Four and a Half Rounds

You may be wondering why there is a photo of comedian Lou Costello on here.  Believe it or not, Mr. Costello boxed for awhile before going into comedy.  


Amy, Sarah and myself were waiting at the gym door when Alan arrived.  Before he got there, Sarah said, "I hope he's not disappointed because only the three of us are here.  We could just have the masters boxing women's class tonight!"  As Alan unlocked the door, Sarah told him, "We're having the over 35 years of age women's boxing class today."  "As far as I can see, all of you look good to me," Alan smiled.

Initially, Sarah didn't want to spar.  It looked like I was going to spar with Alan, who already said, "I'm going to get you!"  He also said that I should go four rounds.  "I'll push myself to do it," I said.  "That's why I like you, Hillari.  You never say no," Alan said.  Then Sarah decided that she would spar, but we'd have to go light. Her and I were in the ring for four and a half rounds with.  We went light, but it was still an aerobic workout.  I was dancing around the ring more than I usually do. 

 Now you're asking, "Why is Martin Lawrence's picture on here?"  Mr. Lawrence boxed when he was a teenager.  He made a joke about it during one of his live concerts.  I read somewhere that he was a Golden Gloves contender. 

 Ray was the only other guy in the gym, and he arrived later.  Ray and Alan had a good sparring session.  Ray was throwing some wicked uppercuts that the caught the coach with several times.  Then Alan tried to sneak in a right, and Ray quickly blocked it.  Ray was in his Philly Shell stance.  I named Alan's stance the Skokie Skate.  "Coach is the shit!  I love sparring with him!" Ray exclaimed in-between rounds. "That's what light sparring is supposed to be!"  

While I was watching Ray and Alan spar, there was a twinge in my back on the lower left side.  Alan thought I had been hit there, but Sarah didn't do that.  I didn't remember Alan hitting me there on Monday.  The pain went away as quickly as it came.  I figured it was another sign of middle-age-sliding-into-old-age.

"Come on now.  What does Dean Martin have to do with boxing?" you might be asking.  A few years ago, PBS ran a special about Martin's 1960's TV variety show.  The guy who produced the variety show, Greg Garrison, pointed out that Martin had a certain way of holding his hands.  Garrison explained it was a holdover from when Mr. Martin was a boxer.  I looked it up, and sure enough, the singer had boxed for a time.  There are a lot of entertainers who boxed, either as amateurs or professionals.  Oh, here's one more guy:

Robert Conrad was the star of one of my favorite 1960s TV shows, "The Wild, Wild West".  I watched it every week when I was a little girl.  Conrad, who's from the south side of Chicago, had several matches before he became an actor.  Word is that Conrad was a very tough fighter.

The "Oof!" Factor

A woman named Stephanie stopped by to talk to Alan.  I figured that she knew something about boxing; it was just a feeling I had.  Sure enough, I heard her tell Alan that she had taken up the sport at the Ultimate Fit Club in Evanston, which also houses the Evanston Boxing Club.  She stayed around to observe the action for awhile before leaving.  I hope that she plans to sign up for the winter session in January.

Jacob had both of his thumbs wrapped up with tape.  He said that the tape helped protect his thumbs, especially the one that was fractured.  I might do that myself.  My right thumb still hurts a little from when it connected with Kevin's head last week.

Ray and Professor sparred several rounds, as seen in the photo above.  Collette taped the action as she stood on the side of the ring.  The two men had a good session, as they worked with each other as they traded punches.  That's what sparring is supposed to be -- practice, as well as an exchange of information via movement. 

Paul, Alan's boss, said that he was still hurting somewhat from the last time he and Alan sparred.  They went around again.  Afterwards, Alan asked me, "It's true that Paul goes after me hard, right?"  I told Paul, "You start out hard in the beginning, then Alan starts going hard."  It's always true that even when everybody agrees to "go light", all it takes is for one person to throw a few hard punches.  Then the other person feels they have to respond in kind.  But it's not about people being angry because somebody put more force in (but sometimes, it is, depending on who's sparring).   It's about keeping up with the pace of the other opponent. 

Alan kidded Renee about sparring to give me some work.  Amy didn't want to spar, so I ended up in the ring with Alan.  I threw overhand rights, even got him with some straight rights.  But I kept getting crowded into the corners, and several times, I could neither punch or turn my way out of them.  I tried to get shots to his mid-section, but Alan's long arms protected his torso well.  Mine was wide open too many times.  Alan hit me in the middle about three or four times.  I went "Oof!" each time.  "I got her!" Alan said each time he landed a shot there.  I could hear some of the guys making comments.  Ray said, "Good overhand", during one of the few times that I actually caught Alan with that particular punch. Reggie said, "Hillari, put Alan in a body bag!" 

Paul took pictures of the sparring.

 "Hillari, you were moving so fast, you were a blur!"  Paul said.  One of the pictures he took is above.  I thought I was struggling and bumbling around at various points.  "You did good work, and you hit hard" Alan told me.  He noted that I always come at him harder during sparring than I do anyone else. After thinking about it, I had to admit that I do pound on Alan more than I do others during sparring.  It's probably because, of all the guys in the gym -- with maybe the exception of Kenny -- Alan pushes me to do more when we are sparring.  He doesn't let up, that's for sure.  I have to remain focused or take some rough hits.

During the last round we sparred, Alan had me on the ropes.  "I'm not hitting you that hard," he said, after I took another hit to the stomach.  "Yes, you are," I gasped.  "No, you just breathed in air as I threw the punch," Alan said, as I tried to move out of his reach. My nose took a hit, and I was stunned for a second.  Another crack to my head rocked me on my feet, too, but I had to shake it off.  The photo above is also courtesy of Paul. 

Alan thinks that I'm ready to do four rounds of sparring instead of the usual three.  I want to try to do four rounds.  There was a time I could do five rounds, but I wasn't as old or as heavy as I am now.  I'll push myself to do an extra round.

The coach joked that I don't seem to show much love to Pastor Roger on this blog.  I'll have to re-read some of my posts. . .eh, I don't doubt that I have been hard on the pastor here sometimes (and on Facebook, etc., etc.).  Believe me, I hear about it from Pastor Roger.  The protest usually start with, "But Hillari, you've made a wrong assumption about me."  The pastor met Steve, the former coach, a long time ago, but one day, I'll have to introduce him and Alan to each other in person.  Pastor will probably ask Alan like he asked Steve a few years ago, "Is she any good in the ring?"

The Decision

 

See the little girl in the photo above?  That was me when I was in sixth grade.  I was eleven when this picture was taken.  Yeah, okay. . .it's a bad picture. Dig the modified Afro puffs (my mother pressed my hair out back then; she didn't allow my younger sister and I to have perms).  I was not and have never been, a beauty pageant contestant.  I know that.  That school year was the only one I had during my entire grade school career where I wasn't involved in constant fist fights with other kids.  Maybe it was because I had a tough but fair teacher, Mr. Marwick (God rest his soul).  Maybe it was because I had a different attitude that school term or was hanging around kids who weren't picking on me all the time (which was the main reason why I fought in the first place).  I'm not sure, but it was nice to have a breather from being punched and kicked every day.  Of course, it was back to the business during the brief time I was in 7th grade (I got promoted to the next grade in December of that year), and the rest of my time in 8th grade. 

After a week of getting used to being 50 years old, I had to ask myself a question:  What I am fighting about these days and who am I fighting?  There are still bullies in my way.  Prospective employers who look at my graying hair, ignore the accomplishments on my resume and decide I'm too old to be hired; smart-asses on the Internet who don't like my opinions, and verbally beat me down, often anonymously; and men who want to date me, but have a problem with me not being dumb enough for them to manipulate, are some of them.  I still have to fight some people -- not always using my fists -- and continue to do so probably until the casket is closed on me.

But in terms of boxing, why do I keep going to the gym, why do I keep sparring, and why am I eager to participate in bouts?

Well, as far as exercise goes, it's not a matter of whether or not I feel like doing it anymore.  It's come down to I have to exercise.  There were a lot of things I got away with regarding my health before I turned 40 and was diagnosed with high blood pressure, arthritis and diabetes practically back-to-back.  I have family members who suffer with those conditions.  Some are dead now because they didn't take their health concerns seriously.  A friend of mine has diabetes, and they are on disability now because of it.  Menopause has slipped into the mix for me, too, and that has its own set of problems.  If exercise, as well as eating better will help put a few seconds extra on my clock, as well as make me feel better, I need to do it.  I like boxing because it's not girly-girl aerobic-type exercise, which I never got into, not even way back in sixth grade.

I believe boxing is a valuable skill for a woman, especially in a world where women and girls continue to be thought of as weak and gullible, and in some places in the world, disposable.  I stopped growing when I was thirteen years old.  At five foot one, I'm not exactly looked upon by most as a threat.  Now I don't like going around being a b&%$#, but there are times when I've had to do that.  There may be times in the future where I will have to come hard, because somebody will think "she'll be an easy mark to take".  It might be on a dark corner at night, or on a busy street in broad daylight.  No, I can't move as fast as I used to do.  But just because I'm old, that doesn't mean my hands (and feet) have lost the capacity to hurt an perp.  I may not win, but I want the other person to at least feel the pain of messing with me.

I like the thrill of being in the ring.  That's not to say that it is not nerve-racking, even if I'm just sparring as opposed to having an actual fight.  I'm still learning how to harness the nervousness into energy to use.  I also like the feeling of having accomplished something, even if I took a bad loss.  My only regret is not taking up the sport earlier.  Maybe I could have been like Laila Ali.

Part of it also had to do with quieting the naysayers.  I've chronicled in this blog many times over the years how people have tried to convince me that I should not box.  When the admonishing started back in 2001, it was coming from only a few individuals.  The only person whose comments I took seriously was that of my doctor's, and even then, I just made the necessary adjustments to keep going.  Everybody else, I laughed their opinions off.  But my group of protestors grew over the years.  "Oh, you're telling me that I shouldn't do something, that I can't do something, women shouldn't do this and that, that maybe I'm getting too old, etc.? Watch me," I thought as I dug my heels in further.  The other day, I saw an old match featuring Archie Moore.  He was well up into his 50s before he retired from competing.  I have aches and pains, but I'm not decrepit. 

Besides. . .I still want to fight. I was a good roller skater from the time I was fourteen up until I was in my late thirties.  Then the closest roller rink to me shut down, and that, along with the arthritis that showed up a few years later, sort of closed the door on me doing that regularly.  I love to ride my bike, but arthritis was also a factor as to why I didn't ride much this past summer.  I was a fair ice skater.  The last time I was on the ice was back in 2004; I scheduled an skating outing for the church's singles group.  Only I and Pastor Roger were in attendance, and he didn't skate, but he watched me zipping around the rink.  I haven't practiced martial arts much since 2001, and I was involved with that for only eight months of that year.  I've loved a lot of sports activities, but my admiration and respect for boxing has continued to grow strong over the years. 

This is why I can't let it go.  That day will come.  It is going to come.  One day, I will have to join the other old folks that sit along the walls in the boxing gyms and who bark out orders to young fighters.  But not now.  Continue to wring your hands and admonish me if you must, but that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

Let The Fighting. . .Rather, Cussing Begin

"Everybody seems kind of down," Amy commented as she looked at Alan, Professor, and Professor's fiancee, Kelly.  "I'm tired," Alan said, after admitting to have eaten a large pizza by himself.  We were really waiting for Kevin to arrive, so the show between Professor and him could begin. Those two planned to spar after they had a disagreement on Monday. 

When Kevin arrived, he had headgear that was designed to fully cover the face.  It reminded me of a hockey mask.  "Is that what you're going to use?" Professor asked him.  "Yeah.  You disapprove?"  Kevin sneered.  Professor made a comment about it not being proper headgear to use.  Kevin snapped that he needed to wear it to protect his broken nose, and another spat took place.   Ever the gentleman, Alan told both men, "Watch your language; there are women in here.  Just chill." 

After some more bickering, Professor and Kevin stepped into the ring.  "Get your camera," Alan told me.  "I almost forgot," I said, as I scooted to my locker to get it.  But before I could take any pictures, the sparring session ended.  Kevin had leaned into the ropes and settled there.  Professor could have took advantage of the situation, but he thought better of it.  "If he's not going to hit back, there's no use in us sparring.  It's not competitive enough," Professor said.  This set Kevin off, who snatched his gloves and headgear off in anger.  He yelled at Professor, "If you're going to quit now, you'll quit again.  F&%$ it!"  Professor decided not to respond to Kevin's comments. 

Jacob came in right after that exchange, and Professor was glad to see him.  "Here's my guy," Professor smiled.  They sparred instead.

Alan put me in with Kevin.  We did two rounds.  Kevin was answering punches, but he wasn't throwing hard ones.  He didn't lean on the ropes at all, either, basically keeping me near the center of the ring and near the corners.  Kevin encouraged me to hit him.  I didn't want to target his face because of his nose.  I had visions of me accidentally causing even worse injury.  For the most part, Kevin was wide open.  I got in uppercuts, and numerous shots to the body.  Each time I hit him in in the sides and stomach, he went, "Oof!" very loudly.  "Beautiful!" Alan commented from the side.

I landed a good number of hooks, too.  Kevin had his head way down, so it was easy to get them in.  But I executed one of my right hooks wrong.  My thumb bumped up against his head, and Kevin has a very hard head.  My thumb is still hurting as I type this. Pastor just told me back on Monday to try and not hurt anybody when I joked about going to the gym and showing everyone "what a 50 year old can do". Maybe I'll be the third person in the gym -- behind Jacob and Ray -- with a thumb injury. 

Professor and Kelly engaged in some boxing drills in the ring.  I didn't get a shot of them kissing at the end.  Ray laughed as he asked Alan, "Is that what happens at the end of rounds?  Should I expect to get some sugar from a woman, too?"  Alan shook his head, "No, not then. Not in boxing!"

Fights and Frustrations

Ryan (in the headgear) and Gilbert (on the right) came in for a little sparring Monday evening.  Professor (in the middle) gave the young men some instruction.  He has a pair of my punch mitts on.  Professor was showing Ryan how to punch and pivot, and Gilbert jumped in the ring to help show how the technique is done.

I was a real witch (change the first letter to a 'b') to Igor today.  He started in with his usual repeating questions over and over.  Igor must have asked me four times how I was doing.  "The answer is still the same as it was before, Igor--fine," I snapped.  I came back from filling the water bottles up, and for the umpteenth time, he's walking behind me going, "Excuse me, excuse me."  "What is it?" I hissed.  "Water, water," he says. "It's over there," I replied in frustration.  This is why Steve stayed irritated with him all the time, I thought.  I wanted to really tell Igor off, and it took a Herculean effort on my part to bite my tongue.  Alan grinned at me and said, "Your tolerance is low today."  "My father's temper is coming out in me," I said. 

Ray learned that his thumb had been fractured.  "It would have healed up earlier, but I kept re-injuring it," he told me.  Jacob's thumb is still on the mend, but he said he felt some twinges of pain while sparring with Kevin.

As reported here many times, Kevin spent most of the sparring session laying on the ropes.  He told Alan, "I'm waiting for him (Jacob) to punch himself out."  Alan turned away from the ropes, and looked at me, shaking his head.  "He doesn't listen," Alan said.  Professor sat off to the other side of the ring, watching Jacob and Kevin carefully.  "Please don't stay in the corner," he told Kevin. Kevin came back with, "Keep quiet!  If you want to do this, step into the ring.  I don't need mouth from the peanut gallery."  "Oh, wow," Professor said.

I would have sparred tonight, but I did something that I've not done before in nine years of going to Loyola:  I left my mouthpiece at home.  It was still in the other bag that I brought with me to Brooks Park last week.  My only sparring option would have been Alan, or maybe Jacob.  Amy and Renee were there, but they weren't going to spar.  I was on the black heavy bag for awhile, and I felt good about my punches.  Where is that confidence when I'm in an actual fight, or during sparring for that manner?  I bet that I won't be as fresh on Wednesday if I get a chance to spar. 

Later, Professor and Alan asked me when the winter session begins.  "So this is the no man's land period?  I can come in on Wednesday and kick his ass?" Professor said, pointing to Kevin.  Before Kevin left near the end of the night, he promised Professor that he would be in the gym on Wednesday.  "I'll be here, too," Professor gleefully told him.  "Yeah, bring your mouth, too," Kevin shot back.  Have mercy, I thought to myself.  I've heard of guys in gyms having beefs with each other and settling their differences when they came in the next time.  Alan may have to jump in and do some hard regulating if Kevin and Professor have a really rough meeting.

It may look like Paul really clocked Alan here, but this is a gag shot that the men asked me to take.  They did spar earlier in the evening, but did not go the distance.  Paul was throwing a lot of punches and got burned out quickly.  He's getting better at keeping his hands up, however. 

Better To Walk Out Than To Be Carried Out

Another friend in the boxing world, Lisa Creech Bledsoe, who runs a blog called The Glowing Edge, posted the fight above on her blog and commented on it.  This was a fight between Holly Holm and Anne Sophie Mathis.  I agreed with Lisa's assessment of how badly this bout was handled by Holm's corner as well as the referee.

Francisco Rodriguez died in the ring around Thanksgiving in 2009, and the month before, Rita Figueroa suffered a near-fatal hit during a match.  Both of those professional fights happened near the tail end of the Chicago Park District's amateur boxing tournament season.  I remember a lot of fights I saw after that were stopped at the first hint of a boxer being in trouble.  I was in a fight with Meg in December of that year that was stopped because I was taking too many hits.  People complain about fights being stopped all the time, as the one between Holm and Mathis was, eventually.  Blood lust gets the best of some spectators, and they just want to see someone stomped down.

I like to see a good beat down as much as the next person.  I cheer on the antics of professional wrestlers, despite the fact that the outcomes of all those type of matches were planned long before the wrestlers came into the ring (but pro wrestlers can and do get hurt for real sometimes. . .some have even died due to injuries).  When my siblings and I were kids, we'd fall out laughing at the fisticuffs between roller derby players, some of which were fake, and some of which were real.  I appreciate the moves I see in MMA.  I only pay attention to mainstream sports when I've heard that a brawl broke out on the playing field. 

However, I'd rather see a boxer walk out of the ring after a match than be carried out.  I usually don't bat an eye at the brutality in some matches, but the Holm/Mathis had me wincing.

As I watched the post-fight interview, I felt bad for Holm.  I even got -- and this is something I seldom admit to, folks -- teary-eyed.  I know the feeling of being on the losing end of a match, feeling embarrassed, frustrated, and angry about "Damn, I wish I could have done better!", while still trying to exhibit good sportsmanship.  I know we should all be adults about losing, but I sometimes go back to being that little girl on the schoolyard who just took a beating from two or more kids (which I did on a near daily basis back in grade school).  The ref and/or Holm's corner should have never let that fight go on that long.  Holm shouldn't have had to be knocked through the ropes and her cheek cut open before people finally woke up and decided enough was enough.  She could have been seriously, maybe even permanently hurt.  I give Mathis credit for not gloating over Holm's prone position in the ring. 

Boxing is a rough sport, but common sense among officials and corner people should never disappear once the bell to start the round begins.

The Night At Brooks Park

Alan told me when I called him earlier, "You can bring your gear down to Brooks Park."  "But you told me there were no opponents for me," I said.  "Well, you never know.  But it's up to you," he answered.  Both of my knees had been hurting all day, my lower back had twinges of pain here and there, and my left shoulder was a bit stiff.  But I exhibited the natural hard-headed tendencies I inherited from my late dad, and I packed a bag with my gear.  All the while, the rational side of my brain was snapping, "Girl, please!  Where is your mind?"

I took two buses to get up to Brooks Park.  When I got there, Kevin was upstairs, ready to go, shadow boxing in preparation.  Willie and Nate Sr. had some of the kids with them: Gilbert, Tall Kenny, Nate Jr., and Eric.  Unfortunately, Barry had another engagement, so he couldn't come down with the kids.  Soon, Reggie came in, and he was ready to fight as well.  "I'm nervous," he said.  "Use that energy in the ring," I told him.

While picking out familiar faces in the crowd (Shifty, Jack, Sean, Gary),  I spotted Meg.  "Oh, snap," I thought, and reality knocked me upside my head.  Our guys were called in to weigh-in, and I went in the room because Alan hadn't arrived yet.  I wanted to make sure they all got in.  Pat, one of the Park District coaches, politely asked me to step out of the room during the weigh-ins.  "Because they're stripping, y'know?" he said.  Outside the room, I chuckled to myself, and thought, "Like a woman as old as I hasn't seen that before."  I was going to weigh-in, but after I saw Meg and took stock of my creaky body, a small, still voice said to me, "Don't do it," and I didn't.  Alan was glad when I told him of my decision later. 

Meg fought a woman named Maggie in the 145 pound division.  Alan told me, "Meg's opponent is 15 pounds lighter and she's 21 years old."  Maggie caught Meg up against the ropes during the second round, something that I was never able to do during the three times Meg and I fought.  I commented on that to Alan.  "The fights you had with her were close," he said.  Meg lost, and I was surprised because she's pretty tough.   

Tall Kenny used his long arms and legs to keep his opponent off of him to get a win, but Gilbert was overwhelmed too many times by his, so he took home the second place trophy.  None of the other young men got fights.

Reggie's opponent, Chris, was about the same build as he.  Reggie was rocking the guy with shots, and one of those shots put Chris on the canvas.  Chris recovered to continue, but Reggie remained dominant.  I was acting a fool on the side, yelling, "That's right.  Get him!  All day!" 

Kevin did not get a fight.  "I know you would have fought him.  But the guy they had was too tall for you, about 6 foot 2," Alan explained to him.  Honestly, I was a little glad that Kevin didn't get a match.  Kevin's nose is broken, and still in the process of healing.  He told me he's been having trouble breathing, and that he hasn't seen a doctor yet.  "It might also be a deviated septum," I told him, thinking about when I had mine fixed a few years ago.  I still don't know how my nose was injured in the first place.  It could have been that time I was three years old and was dashed to the sidewalk after I fell out of a baby swing.  Who knows.

Tomorrow is my birthday, and no, I still haven't made a decision about whether or not to continue competing.  My glee as I packed a gear bag before I went up to Brooks tonight is a sure sign that I ain't ready to let that go yet.  Right now, I think a) my body will have to give me a clear message, like one of my wobbly knees popping out of place or b) I'll have to take a real bad beat down to stop competing.  As I've said before, we boxers can be a stubborn, crazy lot of folks.  Just ask Evander Holyfield or Roy Jones Jr. 

Sand On The Floor

I had noticed last week that the floor under the 150 pound bag was slippery.  Last night, there was a good amount of sand on the floor.  Alan and I searched the bag looking for holes.  Finally, we found two where the sand was leaking from.  We got duct tape and patched them up.  I found a broom and dustbin to get the sand up.  Alan said, "I didn't know you were that domesticated," as he watched me sweep.  "I'm not, but we can't have anyone slipping," I said.

Jamil came in and sparred with Reggie.  Jamil was thrown into the ropes at one point, but he quickly recovered.  Kevin sparred as well.  He told Alan that his nose was better, but I wondered.  Kevin was hanging on the ropes again, and again, I heard Alan tell him that he will not be able to do that during an actual fight. 

It took me a long time to become focused last night.  During the last fifteen to twenty minutes of gym time, I finally mustered up some energy.  Too many things on my mind, I guess. . . .yesterday was my mother's 79th birthday, and of course, she made no effort to reach out to me, the only one of her four kids who is still living.  It's a long, long story that doesn't really fit the scope of this blog.  Let's just say that Ma and I have not been fans of one another for a few decades.  I was also still a little ticked about some kid at church who nearly knocked me down because they were goofing off after services.  No apology was made to me; "I'm sorry" doesn't seem to be a phrase that's taught to kids at home these days.  Instead, I got "it wasn't my fault" when I complained.  The kid had also dropped a plate on the floor.  "Just get the food up off the floor," I snapped.  Of course, Pastor Roger defended the kid when I grumbled about it, but I wasn't in the mood for more excuses.  "That kid was lucky I didn't hit him," I told Pastor.

Anothet thing I was not in the mood for was Igor bugging me about when he was going to get the pictures I took of him.  "When I get the money to process them, and that won't be anytime soon," I said curtly before walking away.   It's not so much the money, because it doesn't cost that much to get it done at the drug store.  It is the time, as more often than not, something's usually wrong with the self-service film processors when I get to the store.  Besides, I'm still a little salty about how Igor pestered and demanded me to take several pictures of him.  That won't happen again, believe me.  Social grace is not something that Igor posseses, which is one of the reasons why Steve, the former coach, stayed irritated with Igor. 

So far, Reggie is only boxer in the gym whom Alan and I are reasonably sure will have a fight at Brooks Park on Wednesday.  Oscar said he wanted to fight, but he hasn't been in the gym lately.  Kenny hasn't been in much because of work.  Ray wants to fight, but work keeps him tied up a lot, too.  Jacob can't because his thumb is still healing.  I don't have an opponent, which is just as well, because frankly, I'm not prepared to fight at this time. 

While Alan drove me home, he called Colonel on his cell phone.  We had a chance to talk to him.  The poor guy is still in a lot of pain following his hip replacement surgery, but he was still able to crack jokes. 

The AARP Boxer

Oscar and I sparred, and at one point, Oscar was encouraging me to come at him.  I missed most of the hooks I threw, but I did get several body shots in.  We actually did three rounds and a half;  we started in the middle of a round, then Alan reset the bell so we'd start again from the beginning.  Oscar hit me in the mouth, which made me very happy that I a) remembered to keep my mouth clothes, and b) there are such things as mouthpieces.  In the middle of the second round, the thought "what in the hell am I doing?" went through my head.  I was dead tired when the rounds were over.  I've been slacking off on exercise outside of the gym, and it showed.

Ray told Reggie the same thing in-between the rounds of sparring they had.  "You've got to run more, man.  That's why the wind is gone," he said.  Both men were crouched down next to the ropes catching their breaths.  The two of them are young enough to go running.  My knees won't allow me to run for the buses, let alone run for exercise.  It bothers me that I can't run as well as used to do.

Colonel brought in his collection of dusties again, along with Leon's iPod.  Leon had asked Colonel to put some songs on it, but the big man didn't come in Wednesday night.  Colonel gave me the iPod to hold on to, because Colonel was going in for hip replacement surgery the next day.  I took it home because I didn't feel sure about leaving it in my locker.  Colonel was shaking his head at all the rap Leon already had on the iPod; so was I when I listened to the device later that evening.  It was all Li'l Wayne, Kanye, and a bunch of other current rappers whose talent is questionable.  Colonel did good by putting a lot of old school stuff on there.

Ray brought Colette in with him.  While sparring with Jacob (whose thumb is still hurting, too), Ray bumped his thumb again.  Both Colette and I went, "Ooh!" as Ray's hand connected with Jacob.  He had to stop for a moment.  "That really hurts," he said to Collete and I. Amazing how something so small can cause so much pain when it's injured.

"I can apply for AARP next week," I told Ray.  He gave me a quizzical look.  "No, seriously. . .as of my birthday next Thursday, I'll be eligible to be a member of AARP," I continued.  Ray and Reggie gave me high fives, and Jacob nodded in approval.  "For real?  Damn. . .and you're always in the ring for three rounds with people?  Wow, that just made me feel real old," he said.  Ray is in his late 30's; Reggie is about 27 years old.  Ray said to the coach, "So, Alan, you're about 50, right?"  Alan grinned and said, "Bless you."

Dancing In The Boxing Gym

Tall Kenny (pictured above) came in for extra practice.  He's fighting at Brooks Park next week.  I wanted to fight, but there was no opponent for me.  Later, Alan said he had forgotten to put a bid in for me to get a fight.  "You've got to grab and let me know that you want to fight," he said.  "There'll be a next time," I said, but I wonder.  It was suggested by my stepmother that the fight I had in October should have been my last one.  She pointed out how I was breathing hard and ran out of gas then.  I'm thinking that perhaps she's right, but then, I was looking forward to trying to get a trophy at Brooks.  It would have been a nice birthday present (my birthday is the day after the Brooks show).  If there is a last hurrah for me, it'll be a long time coming, since I'm usually not able to pick up fights until around the holidays, so my last, last fight may not be until late 2012.  I keep going back and forth with this, I know.

Activity in the gym was pumped up tonight.  Colonel brought more of his old school music in, and this time, he brought a great sounding boombox with him, the type that you plug an iPod into.  Leon was impressed so much by the music that he asked Colonel to download the songs on his iPod.  In between rounds of practice, I was stepping to a lot of the tunes.  Ray came in, heard the music and said, "Colonel got the dusties on?"  Colonel told me he had about 70 to 80 songs on there, but more were at home.  But he didn't want to download much of what his son had.  "My son likes all that rap, and I don't understand that.  Why is it that every MF on the stage in a rap concert has a microphone?  Back in the day there were only two mics -- one for the lead singer and one for the rest of the group!" he said.  "Like The Temptations, for example," I said while imitating the moves of David Ruffin on one mic, and of the other group members on the other mic.  "You are telling your age!" Colonel laughed.  "I'm Your Puppet" by James and Bobby Purify was one of the songs that came on.  As many times as I've heard that song -- I believe I was five or six when it was first released -- it never occurred to me that it's a good song to which to step.  Each time Reggie would catch me dancing, he'd laugh.  "Hillari, teach me how to step!" he said, so I showed him the basic six count that was taught to me by Willie. 

The sparring action involved Reggie, Ray, Oscar, Leon, and Kevin.  Something happened between Kevin and Oscar while my back was turned.  Oscar was laying on the canvas, then he sat up and took his gear off.  Several of us gathered around the ropes to see what was going on.  From what I gathered, Kevin had been pressuring Oscar the whole round, then Oscar ended up being pushed down. 

In the photo above, Kevin leans against the ropes, waiting on Ray to make a move.  Alan told him awhile later, "Kevin you've got to listen to me when you're in there."  Kevin's nose had been injured; I'm not sure by whom.  Alan suggested that he not spar for a couple of weeks.  "I'm 37 years old.  The clock is ticking," Kevin said, explaining why he didn't want to beg off of sparring.  "It doesn't matter.  What is two weeks to wait?" Alan told him.  I believe Kevin would have loved to get a fight at Brooks, but in light of his injury, that wouldn't be a good idea. 

Again, I was working on throwing my right correctly.  Ever since I was hit by a car back last winter, I've had an aversion to turning my right side into the punch and putting my full weight into it.  Several months ago, I couldn't turn properly because my left knee -- which took the brunt of the hit -- was so painful and unstable that I couldn't do it.  Now that it's healed (as much as it's going to be healed), I've developed a bad habit of not executing that punch the way it's supposed to be.  I'll be working on that for awhile. 

I told Pastor Roger that I might get Isaac another toy, one of those inflatable punching toys that one hits and it pops right back up.  My younger siblings and I had several of those when we were kids.  "It'll be good practice for boxing," I told the pastor.  "I don't want my son to learn violence," he said.  "But boxing is a gentlemanly sport," I protested.  Pastor smiled and said, "You can use the argument that boxing is mentioned in the Bible to convince my wife that it would be good thing for Isaac to take lessons."  It certainly sounds as if shadow boxing is being referenced in 1 Corinthians 9:26.  After all, the sport did originate in Greece, which is one of the countries referenced in the Good Book.

Boxing to the Oldies

It was the day before Thanksgiving, and most were out because they started their festivities early.  None of the other women were there, so I was it in terms of representing the female component.

Colonel (in the photo above) came in with several of his CDs.  He had been threatening to bring in some oldies for weeks, and he brought in some good ones.  The greatest hits of Rare Earth, Jr. Walker and the All Stars, and Sly and the Family Stone were played.  Alan said to me, "I like this music better than what is usually played."  Nate Jr. and Tall Kenny came to the gym to work out, and they had initially cut on the radio which is perpetually stuck on the hip-hop/dance/house music channel.  Colonel's old school stuff was a welcome change from that.

Ralphie came in later.  Alan had been hoping that Ralphie would come in earlier to spar with Reggie.  Instead, Reggie sparred with Kevin.  Kevin did not hang back on the ropes as much, but he was talking about how hard Reggie hits.  

I was on the bags, then shadowboxing a lot on the ring.  I think that I don't throw my right hand as nearly as much as I throw my jab.  I concentrated on my right hand and executing hooks and upper cuts.  Colonel showed me how to bend my knees a little then come up as I throw uppercuts to put a little more force behind them.

Two Chicago cops came in to observe what was going on.  One cop had been in there before, but his partner looked new to me.  Colonel and Alan always engage the cops in conversations when they come in.

In this photo, Kevin helps Nate Jr. put on his gloves (Alan, who's in the background, is shadowboxing in the ring)..  Tall Kenny and Nate Jr. could have sparred, but they said that Barry would rather they not do that unless he's there to monitor it.  I've always known Tall Kenny to tower over me, but I remember when Nate Jr. barely reached my shoulder.  Now I have to look up to him. 

I've been skipping Tuesdays on my exercise schedule; this week was no exception.  I have to make up that day tomorrow, so I guess whenever I get up, I'll pop a DVD in and do a quick workout.  Hopefully, it'll counteract the pounds I'm sure to gain.  My stepmother is a good cook, and I'll be having dinner with her sometime later.

Let's Go Light

When I first walked into the field house, I turned back to see Alan walking behind me.  "I heard a rumor," he smiled.  "What's that?" I asked.  "That Hillari is Jewish," he said, and we both chuckled.  Alan and I had gone to a service at a synagogue this past Saturday.  I had been to weddings in synagogues, but I had never been to one for a regular service, so Alan offered to take me to a service.  The service was held at a Reform synagogue, not the one where Alan normally goes.  He thought taking me to an Orthodox service right off the bat might have been too much for an introduction to a Jewish religious service.  I was surprised when I walked into the room and saw a neighbor of mine there.  She had told me she was Jewish, but she did not mention where she went to worship.  It was an interesting service, with the rabbi encouraging discussion about passages from Genesis 23, where Abraham buys a burial spot for his wife Sarah, who had recently passed away. After that service, which was held upstairs, Alan showed me the sanctuary that was on the first floor.  It was really nice looking.  There was a bar mitzvah service going on, and the place was filled with children. 
 
Leon came in tonight, and he ended up sparring with Kenny.  Not Kenny, Colonel's son, but Kenny who's in high school and who trains with Barry.  I hadn't seen Kenny for awhile.  He's become even taller than the last time I saw him.  I prayed that Leon wouldn't hurt Kenny, and he didn't.  They had a couple of rounds before Leon was tired out.

Kevin sparred with Oscar.  Kevin's not bad -- he just has to break the habits of a) keeping his hands down, b) crouching next to the ropes and waiting on his opponent to throw punches, and c) watching the time clock.  Oscar starts off slow, but when he gets going, he's gone.  Oscar got Kevin in the face several times.  "He really hits hard," Kevin commented afterwards.  Oscar was hunting Kevin down all over the ring.

Sarah and I sparred, but we agreed to go light.  However, there was one uppercut that shook my upper teeth.  Good thing my mouth was closed, and I was wearing a mouthpiece.  I was surprised that I wasn't exhausted at the end of the second round, but my energy was spent by the middle of the third round.  My chin was down like it was supposed to be, and for once, I kept my eyes on my opponent instead of closing my eyes and dropping my head.  Alan kept telling me to work my way in with the jab, and I did to decent effect.  But my throwing hooks wasn't effective at all.  Sarah's too tall, and I didn't time any of the hooks properly.  I went back to throwing jabs and hooks to the body, but not putting full force behind them. 

Leon said that he had recently been in a motorcycle accident.  His wrist was fractured when his bike flipped over.  Luckily for him, the accident wasn't worse than that.  "There's been a lot of hand injuries going on lately," I told him, thinking about Ray and Jacob's thumbs.  

What A Difference Age Makes

I was surprised to see a different speed bag hanging up (in the photo above) when I got inside the gym Wednesday evening.  I like it a lot better than the other black, somewhat funny shaped speed bag that was there before.  I worked it for three rounds, and I liked the feel of it. 

Not many people in the gym tonight: Jacob, Amy, Sarah, Igor, Reggie, and Kevin.  Josh showed up at 8:45 PM.  "You don't think you're going to get much of a workout," Alan told him as he checked the time.  Josh replied, "I can get a couple of rounds."  He may have gotten one in, as it took time for him to wrap his hands.  Plus, he was talking to Alan for a few minutes.

The only sparring took place between Kevin and Reggie (the two guys in the ring in the above photo; Alan is watching from ringside).  Kevin kept pointing out that Reggie was quick.  "He keeps hitting me in the face," Kevin gasped a few times during the action.  "That's because you don't keep your hands up!" Alan said.  No matter how many times Alan pointed that out to him, Kevin kept his hands down.  I noticed that Reggie was giving Kevin chances to get off of the ropes instead of just charging in on him. 

Sigh. . .Igor (the guy in this picture).  Some people don't change.  While I was taking pictures of Kevin and Reggie's sparring session, Igor kept interrupting me to take several pictures of him.  Over and over he kept telling me how many prints he wanted, and that he wanted them on Monday.  It wasn't easy to hold down my exasperation, but I evenly told him after the umpteenth time, "I got it, Igor, but I'm going to wait until I have more pictures on the camera before I print all of them.  It's going to be awhile before I do that."  My purpose of taking pictures in the gym is not to have a portfolio of pictures featuring Igor. 


"Do you mind if you don't spar tonight?  There's not many people here," Alan said to me.  "No, I don't care.  I've been feeling old this week anyway," I said, and both Alan and I grinned.  He's been complaining about his back, and today he was talking about dragging around.  My lower back has been bothering me lately, and my knees, well. . .the both of them hurt every day, the right one worse than the left one.  Alan was talking about him maybe not sparring anymore if he keeps feeling stiff and sore.  I've been groaning since October about my various aches and pains.  I think both Alan and I (we're ten years apart in age) are showing our years. 

Jacob no longer has to wear the little cast he had on his thumb, but his thumb still feels sore.  He didn't ask his doctor if he could spar.  Alan figured his doctor would most likely tell Jacob not to do it. 

I like this shot I took near the end of the evening. . . I didn't realize that Jacob (far left), Alan (in the middle), and Reggie (on the right) were all laughing when I snapped the picture. 

A few seconds later, I just moved the camera over to the left so I could get Kevin (the redhead on the far left) in the picture.  I don't remember what the guys were laughing about.  Probably another dirty joke. . .there are so many ones told down at the gym, but since this is a family blog, I don't dare print them.  Trust me, they're funny.

"Stay On His. . . !"

I was waiting in one corner of the ring for the bell to ring.  Oscar was in the other corner.  "I want you to stay on his ass like you did the last time," Alan told me.  I nodded.  I did okay, but I have a bad habit of letting the other person get two or more punches in before I respond.  Bursts of energy take place, but I don't keep going with them.  They are allowed to dissipate, and it takes too long for me to build back the energy again.  Meanwhile, Oscar -- who's about 25 years younger than I -- zipped around and away from me easily.  After the three rounds were done, Alan asked me to help him put on sparring gloves.  I was struggling to stand up straight while trying to help him.  Sparring with Oscar is no joke.  Luckily, that happened near the end of the evening, so I could sit down for a long rest.

Kevin basically does the same thing.  Earlier, he was in the ring with Paul, Alan's boss at his day job, and Kevin kept close to the ropes.  He waited and waited for Paul to get tired.  When he thought he did, Kevin came flying off of the ropes throwing bunches of punches.  Paul wasn't sure how to handle Kevin when the latter kept leaning on the ropes.  I kept wishing Paul would work his jab more.

Oscar got into the ring a second time with Alan.  Alan did not wear any headgear.  I was half paying attention during the first round they were in the ring.  When I looked up during one of the later rounds, Oscar's headgear was off.  I thought maybe Alan knocked it off.  Ray confirmed that Oscar had pulled it off during the action.  "I kept trying to get a piece of Oscar, but I couldn't," Alan said later.   Oscar did get a hit in on Alan's back, which wasn't good.  It was in the same spot where Alan had been hit during a sparring session over a week ago, and it's still sore.

Reggie and Ray sparred.  Ray had his thumb on his left hand taped up.  Like Jacob, Ray had injured it during a sparring session some time ago.  It's not broken, like Jacob's thumb is, but it is badly bruised.  It bothered Ray a lot during the sparring session.  Someone, maybe Reggie, suggested aspirin, but Ray said, "I don't do medicine, man.  I take vitamins.  You know what I take for pain?  A shot of whisky. . .seriously!" 

While talking with Pastor Roger in his office earlier this morning, I kept rubbing my lower back.  "Not as young as you used to be, eh?" the pastor smiled.  I told him about sparring with Oscar.  "You should do like Tyson and watch the other person's rhythm, then throw a punch in the middle of that," Pastor Roger suggested.  I'm so busy trying to land something that I seldom pay attention to the other person's rhythm.  I don't believe I have much of a rhythm while I'm boxing.  While dancing, it's perfect, but boxing, not so much.  I just keep coming forward, as Alan has pointed out. 

Kenny was tentatively scheduled to fight at the Standard Club downtown this Thursday, but that doesn't look like it'll happen.  Kenny's been ill, and he's been busy at work.  No one else was really available, either. . .Jacob's thumb is still on the mend, and I don't have an amateur boxing license (and most likely, no available opponent), so that was that. 

Wednesday Warpath

Alan had to work late, so he was not at the gym Wednesday night.  When I got there, a man and his two kids were standing a few feet from the gym entrance.  Jilberto came down the hall to open the door.  "Mary said to make sure no one is in the gym that hasn't paid to be there", he told me.  He gave me the impression that Mary was on the warpath that evening about that, so I was a bit suspicious about the guy who was there with his kids.  It never fails.  When the coach is out, someone always shows up to check out the gym.  Sometimes, there's no problem, but at other times, I end up having to corral someone who wants to do a workout without paying.

The guy didn't seem to have a good command of the English language.  He gave Jilberto and I the name of a guy who told him to come and see the gym.  Neither Jilberto or I recognized the name.  Jilberto spoke to the guy in Spanish, then told me that Mary wasn't happy about the guy and his kids hanging around in the hallway.  She had said as such to the guy earlier, but he decided to keep waiting until the gym was open.  Colonel came in, and he also spoke to the man in his native tongue.  Information was given to him about when the gym was open, and the days his kids could train, if they wanted to learn how to box.  That satisfied the man, and he and his kids went on their way.

Joe Frazier's name was mentioned during the course of conversations last night.  "Smokin'" Joe passed away from liver cancer the other day; he was 67 years old.  The night before, I fell asleep with the TV tuned to ESPN Classic. They were showing some of Frazier's most famous fights, including the "Thrilla In Manilla", where he went up against Muhammad Ali.  Ray explained the way Frazier moved in the ring was called the Philly Shell.  I noticed that Frazier was constantly covering himself up with his hands and arms in front to ward off punches.  It was effective as it made it very hard for opponents to get their punches through to land. 

Reggie asked me why the boxing show at Seward was canceled for today.  I remember Meg mentioning that several Park District shows had been canceled this season.  "I have no idea, Reggie, but it's been happening a lot.  Usually the canceled shows are rescheduled, but they haven't been," I said.  Only one more show is left this year, and that will be at Brooks Park next month.  If that is canceled, there won't be anymore Park District shows until next summer. 

Last week, I didn't exercise as much as I should have.  This week, I fooled around and forgot to exercise on Tuesday.  I was so busy writing that I lost track of time.  I'm participating in National Novel Writing Month, and I'm already behind in my word count.  I believe people are supposed to write about 1,667 words a day.  Ha!  I know how my novel begins and how it is supposed to end.  It's the scenes in-between the beginning and end that are hard to figure out.  The novel is about a middle-aged woman who's an amateur boxer facing a milestone birthday (sound familiar?) whose life seems to have come to a dead stop on so many levels.  The story line follows her as she tries to make sense of what's come before and struggles to make going forward better.

When I got home, I called Alan to give him a heads up about Mary's concern about people using the gym for free.  She's been complaining and giving warnings about that for the longest.  Yeah, there have been people who've come in and out for free over the years.  But not everybody who has done that is from off the street.  Some who are participating in other programs at the field house have an attitude of, "I've paid for this one, so I should be able to take part in other programs/classes -- without paying the extra fees -- since I'm already here."  I also don't think many are aware that none of the boxing gyms in the Park District are drop-in gyms.  Maybe extra steps need to be taken to make that clear to everyone who walks into the field houses.  People often hear the timer bell ringing, they see the door open, and they think they can just waltz in and hit the bags.

It's no problem if someone wants to come in and look around the gym to see if they might like to sign up for boxing.  There's no charge for that.  Alan and I are happy to answer questions of those who just want to check it out.  But trying to get freebies is another thing altogether.

Fighting and Dancing

How many people can say they got to get in the ring with their boss?  Alan can; he and Paul, his boss at his day job, got into the ring to spar each other.  Paul seems like a nice guy, and Alan didn't go very hard on him.  However, I bet a lot of people would love to get a current or past boss in the ring.  They probably fantasize about it with glee.  Paul and Alan went about three rounds.

Alan was also in sparring with Reggie.  At one point, it seemed like they were going on and on.  Then Amy noticed the timer wasn't working.  It seems that the timer -- which Alan brought in awhile ago -- has a short in it.  I unplugged it, waited a few seconds, then plugged it back in.  It began to work again. 

Kevin sparred with Reggie.  Alan kept telling Kevin to keep his hands up.  Kevin did not do his crouching near the ropes business, and stayed upright. 

The gym was a little quiet on Monday night.  Ray (in the photo above) said that most were probably out watching a Bears-Eagles game that was on.  He had been watching some of it before he came to the gym. 

Alan had been in the gym two hours before everyone else came in.  His car had broken down, and he had to leave it at a mechanic in the suburbs.  He took a bus down to the gym.  Alan had put the radio on and left it on some station that sounded like it was playing a mix of 1960's pop and trance music.  After about an hour, the station started playing what sounded like house music.  Ray was going, "Yeah!  I am a house-head!"  Then I started doing footwork, a popular dance that is done much better by people way younger than I.  I slipped and fell against the lockers.  I had to laugh at myself.  Then I got up and started stepping, a dance done better by people my age.  "You know how to step?" Ray asked.  "A little," I replied.  Willie, whose grandson had fought in the Loyola Park boxing show last month, taught me how to do a basic six-step.  "Teach me how to step!" Reggie smiled.

Several of us did burnouts on the heavy bags.  Reggie and Ray were cursing as they went through the round.  Sarah (in the foreground in the photo above) and I just put our heads down and punched until we tired ourselves out. 

Earlier in the day, Pastor Roger was telling me that he played football briefly at school when he was a young man.  A dislocated shoulder convinced him that he didn't want to deal with the fallout from other injuries down the line.  He also noticed that guys in their 30s who had played sports during their high school and college days were already experiencing health problems.  "I was playing a pickup basketball game, and saw that a lot of the guys were taping up their joints beforehand.  A lot of them were younger than me and already had arthritis," Pastor said.  I told him that I'm now feeling the effects not just from boxing, but from participating in roller skating, in-line skating, ice skating, and martial arts over the years. 

More Aspirin, More Sparring

I walked into Pastor Roger's office on Wednesday morning and asked if I could please have another aspirin.  "I've basically been hurting ever since I had my last fight in early October," I told him, after he made a joke about me being knocked upside my head again.  That time, I was feeling the effects of the body punches Alan gave me on Monday.  The aspirin helped a little.  A long hot bath in Epson salt probably would have been better.

There were some guys in the gym whom I did not recognize.  One was a coach who I learned trains fighters way out in Crete, IL.  Another was Sosa, who was being trained by that coach.  Sosa looked like he knew what he was doing.  He told Alan he'd like to come in again.and get some sparring in.

Oscar and his friend Jesus returned to the gym.  Oscar and I sparred twice; we did two separate rounds, and Kenny and I did one round together in-between that.  It was easier to spar with Oscar, only because Oscar is my height.  I got Oscar with some jabs and hooks.  Alan was on the side saying, "Beautiful!  Now keep it up!"  Oscar seems to have become quicker each time I spar with him.  I remembered to keep my chin down, and watch better for openings.  But there were times when I goofed up.  For example, I swung wildly at Oscar during our first round and ended up spinning in a circle.  Alan chuckled about that one.  Then Oscar popped me with a right, and I put my head down and closed my eyes, not seeing the jab that came behind it.  Afterwards, Colonel told me, "You're tough for a church lady!"  That's a new nickname for me.

Reggie, seen facing Kenny in the above photo, went several a few rounds with him.  Kenny has become our second Eveready Bunny in the gym (Jacob is the other one).  When he has a fight coming up, Kenny can go several rounds non-stop.  Kenny is sort of a like a snake in the ring, as I noticed when I sparred with him on Wednesday.  Always coiled, and when he strikes, it's quick.  Some of the guys that Kenny has sparred and fought with have been bigger, like Reggie, but Kenny's quickness and observation skills are assets in overcoming larger opponents.

Kevin sparred with Ralphie.  Alan must have told Kevin ten times to keep his hands up.  "You're not listening to me," Alan told him during a break in the action.  Then someone else ringside -- I think it was Kenny -- gave the same warning to Kevin.  Alan told Kevin, "There's more than one person telling you the same thing -- do you think I'm lying?"  Kevin went back to leaning on the ropes.  Ralphie took advantage of the situation and kept popping him in the side.  When Alan told Kevin not to stay in that one spot, Kevin replied, "I'm waiting for him to tire himself out."  Several of us fell out laughing.  "Oh, no!  Ralphie's not going to get tired!" I told Kevin.  Before the next round took place, Ralphie explained to Kevin that he will lose fights if he keeps waiting by the ropes and not answering punches properly.

In another month and five days from now, my birthday will be here. .  . .I still haven't made up my mind about whether to continue competing beyond that time.  Alan called Sam to let him know that I am one of the fighters interested in having a bout during a show fight that will take place downtown later this month.  Seward Park's boxing show is next week, but I'm sure I won't have a match there.  Beyond those fight shows is Brooks Park, which will take place the day before my birthday.  Most likely I will have a fight at Brooks, and how I do there may be the deciding factor on whether I take any more fights.

But based on the fact that I'm still feeling soreness from the fight with Meg last month, and the hard sparring with Sarah that followed behind that. . .I can't keep denying that it's become a bit harder to recover from punches.  Wait. . .I just found a series of scrapes on my right forearm.  They weren't there earlier, so that must have happened while sparring.  I'm glad I'm not that vain of a person.  Otherwise, I'd constantly have fits about all the scratches and scrapes I get (from boxing and elsewhere) and the scars they often leave behind.   While I'm aware that I give off a youthful appearance, young I'm not.

 Alan was happy that none of Reggie's punches caught him in the back while they sparred.  "It would have been bad if Reggie had gotten me, but if you hit me like that, I would have been out," Alan told me.  I'm always apprehensive about really hurting someone.  The second round that Oscar and I sparred, he didn't put on headgear.  I kept throwing hooks, but honestly, I really didn't want to connect, considering Oscar's head was vulnerable. 

Halloween Interviews

Halloween. . ..eh, I don't celebrate it.  It wasn't celebrated much in my house when I was growing up.  Ma would snap at the kids who rang our bell for candy, especially if they kept ringing it after nine at night.  As an adult, I saw a religious program that outlined the pagan origins of this "holiday", and I was done with it after that.  Bad things usually happen because people -- both kids and adults -- do things they shouldn't do on Halloween.  I walked to the gym watching for eggs being thrown, or other such stupid pranks going down.  Thankfully, I arrived at the gym without having to take a detour to chase down anyone who attempted to get a laugh at my expense.

Colonel showed up wearing a fright mask with hands to match.  I was laughing, as he was also wearing a nice suit.  Brittany and Amber were waiting outside the gym along with Colonel, myself, Kenny, BK, and Igor.  Brittany and Amber are journalism grad students at Northwestern University.  They were there to film some of the action in the gym, and to do some interviews.

Jacob came in wearing a splint on his left hand.  The diagnosis?  A hairline fracture on his thumb.  It happened the last time he sparred with Kenny.  He's supposed to wear the splint 24 hours a day.  It's going to take a few months before it is completely healed.  He put a glove over his hand with the splint still on.  "Be careful.  You don't want to re-injure it," I told him.  "I think it'll be okay if I hit the bags lightly and don't spar," he said.

Kenny sparred with Professor, Kevin, and Alan.  He wants to fight during Seward's boxing show, which is ten days away.  Things went well with Professor, but Kevin reverted back to some of the usual moves -- that everybody admonishes him about -- again.  Professor and BK closely paid attention when Kevin was in the ring.  Professor was telling Kenny to take advantage when Kevin made mistakes. 

I got into the ring with Alan who joked, "I'm going to smack you down."  "See?  See?  Everytime I get inside the ring with you Alan, you want to beat me down," I laughed.  I was trying my best to take advantage of any and every opening.  I noticed earlier that when Alan threw an overhand right at Kenny, he lingered a little too long.  Kenny could have come in with a quick jab or hook to his ribs.  I wanted to do that, but I forgot one thing.  I have short arms and legs.

Well, actually I forgot another thing, too.  Alan is cagey in the ring.  He has this thing where he puts out his left fist on my forehead and just holds me off as I try to get closer to get in any punches.  Kids would do that same thing to me during fights I had in grade school.  "I'm a dirty fighter," he grinned through his mouthpiece.  "I see," I replied, frustrated because I couldn't be as slick as I wanted to be.  I tried to catch Alan during round two, and I tripped over my own feet, turning my ankle a little.  That had been happening all day long.  Twice it happened while I was at church this morning.  The second fall was due to a direct hit I took.  The coach had to help me back up to my feet.

The couple of times I made any progress involved hitting Alan in a spot where he had already been hurt.  Before he got into the ring to spar Kenny, he told me that his back was still hurting from when Kevin popped there the last time they sparred.  The first time I punched Alan in his back, he groaned and moved away.  "Now I'm really going to get you," he said.  "I'm sorry. . ..I didn't mean to hit there," I said, and I was telling the truth.  We moved around some more and boom, I got him there again.  "Whoops!" I thought to myself.  Alan caught me against the ropes, and bang, bang, bang, I caught punches to both of my sides.  Afterwards, Alan told me, "I saw red when you got me there."  "Honestly, I didn't mean to do it," I apologized.  "I know you didn't, but I thought back to when I first took a hit there.  But I forced you to fight, didn't I?" he said.  I agreed.

Brittany interviewed myself, Kenny, and Alan.  I talked about always being a tomboy who liked rougher sports.  Kenny talked about how boxing helps keep him on the straight and narrow.  Alan revealed that he'd been boxing since he was 20 years old, forty years ago.  "I was considered old for starting that late.  The thought then was that boxers were about done when they became 28 years old.  Today, you have boxers who are fighting way over the age of thirty-five, so that decline has been disproved."  He spoke about Rudy Cisneros (12-3-0), a professor boxer whom Alan began training when Cisneros was ten years old.  Cisneros was one of the boxers on season two of the TV reality competition, "The Contender".  Cisneros was not the only boxer whom Alan trained who turned pro, but Alan considered him to be one of the best fighters he ever trained.  "I won't keep sparring forever because the body does break down after awhile.  But I'll keep coaching as long as I am able to walk into the gym.  I love it.  I would do this for free," Alan said.