jabs.  Jeannie was putting her punches all the way out, but both Alan and I reminded Charlene to extend her punches. 

I'm still sore from Friday, and now I'm sore from sparring tonight on top of that.  I need to take Terry's (a woman at my church) advice and get a hold of some green rubbing alcohol to soak in.  I know I'm going to be hurting a lot in ten and twenty years because of boxing.  I can at least do something to ease some of the pain today.

The Eighth Fight

Tonight was Loyola Park's Annual Boxing Show ("Boxing Explosion").  There were only about ten fights, and the crowd was small.  The gym where Antonio trains was also having fights tonight, which may have accounted for the low attendance.  My fight was the eighth of the night.  Before leaving the house, I painted my nails red.  I thought it would be fun to box with nail polish on. 

Marquis' fight was first.  He hung in there, but the other kid got more pops in on him, so the winning trophy went to him.  Eric's fight was the third one, I believe.  He won his bout, but I was so busy pacing out of nervousness that I didn't see much of that bout.  Professor had a fight; he ended up on the canvas twice, and taking eight counts despite making a good effort. 

Evangelina's fight was number four and she was up against Meg the fire fighter.  I didn't get a chance to give Evangelina tips ahead of time, since I had fought Meg twice before.  She did well against Meg the first round, but the second and third rounds belonged to Meg.  I kept yelling to her, "body blows!" and Alan kept yelling, "Keep your punches straight!"  Meg picked up another win.  Below is a picture of Evangelina and I in the gym after the boxing show was over.

I met my opponent, Andrea, before our match.  She was wearing a very cool "Fight Like A Girl" T-shirt.  I have a shirt with the same saying, but hers has a rose on it instead of a boxing glove.  We looked to be matched evenly.  Alan said that we both were about the same weight.  But when we got into the ring, and I was staring at her from my corner, she looked a lot more buff than pudgy little me.  "I just may get my ass whipped," I thought.  Alan rubbed my shoulder.  "You know what to do.  You've done this before," he said. 

I kept throwing punches throughout the first round, but I didn't think I landed anything of importance.  The nerves caught up with me when that round ended.  The mouthpiece felt like it was choking me, and I thought I was going to be sick.  Alan was giving me instructions, but all I heard was "body blows" and "Are you okay?"  I was winded, but I went back out for the second round.  Andrea cracked me in my head a few times, which was a hint to me to keep my hands up.  "Come on, Hillari!" I kept hearing Alan yelling, while Cynthia, a staff member at the field house, was yelling, "Get her, Hillari, get her!" from the other side of the gym. 

Alan gave me a look during the rest period between the second and third round.  Later, he told me he was thinking of stopping the match.  I had a feeling that was on his mind, which is why I kept insisting I was fine, when I was close to upchucking.  I was determined to suck it up and make it through the third round.  I kept coming forward, landing punches where I could manage.  Andrea leaped in with several bombs of her own.  Thankfully, the minute finally ended (the amateur matches are one minute per round), and I dragged myself into my corner.  "That was a close fight," Alan grinned, but I thought, "Nah, I don't think so."  After hugging my opponent and shaking the hand of Bill, her coach at Hamlin, I stepped to the middle of the ring, prepared to take another loss.

My mouth dropped open when my name was announced as the winner, and Kitchen, who had refereed the bout, raised my hand in victory.  A few years ago, Anna, who used to attend my church told me, "You're not a fighter because you've never had any fights."  Alan told me as he drove me home, "Hillari, you were a gym rat.  Now you're a fighter."  Willie had held pads for me to get me warmed up before the match.  "You didn't throw many jabs, but you kept moving," he grinned.  Several other people said I never let up on Andria, but I didn't feel I had been as aggressive as I should have been. It is so true that battle plans are forgotten once the bell rings.

But I got the win.  Alan joked that I should bring my trophy to church service.  After he pulled off after dropping me on corner up the street from my house, I said, "Praise God, praise Jesus, all day, forever!"  I was still in shock that I actually won. 

Cuffed In The Ear and Hit In The Eye

There was a good crowd at the gym tonight.  Erica, Adam, Cole, Marvel, Fatima, Jamil, Jamal, Eric, Professor, Evangelina, Kyren (I'll get her name right, yet), plus new persons.  They were David, Jennine, and a tall African-American woman with a delicate voice who's name escapes me at the moment. 

Evangelina and I sparred after Professor and Jamil did.  She got me square in my right eye.  "Oh, no, no!" I thought.  The room went hazy for a moment.  It figures.  I just got the all clear on that eye during a follow-up appointment with the eye doctor yesterday, then I get hit in that eye.  Evangelina loves uppercuts, and I took a good solid one to my mid-section.  Then she had me backed up in a corner, and I slipped and fell.  Earlier, Alan said that she may end up fighting Meg, the woman I fought twice last year.  After the sparring session, I told Evangelina, "You should use that punch to the gut if you end up facing Meg!"  That hit nearly took me out. 

Alan then took out the punch doughnut out and worked on punches with both Evangelina and I.  During my second round on the doughnut, Alan caught me with my hands down.  He reached out and cuffed my right ear.  It stung, and I kept my hands up after that.  During the last 30 seconds of that round, Alan kept yelling at me to keep throwing punches.  I did, but it was not easy.  I laid down on the canvas afterwards.  "One, two, three. . ." Alan grinned, pretending to count me out.  Cole gave me my glasses, which I had laid on the storage bin in the back.  "This is so you can see while you rest," she laughed.

Later, I told Alan about the cuffing. He looked dismayed.  "I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked.  "No," I laughed, "but it reminded me of my dad hitting me like that when he got mad about something I had done or not done." 

Beginning of Fall

On the way to the gym, I was a little disappointed because the sun is not out as it used to be.  It won't be long before the clocks have to be turned back then things will really get depressing in terms of the weather.  But it's a new season at the gym, which means new blood in the place.

The new people are Cole, Marvell, Fatima, Kyran (don't quote me on the spelling) and Jamal.  Alan was really impressed with Marvell's hands.  "He has big, solid hands," Alan said.  Alan joked with Cole trying out sparring, just after Evangelina and I got into the ring to spar.  "On the first day?" I joked with Alan.  "I think I'll go along with what she says," Cole smiled.  Most of the people who were in the gym the last time returned, including long, tall Kevin, who hadn't been in for a few sessions.  Carlos, his cousin Erica, and Adam were no-shows, however. 

Throughout the two rounds that Evangelina and I sparred, I kept thinking to myself, "Keep your hands up!"  Fortunately, I took few hits to the head, and more importantly, none to my eyes.  But I did catch one in the kidneys and one in the gut.  "You did get some good hits in, but you have to go more for the body," Alan told me later.  It is so hard to be an inside fighter if you can't easily get around your opponent's arms.  I'm hoping that whomever I'm matched up with on Friday has short arms.

Professor wants a fight this Friday, but he was thinking that maybe he might not be matched up if someone near his weight can't be found.  He proposed to Jamil that they fight on Friday if neither of them gets a match.  "Oh, no!  I ain't ready for that kind of action yet, man," Jamil said, referring to how intense Professor fights.  "That's not unusual for two people from the same field house to fight each other at a boxing show," I told Jamil.  A few years ago, I witnessed two teenaged girls, who were both training at Garfield Park, participate in a match at Garfield's boxing show.  On top of that, the girls were related to each other -- they were sisters.

I made an event page for my fight on Facebook, and invited people.  Of course, most of the church folks indicated they don't want to go because they don't want to see me get hurt (or see me hurt someone else).  My niece, Jalissa, may have moved to Chicago by then, so maybe she'd be able to go. 

Summer Cold Problem

Didn't go to the gym Wednesday night because of having caught a late summer cold.  I was at home both Wednesday and Thursday, trying to rush the sickness away.  I went to work this morning, so I feel somewhat better, but what a pain. 

Another pain -- it appears that someone has walked with two radios at church, one of which I used whenever I worked out in the church's gym.  I was coming down with the cold Tuesday, but I was going to do a workout.  Then I noticed the radio I use was not in its usual spot.  I had planned to transition back to working out at home with DVDs come next month due to time restraints brought on by my going to school.  I also didn't want to drag my gear back and forth once the weather got cooler and the sun wasn't out as much.  I guess I'm going to do that transition earlier than expected now.  

Professor left a message on the Internet for me that he plans to fight in Loyola Park's boxing show next Friday.  He asked me to let Alan know.  I called Alan and left a message on his voice mail.  Now there's just the matter of finding someone to match Professor up with. 

Monday's Workout Time

Alan and I were the only ones in the gym for almost an hour last night until Jamil came in.  No one else showed up.  Next week begins the fall session, so I guess they'll all come in then.

I had a good workout, and one of the toughest I've had in awhile.  I told Alan that my right eye was good for the time being.  He had me working with increasing intensity on the heavy bags, and on the punch doughnut, which he held for me.  Later, Jamil and I did burn out (interval training) on the heavy bags.  I was worn out and sore, but it was good for me. 

Today, I will concentrate more on the cardio aspect.  I have to make up for lost time, since I was wasn't sparring between eye doctor appointments.  I have a follow-up eye appointment next week; here's hoping that turns out well.

Bill at Hamlin told Alan that he had a beginning fighter to match me up with for Loyola Park's boxing show next Friday.  Jamil wants to fight, but Alan told him there may not be a match for him, depending on who's available.  Anthony may fight, and Alan also put Evangelina's name down as a possibility.  It's up in the air whether Barry will have many kids lined up for the boxing show, because so many of them have not been in the gym lately.  There's not much time left to train.  

A Cool, Quiet Night

Fall seems to be starting early, as temperatures in the day aren't as hot, and the nights qualify as jacket weather.  I wore my Ringside sweatjacket to the gym last night, but I probably could have worn an even heavier jacket.  At least the gym was not the sweatbox it usually is this time of year.  I didn't even have to put the fan on.

Alan was not in the gym last night because of Rosh Hashanah.  Ralphie was surprised to learn that Alan is Jewish.  "Oh, I knew that Josh was, but I never knew that about Alan," he said.  Josh, a rabbi, was also out that evening.

Carlos was outside with his cousin Erica and her friend Adam as I walked up to the field house.  He's was out of the gym all summer due to his work schedule.  "I'm gonna be back in next week," he told me.  It was good to see him, and to hear that news.

Anthony and Eric made up the rest of the participants in the gym last night.  No sparring took place because Alan was out.  The radio was on, tuned to WGCI-FM, as usual.  Anthony shook his head.  "Is this what they call music nowadays?" he said.  I had to agree with him.  As I've mentioned here before, the only time I hear that particular radio station is when I'm at Loyola Park.  I don't put it on at home or at work.  I echo the thought of a button I see from time to time: "It's not that I'm so old, but today's music really sucks." 

Even with the radio on, there was a quietness in the gym.  The rest of the field house was as quiet as a tomb.  Basketball season is over, so no kids or teens were filling the halls.  Mary and most of her staff were in a meeting that ended awhile before the gym closed. 

My workout was deliberately slow and measured, as I focused on really throwing punches correctly, in particular, uppercuts and hooks. 

Sniffle and Sneeze

No boxing tonight due to Labor Day.  I could have gone down to the church's gym and got in a workout, but choose to spend time with Glynn and Margaret's cat, Esther.  The problem is, cat dander and kitty litter aggravates my allergies.  Oh, I can take over-the-counter medicine, but it takes awhile to kick in.  I've gone through a lot of tissues today.

It seems that I should be sniffling and sneezing all the time at Loyola Gym.  The place does have a dry, musty smell, and there is dust.  But I guess I've been going there for so long that I'm mostly immune to it. 

I have half a mind not to work out at the church's gym tomorrow, but if I don't, then there's just Wednesday.  I doubt that I would have another chance to get in an extra workout this week.  It's too close to Loyola Park's boxing show on the 24th for me to slack off.  A friend at church, Jena, was amazed to find out that I have no idea who I will fight on that night.  "Usually, people don't know until they get to the fight," I told her.  There's also the possibility of not having a match made at all.  I've been in that situation too many times before, which is why I was so thrilled to finally have the two fights I did late last year. 

Seeing To Box

Wednesday was another night of limited sparring action, as only Anthony and Jamil got into the ring.  Randy begged off sparring, stating that he wasn't keeping his hands up enough, and wanted to work on doing that. 

I suspected that a lot of the people who were in the gym during the summer session assumed that the gym wouldn't be open during the break period.  That's probably why the number of people have been so light lately.  Some of them will return later this month when the Fall session starts and be surprised that they could have come in during the break.

Carlos's cousin returned to the gym along with a friend, a very good looking guy named Adam.  They signed up for fall, but I told them they could get a workout in that night.  The only thing they wouldn't be allowed to do was sparring.  Carlos's cousin said that Carlos would be returning to the gym soon.  His work schedule has kept him out lately.

Josh showed up ten minutes before closing time wanting to work on pads.  We worked with the punch doughnut instead.  "Ten minutes is better than nothing," he stated, but the time frame doesn't allow for much of a workout either.

I had another eye exam yesterday, a more comprehensive one, at the Illinois Eye Institute.  The floaters in both eyes are something I'll have to live with.  They are more of the result of aging than injury.  The doctor, a very bubbly woman, said that she saw nothing in my right eye that looked serious.  Both her and the student doctor, Tracy, suggested something that Alan has told me time and time again:  to keep my hands up and not take so many knocks to the head.  They told they were glad that I had come in to check out the white flashes (which have stopped) in my right eye.  If anything else seems out of place, they told me to call them.

It appears that I'm good to go for having a match on September 24th.  I left a voice mail on Alan's cell to let him know.  Time to intensify the workouts that I've been doing in and out of Loyola Gym.  Not easy to do with all the reading and homework I have to do for school (plus other obligations), but I want to be as ready as I can.  Especially if I'm going to be fighting someone from Hamlin Park again.

Randy and Anthony

The only sparring that took place Monday night was between Randy and Anthony.  Mike L. wants to wait until next week to spar.  I still can't spar because of my right eye, and Danny, to my knowledge, has only sparred once, and that was when Steve was still the coach. 

Alan continually admonished Randy.  "Keep your hands up!  Hands up!  See, that's why you got hit!  You've got to keep your hands up!" he barked.  Randy and Anthony went around a couple of times. 

Once again, we had to go through the door in the basketball gym that leads to the boxing gym.  Alan went around to the main boxing door gym to get it open once the rest of us was inside.  A tall, light-skinned African-American basketball player roamed into the area, asking questions about the program before going back to the game.  Anthony commented after the basketball gym door was closed, "We should leave that door open to get a breeze."  It was crazy hot in the boxing gym, as usual.  "The problem is, when that door is open, the basketball players roam in," I told him.  Some are cool like the aforementioned b-ball player, but there have been some incidents where other basketball players were just obnoxious.  "I wouldn't care if they roamed in and out all the time.  We'd have more air.  You gotta look at the big picture, Hillari!" Anthony laughed.

Alan was telling me that when Carolyn, one of the field house staff persons, opened the door leading to the basketball gym to let us in, she wrinkled her nose.  Carolyn commented on the smell of the gym.  "I never notice it.  She probably got a good whiff because of the smell of the sparring gloves," Alan said.  The gloves are on a table nearest to that particular door.  "It's rare that I notice the smell anymore.  Once in awhile I do, and I go, 'Whoa!', but I've been in here so long that it doesn't bother me," I told him.  

Coming In the Other Door

Alan forgot that he had to attend a wedding on Wednesday night, so he wasn't able to come in.  "Tell the guys there's no sparring," he told me when he called Tuesday afternoon.  I meant to ask him if he had told Mary that he wasn't going to be in.  Rob had to call her to make sure it was okay for the gym to be opened, so she might not have known. The summer session officially ended last week, and we're in a break period.  The fall session doesn't begin until September 20th.  "Mary said it's okay, but don't let anyone spar," Rob informed me.

The gym door was sticky again, so Rob had to let us in through the door that's in the second basketball gym.  Only Anthony, Ralphie and Professor came in.  Professor told me he had a fight at a downtown gym on Thursday night.  I told him that I would try to go.  Later, I remembered that I couldn't because I had to go to paralegal class.  I'll have to ask him how it went the next time I see him.

It was a quiet night, one that ended right at 9:00 PM.  The door leading to the basketball gym had to be left cracked open while we were inside.  If it closed, we would have been locked in.  Luckily, none of the guys playing hoops wandered in.  It's happened in the past.  They were gone at least a half-hour before we left. 

A Room Full of Men

Last night, Anthony asked what happened to Shay.  She hasn't been in for weeks, and she hasn't been heard from.  Joan disappeared after sparring with Shay and getting her lip cut open.  I thought LaShawn was going to come by, but she didn't and Evangelina didn't come in.  So that left me in my usual position as the only woman in the gym.

I ran into Mike L. while walking to the gym.  His friend Jack has gone back to college in St. Louis, so we won't be seeing him for awhile.  Mike is gearing up for getting in some sparring soon, but he wants to wait for a minute.  He just got a new teaching job and doesn't want to start off showing up to work with bruises on his face.  I don't blame him.  It's a trip explaining to people at work why the bruises are there.  If one is a woman, there's the extra problem of people thinking one is a domestic violence victim.

Jamil was quick while sparring with Anthony.  His game has really been improving.  He got in a lot of solid head and body shots.  But Anthony is no slouch, either.  He's learned to calm down a little while in the ring and pick his shots.  Later, Jamil sparred with Ralphie, and he slowed down a bit.  "I need the bucket," he said, and for a second, both Alan and I thought he was going to throw up.  But he was fine. 

I forgot to bring my boxing gear to work today.  I was running late -- again -- so I hopped on my bike in order to get there on time.  The second boxing bag I have, just like the other one which I carry to the gym, is too unwieldy to carry while riding a bike anyway.  I rode the bike for about an hour and a half after work to get some exercise in.

On my way out of church, I spot Pastor and Mark, the intern, returning from lunch.  Mark called out, "Frazier!" which is his nickname for me.  He asked about when I was boxing next.  "I'm supposed to have a fight in September, but I don't know if my eye is going to be okay by then," I replied.  "I heard you telling someone about your eye earlier this morning.  I hope it's okay," Mark said.  "So do I.  I want it to be fine by the time the fight happens because I'd like to win this time," I said. 

Pastor Roger remained silent during this conversation.  Almost seven years ago, when he first took over the pulpit from the retiring Pastor Shackelford, I told Pastor Roger that I boxed.  He had sort of a funny look on his face then.  Sometime later, after I really learned how conservative he is, I asked him was he okay about me boxing.  He said he was fine with it.  But then, this is a guy, judging by other things he's said regarding women, would probably prefer it if more women stayed in traditional roles.  Don't get it twisted -- I'm not knocking him.  I've always liked the guy from day one.  But I always think that while he's probably known many tomboys in his life, Pastor Roger has never come across one like me.  And one who's involved in one of the toughest sports in the world, at that.

Vitreous Trouble

I went to the eye doctor today, praying that some good luck would rub off on me because it was my youngest brother's birthday.  Ken would have been 45 years old today, and he was actually born on a Sunday on a kitchen table in the apartment our family lived in at the time.  It is also the 45th anniversary of when I learned the "here's the steeple, here's the church, open the door and see the people" game that people have been teaching little kids forever.  One of the midwife staff that day taught me that in an effort to keep me occupied while my mother was in labor.

After explaining the recent problems with my right eye (a new floater, white lights flashing), the doctor dilated my pupils with drops to get a better look.  My left eye has a floater, but it's fine.  There is a vitreous detachment in my right eye (and the floater in that eye is an indication of that).  "After four to six weeks if there are no changes with that eye, the possibility of a detached retina goes down.  But come and see me a month from now for a follow up appointment so we can make sure it didn't get worse," the doctor told me. 

As I carefully walked down the street later (dilation of the eyes makes sight blurry for awhile), I wondered how this was going to affect the fight I have next month.  The doctor suggested that if I spar, I shouldn't take any shots to my head at all.  He confirmed what I had suspected:  hits anywhere to the head could affect one's vision.  If I'm not sparring, I won't be getting in the extra practice I need to face my opponent.  Maybe I can do drills instead.

I was just thinking about who may have hit me and caused the eye injury.  But what does that matter?  Stuff like this is usually cumulative most of the time, and I've been boxing since 2001.  I'm still curious as to why it's my right eye and not the left.  I can't remember being hit in my right eye as much as my left eye has been.

Alan called to check up on me this afternoon, and I gave him the report about my eye.  "Didn't that light they shine in your eyes hurt?" he asked.  It was uncomfortable, but the light was the way the doctor had to use to check out the trouble. 

I'm grateful that my sight hasn't deteriorated much.  The eye doctor said that ten years after a diagnosis of diabetes is when the sight problems really kick in (I was diagnosed in 2007).  The capacity to see distances has diminished a little.  If I take care of the diabetes even better than I have been doing lately, I might not need a white cane later on.  I paid for a new pair of glasses, and those will come in a couple of weeks from now. 

Look Out For Flying Headgear

No sparring for me again Wednesday night.  I have an appointment with the eye doctor this weekend, so sparring is on hold until I get the results about that.  Plenty of action in the ring generated by others, however.  First up was Professor and his brother Miles.  Miles threw some solid hits, even more so when he was up against Anthony.  Anthony rallied back in a later round, and caught Miles with some bombs.  "I was proud of how you did," Alan told Anthony later.

Since I could not spar with Evangelina, she got in the squared circle with Randy.  It didn't look like he was hitting hard, but I've been in the ring with him enough to know that he can.  Evangelina got in one while Randy was backing up towards the rope.  His headgear flew off.  "Whoa!  Time out!" I called out.  Alan quickly put his headgear back on, and the action resumed.  Josh commented, "She's aggressive!"  Professor agreed with him.

Randy's headgear flew off two more times, each time right behind a hit from Evangelina.  Both Alan and I noticed that she was slapping at Randy several times.  Both of us suggested that she throw her punches straight on. Randy did catch her in the face a few times, but as usual, Evangelina took it and carried on.  There was a cut on her lip after the last round. 

Matthew (Alan's son) was in with Ralphie.  Matthew brought in his iPod and a speaker, playing a mix of heavy metal and rap.  While he and Ralphie were sparring, a heavy metal song played.  Alan kept telling the guys to take it easy.  During a break, Ralphie laughed, "I think this music is pumping him up!" 

As I guessed correctly, news about possible tearing in the retina in my right eye brought about shock and dismay among the church folks.  I announced the problem during the woman's fellowship gathering on Tuesday night.  Suggestions were made -- again -- for me to give up boxing.  The thought crossed my mind that I may just have to be satisfied with the workout only if I get some funky news from the eye doctor. 

No Eye For Sparring

About two weeks ago, I began to notice white lights flashing in my right eye.  It doesn't seem to happen much during the day, but as the hours go on, the light show begins.  While at the gym on Monday, Alan said that he had noticed the same thing going on in one of his eyes.  Years ago, he'd had some damage to an eye repaired after a retina became detached. The lights had begun to show, indicating tearing in the retina, awhile before he went to a doctor. "You better have that checked out," he told me.

I wasn't much for sparring that night because I was feeling out of sorts.  I came home after work and spent most of the afternoon laying on the couch.  After Alan told me about his eye, I decided to forego sparring for awhile until I can get to an eye doctor.  I don't even remember getting hit in my right eye recently (the left has taken some shots, however).  Can't take a chance on making a potential condition worse, however. 

Once I tell the folks who've always discouraged me from boxing to begin with -- namely, a lot of folks at church -- I'll never hear the end of it.  "See?  We told you that you could get hurt!  Now, you could go blind!" they'll say.  Some will remind me of when Willie, who attends my church, got hit so hard once that he was seeing double for awhile.  "See?  You really need to stop that and do something else!" they'll say. 

It certainly puts the potential fight I have in September at Loyola Park in trouble.  Sigh. . .if I go to the eye doctor and they do find something wrong. . .every time I've gone to the doctor since this century began, something wrong has been found. 

LaShawn surprised me by coming in.  She was the one who sparred with Jamil her first night in the gym.  She also tore her knee up, too.  She figured she had stepped down wrong at some point while sparring.  Luckily, she only needs physical therapy and not surgery.  She said she would back in the gym soon. 

Barry's Boys

Thankfully, my punch mitts were still in the gym today.  Barry was using them with Marquis when I walked in.  "These are great!  They are so light!" he smiled.  I'm glad he was the one who found them, and I didn't mind that he was using them. 

The great news was Kevin won the Junior Golden Gloves Championship in Nevada.  The bad news was that a lot of the younger guys haven't been coming around on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  Diego's been gone since October, having suddenly gone with another trainer.  Only Marquis and Eric were in the gym when I got there.  Later, Jimmy and Sani, two older youngsters, came in. 

Barry and I also talked about the news that Rick, JJ's trainer, won the Master's belt at the Ringside Championship.  Rick is 55 years old.  When I first read about it elsewhere on the 'Net, I thought, "That's what I'm talkin' about!"  Rick had made a comment in the news article about just because men are 50 and over doesn't mean they have to lay down and expire.  That is so true. 

Monday and Randy and I

Evangelina and I sparred on Monday.  It didn't go well for me as I took more hits to the head.  The problem?  Not having my hands up high enough.  It is so easy for someone taller than me to punch down on me.  I never seem to anticipate that, and I get my head handed to me. 

Professor was giving out a lot of advice, and the guys were listening.  He later asked Alan about coaching professional boxers.  Just like Steve before him, Alan said he wanted no part of it.  The big thing is time.  A professional boxing coach has to also act as a manager to an extent.  That means watching tapes of possible opponents, making matches, being more available for training, etc. 

The mystery 190 pound guy who came in that day I missed gym last week was a no show again.  I wish he had showed up, based on the excitement that took place when he was there.

On Wednesday, soft-spoken Randy and I sparred.  He got me in the face several times, but afterwards he said that I successfully popped him in the middle many times.  I didn't think I had touched him at all.  In fact, I never think that I connect half the time I'm in the ring.

Right after Alan said it was time to go home at 9:00 PM, Josh decides he wants to do punch mitts for a minute.  I let him and Mike use my punch mitts, but I'm just now thinking that the punch mitts never made it back into my locker.  Sigh. . .I'll go in the gym to see Barry on Thursday.  I've left my bag gloves out on the gym floor before, and they were still there the next time I came in.  Hopefully, the punch mitts will still be there, too.

Wednesday Night and Friday Night Fights

I learned that I had missed some excitement in the gym this past Monday.  Some 190 pound guy came in and sparred with Ralphie.  Ralphie slipped and fell to the canvas, and the bigger guy hit him while he was down.  Professor was looking for the guy on Wednesday.  "I don't feel like sparring, but if that guy comes in, I'll spar with him," he said.  Nobody could remember the guy's name, and he didn't come in that night. 

I held pads for Professor, but that's something I don't do well.  I don't have enough practice with it.  Professor borrowed my pads to hold them for other people.  From what I could hear, Professor did well holding the punch pads.  He was giving a lot of advice to people.

ESPN2's "Friday Night Fights" was in town to tape last night at the UIC Pavillion.  Antonio's fight wasn't taped for live broadcast, unfortunately, and his was the last of the evening.  It was quick.  His opponent, a guy named Bokhart, didn't have good balance.  Antonio clipped him a few times in the head, and Bokhart stumbled.  Antonio never stopped moving, and eventually he backed Bokhart into a corner in the second round.  Bokhart was in a fetal position when the referee stopped the contest.  Antonio got the win, which was great for his first professional boxing match.

I could see Rita and Tina in the VIP section talking to boxing analyst Teddy Atlas for several moments from where I was sitting.  "I wish I could meet him and Joe Tessitore," I thought to myself.  Shortly after the live broadcast was over, Tessitore was gone.  Atlas stayed around for while, and he was taking pictures and talking with other people.  I moved as close as I could down front to get a better look at Atlas.  He made his move to leave right before Antonio's fight began.  "Mr. Atlas!  Mr. Atlas!" I called out.  He began to walk my way, but another guy a row over had caught his attention.  Atlas glanced at me, then went to shake the hand of the other guy.

He then jogged back down to me and shook my hand.  "I really liked the book you wrote," I told him, referring to the biography he put out a couple of years ago.  "Thank you very much.  What's your name?" he asked.  I told him, and he thanked me again, then gave me a hug before leaving the arena.  The old cliche about, "they look and sound just like they do on TV" was true in that case.  Atlas is one of my boxing idols, and I was very pleased to have had a chance to get to talk to him. 

Antonio and Boban

Pastor Roger arrived at work today with a severe hair cut.  He looked as if he was ready to join the Marines on a hard core mission.  "I didn't control how short they cut it," he explained.  I shook my fist at him jokingly about putting a jinx on me yesterday.  "I missed going to the gym," I said.  "You did that to yourself," he said in his defense.

After work today, I decided to finally go and check out the Chicago Fight Club.  I also had another purpose in mind: to purchase tickets for a fight card at the UIC Pavillion this Friday.  Antonio, who works as a trainer at the gym, has a fight scheduled that night.  He's fighting at junior welterweight.  Antonio used to come to Loyola Park on and off to shore up his boxing skills.  He's also a professional MMA fighter.

When I got to the gym, which is on the northwest side, a long, lanky young man greeted me at the door.  "Antonio's not here now, but he'll be back," I was told.  I had to go get cash for my ticket, so I went across the street to a nearby ATM.  A hot dog stand was over there, too, and I hadn't eaten lunch.  About twenty minutes later, I came back to find Fernando, another trainer there, working with a young lady who wore pink boxing gloves.  He called Antonio out from the back.

Antonio hugged me and said he was glad that I came down to the gym to get a ticket as opposed to waiting to buy one at UIC Pavillion's door.  He gave me a quick tour of the gym.  It's a nice space, with mats on the floor, a ring, and numerous heavy and light bags, and some exercise equipment (treadmills, weight machines).  The walls were lined with picture of the owner, a guy named Wasfi.  Wasfi apparently gets around, as most of the pictures showed him posing with the well-known, such as Floyd Mayweather Jr., Hilary Clinton, and D.L. Hughley. 

I was also surprised to see Boban (I'm finally spelling his name right), another professional MMA fighter who used to hang at Loyola Park.  Boban is a big guy, all muscle.  He told me he had a fight lined up with a UFC fighter who backed out at the last moment.  Allegedly, the UFC fighter said that fighting Boban would be an easy fight, and not worth the effort.  Boban was making a recording, calling out the fighter. 

Antonio noticed I was carrying my gear bag.  "You want to get a work out in?" he asked.  Fernando told him, "Hey, sign her up!"  "I just worked out in the gym at church," I regrettably told him.  "You have your stuff, and you're not going to work out?" Antonio smiled.  "I just ate, too," I said, laughing.  I want to come back down there at some point.  I liked the place.