Some More New Faces

Cole and his roommate Nathan appeared in class recently. Cole is a musician who is a friend of my ex-roommate Anna. He spotted me in the gym last week and asked, "Aren't you Anna's ex-roommate?" His roommate looked as if he had some training before. They can only attend the gym once a week because they have Bible Study on the other day the gym is open.

Gym was closed this past Friday because Steve and several others traveled to Rock Falls for the IL State Championship. I didn't go because Les was not going to be at work due to an all day seminar, according to his schedule. Due to all the changes going on at my job, it wouldn't have been a good idea for the both of us to be gone at the same time. Les did show up that afternoon because he scheduled two interviews, which he told me nothing about ahead of time. It was just as well, because the elder of my church passed away last Monday, and I attended his funeral Friday morning. My week wasn't that hot.

Can't wait to hear what happened down in Rock Falls.

Session Bets Are On

Four new people showed up for the first day of the winter session this past Friday: Leslie, who works at a bookstore; Corey, who showed up with his son; Andrew, who's in his early 20s; and Cassandra (a different one). Leslie said that she doesn't want to spar, and I suspect Cassandra doesn't want to, either. Cassandra complained big time during the exercises that Steve put the new people through, and she was the first one of them to leave the gym. She may also be the first to drop out, but time will tell.

Junior held the pads for me, and he did a good job. I was good and tired afterwards, but that was exactly what I needed. Between my diet and boxing, my weight should get down.

Fight At An Old Show Palace

The Sabre Room was big time years ago. People like Frank Sinatra, Liza Minelli and Dean Martin would perform there. It's popularity as a concert venue has gone down, but people still rent the place for weddings, proms and parties. A boxing show was held there last night. Mike, Larry, and Junior showed up to fight, but only Larry and Junior were matched. One of the things I noticed was that the cigar smoke wasn't as heavy as it usually is at other show fights we've attended. Based on conversations I heard, the audience seemed to be more knowledgeable about boxing than at the other shows, too.

I had seen a stocky, tall man standing near the room the boxers used to change their clothes and get matched up. He looked familiar, but I didn't slow down to pay better attention. Later, he was introduced as one of the special guests that evening. He was Ernie Terrell, a former heavyweight champion who once boxed Muhammad Ali.

Larry gave up a few pounds to box a guy from the Evanston Boxing Club. Boxers from that club don't seem to be that good, but they manage to make it into competitions such as the Golden Gloves. The guy was muscle bound with tatoos that made him look like a regular at a bikers' bar. Larry handled business early, causing the referee, a jovial guy named Kitchen, to give his opponent an eight count. Then Larry became winded at the end of the second round. He still managed to cause the ref to give his opponent a couple more eight counts. Maybe the ref should have stopped it after that, but the fight continued, and the tide turned. Larry ended up getting hurt and getting an eight count on himself. The fight was stopped soon afterwards because Larry was too tired to go on. We had to help him out of the ring. Larry laid down for a long time back in the boxers' room. He later told Steve, "Man, in all the sports I've played (b-ball, football, wrestling, kickboxing), I have never been THAT tired."

Junior fought a guy out of Garfield Park named Derrick. He seemed a little tentative at first, and there were times during the rounds when they circled each other, hesitating to throw punches. A frustrated guy in the audience yelled, "Come on, this is not chess!" at one point. When Junior got going, he was on point. As Steve said, Junior made adjustments when he figured out Derrick's moves. Junior likes to showboat sometimes. In the middle of a round, I think it was the last one, he taunted Derrick by telling him "It's over!" For Derrick, it was. Junior had bloodied his nose and hurt him several times. The judges gave Junior the decision.

Unfortunately, Derrick decided he was going to act hard. Immediately after the bout, Derrick tripped Junior near the judges' table. "What's the matter, man?" Junior asked him. Derrick got up in his face barking, "What's up, man? What you want to do?" I recognized that west side temper right away. My sisters and I often employed it during street fights when we were kids. But last night, we weren't on the street, and Derrick had picked the wrong moment to defend his wounded pride. Junior later said that he was not going to back down. Fortunately, an assistant coach from Fuller Park stepped in and put the breaks on the situation.

Steve told George, who is Derrick's coach, that he would never, never tolerate unsportsmanlike behavior out of any of his boxers. Common sense should have told George to reprimand Derrick on the spot. Instead Steve was told, "You're talking to the wrong guy. I don't care what he does." Excuse me? His boxer could have set off a brawl which could have jeopardized having any more boxing shows at the Sabre Room, brought the police in, got a whole lot of people hurt, etc. He didn't care about that? Totally tripped out.

Departures

Lan told me last night that she'll be shipping off to training to another state soon. She's in the Army Reserves, and waiting for her orders. It means she'll be gone for several months. Then I ran into Cassandra on the bus this afternoon; she's moving to another town, not returning to Chicago until summer.

I wasn't in the gym on Wednesday due to not feeling well again. Earlier on Friday, I had a chest X-ray taken to finally determine why the crud in my chest keeps hanging on. Guess I find out the results sometime in the upcoming week. I felt a little wore out as the night went on, but I trained away.

Steve has a new system for tracking progress among the boxers this year. He had his laptop with him last night. He has created a spreadsheet to record what we do in the gym like jumping rope, sparring, etc. I got a gold star because I did the most, but I still didn't do all of what Steve had mapped out. I asked if he was going to put the new people on the spreadsheet who'll come in next week when the winter session begins. "Most of them probably will drop out after a couple of weeks," he said, which is true, unfortunately.

Small Crowd

It was raining, and a damp cold permeated the streets. The weather might have been the reason why very few people came into the gym.

A woman was brought into the gym by Mary. The woman seemed to very excited that there was a boxing gym in the fieldhouse. She told Steve she was going to sign up for the next session. I couldn't help but wonder how short-lived her enthusiasm would be. It's a common scene: someone is all gung-ho to train, then they are gone long before the session ends.

The upper respiratory tract infection and the nagging cough I had is practically gone. Makes it very easy to work out these days without that hanging around. The workout tonight was very good. My energy level is better than it has been in over a month. Now all I have to do is keep it up by eating right and taking better care of myself in 2006.

Steve's wife, Ellen, came by; they had to go to a party, so there was no hanging around late in the gym tonight. She looks very healthy. He told me she has really taken care of herself during the whole time she's been pregnant. "The baby has been kicking a lot," she told me. "He's probably ready to come out," I said. Women have told me that a kicking baby in the womb is a restless one, especially near the end of the pregnancy. It might be an old wives' tale, but who knows?

Friday was the second day in the row I actually exercised; yesterday, I volunteered at a kids' roller skating party. I was still sore from that, but I had to go down to the gym. Wish I could go roller skating more. It's great cardio that would go hand in hand with endurance in the ring.

Energy Burst

The antibiotics must be working, because I had a lot of energy in the gym last night. Of course, I need to take probiotics to replace the good bugs that the antibiotics will kill off, but I'm going with the energy flow. After a visit to the foot doctor, I ended up at the gym a half-hour early. I was in the ring with Steve for three rounds. He wore a chest protector, and let us take turns punching away. Poor Steve's left hand is numb because something happened to a nerve, so he kept it behind his back during the rounds.

Another old home week situation with Gabe and Jermaine in attendance at the gym. Both guys are in college, so they don't come in often. Steve told me that Keith was talking about coming back and training. He has a seasonal job that is ending, so he has some time right now. I still wonder what happened to Jeff, who was a great help around the gym. There were rumors that he was in a homeless shelter, but that was never proven.

The youth boxing program is full of 2005 Illinois Silver Gloves champions. Montrel, Nate Jr., Alex, Kevin and Diego all won their bouts in Rockford, IL a little over a week ago.

A Sick Month

Wasn't in the gym at all this week. Finally discovered the illness plaguing me since before Thanksgiving is an upper respieratory infection. I have antibiotics to take care of it. I was too sick to go to the gym on Wednesday. Luckily, I caught a showing of "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas". Not the Jim Carrey version, the animated one from 1966 with Boris Karloff as the voice of the Grinch.

Yesterday was the single ministry's annual Christmas dinner and gift exchange. As usual it was woefully unattended, which is the main reason why I'm not planning monthly events for the ministry next year. I cut it down to six. Also, I've become more busy with my other activities, boxing included, and I can't spend time on something that appears not to be appreciated by the very folks for whom it was created. All I get is excuses from various church singles as to why can't go to the events, or either they say nothing and just don't show up. No matter how much I talk up the events before and afterwards ("You all missed a good time!"), it doesn't seem to generate much interest.

I did get some boxing in at Dave and Buster's, a restaurant/video game emporium about two weeks ago. They have a boxing game there, and my boss was eager to see how well I'd do on it. I won the first round, but was KO'd in the second. Les, and the two program directors who also attended the luncheon we had that day, didn't want to try it out.

A Reason For Low Energy

I was in the gym, the day after my 44th birthday, and my energy level was extremely low. I spent more time standing around or sitting down. The next day, I woke up sick as a dog, the congestion in my lungs having moved up to my sinuses. Good thing I had begged off going up to Rockford to help Steve out at the Silver Gloves. I probably would not have made it through the entire day.

I've been sick with cold/flu for about a month. Maybe I should have cooled out on exercising, but I keep reading that it is good to workout while sick if you don't overdo it. In my case, it had the opposite effect.

Last Boxing Tournament Of The Season

Steve was talking to Swifty, who is one of the referees who is always at tournaments, show fights, and the Golden Gloves. Sarah, Mike's wife, had a bout against Jessie, a rather tough fighter out of the Hamlin fieldhouse. Sarah and Jessie are good friends. Swifty asked Steve if that was Sarah's first match. Steve told him that she had fought three times in her native Sweeden. Swifty said, "This is why I don't like to watch good-looking girls box. They don't work hard enough because they're afraid of messing up their faces." A judge sitting nearby nodded his head in agreement. Obviously, if she's fighting, she ain't worried about getting a few bruises and cuts on her face. That's men for you.

We were at Brooks Park, which is way out northwest. Alex and his younger brother Kevin both got fights, both of them looked very good in the ring, and both of them won. I worked the corner for both of them. The kid that Kevin fought came over to the corner to shake hands/touch knuckles afterwards, and to my surprise, he touched his glove to my hand. That was the first time I had ever been acknowledged in the corner by the opposing boxer. Usually they bypass with a surprised look that says, "What is that girl doing in the corner?"

Jovan started out fast and tough in his bout, but got winded in the second match. He ended up getting a standing eight count--twice. His opponent kept him up against the ropes for most of the third round, and he lost his match. Mike fought a guy with huge arms. The guy was very aggressive, and never gave Mike an inch. Mike ended up with a little blood on his shirt, and a loss.

Junior and Larry crapped out again in terms of getting fights. I especially felt bad for Larry. It appears that the other coaches are scared to put their boys up against him. Larry is a solid built guy.

Of all the fieldhouses I've been inside for tournaments, Brooks was the brightest in terms of lighting. Maybe it is a newer building. Looked like a strange set up for a boxing gym. It looked like the program just had a long hallway that had two heavy bags swinging, boxing posters plastered around, and a weight room tucked in a corner. A ring had been set up in the middle of the basketball court for tonight's event.

I was surprised to learn that Junior has a girlfriend. Junior has never mentioned her before. I don't know. . .Junior always seemed too antsy to just have one girl. But then, most of the really young guys in the ring, those who are in their late teens and early twenties, strike me as being that way. I can always tell the difference in priorities between them and the older guys, especially Steve, Neil, Mike and Rob, who are married.

Been reading Box Like The Pros, a book by "Smokin" Joe Frazier, who once took Muhammad Ali out during a match. Much of the stuff has been covered in other how-to-box books, but there a few things that were new to me. For example, Frazier explains that leather jump ropes are better than lighter speed ropes because of the resistance they offer. I also liked how he broke it down about going to a boxing gym as opposed to going to a health club that offers boxing classes. I had to agree with him on that. Many white collar boxing classes have popped up recently, but many of them are little more than glorified aerobic classes with gloves. In order to learn the proper ways of the game, it is better to go to a place where boxing is the primary focus.

A Beat Down

Still trying to figure out how I hurt my wrist during last night's sparring session. It might have happened while I was trying to deflect a punch from Sarah. After it was all over, I realized, "She's gotten good over the past few months." I also realized that I had taken a good ass whupping.

Steve told me, "You can't tell yourself that you're tired. Suck it up!" But inside my head, I kept yelling for the bell to ring to end the rounds. My problems began when I started out too fast in round one. Steve warned me to pace myself. When the fourth round came around, I was dying, having spent the previous three rounds plodding around the canvas. I remember a series of right and left hooks raining towards my head. One of them hit me hard enough to stun me.

I'm sure that Laura, the journalism student, got an eyefull of stuff to write about that. She talked to several of the other boxers, and had met with Steve a couple of days before, so she was able to get a lot of material. She was really surprised to find out that two other sparrers, Mike and Sarah (I kept calling his wife Cheryl, and she is the other Sarah, not the one who beat me) were married.

It was sort of like old home week again on Wednesday night. The gym was packed, as I figured it would be coming off of a holiday. Keith, a good boxer who unfortunately, was low on motivation, showed up. He told me he was planning to come back into the gym to work out more regularly.

Rob, who will soon be licensed as a pastor, also came in. Rob always asks about how things are going at my church, then we get into discussions about God and religion. God turned Rob's life around. He had been involved in a lot of bad stuff that eventually put him in jail when he was a young man. These days, he's a solid family man, has a steady job, and has his life on track.

The darn chest cold is still hanging on. One of the choir members told me during rehearsal tonight that maybe it wasn't a good idea for me to spar. Maybe so. A turtle would have been faster than me last night. I was sitting with my head in my hands at work earlier, and Les asked what was wrong. "I'm just tired and sore," I said.

The Interview

Today, I met with Laura, a nice young woman who is a journalism student at Northwestern University. For about an hour in a nearby coffee shop, she interviewed me about my involvement in boxing.

She asked many interesting questions. One was about how I feel about the salaries that professional boxers receive. Pros who have worked their way up deserve the big paydays. Boxing is not an easy sport, and the potential for injury is higher than in most other sports in my opinion. Unfortunately, some pros have become so selective and/or careless about protecting their reps, that some of them just take a bout for the paycheck. Once the love of the game is gone, they should hang up the gloves and leave with dignity.

Laura also brought out something in my subconscious that partially fuels my interest in the sport. I told her how I had been the kid who was picked on unmercifully in grade school (and to a lesser extent, in high school). I was always the smallest, always wore glasses, a source of jealousy because I was a good student, and in grade school, I was a big crybaby. I didn't win most of the schoolyard fights back then. If I had the skills that I have now, I would have sent a lot of kids to the nurse's office. In a weird way, knowing how to box somewhat evens the score, even though those days of peer persecution are long gone.

Sprints On Older Legs

Last night, Steve and several of us went across the hall to an empty basketball gym to run sprints. We usually do five in a row. Steve counts down to ten, then we dash to the other side, touch the wall, and speed back to start as fast as we can. I came in dead last the few times I ran. I could do sprints twice, then I would have to slump against the wall for rest.

There is no way I'm going to outrun the younger guys, especially Junior, who is 19 years old. When I was a kid, I loved to run. I would huff and puff, because before I was 11 years old, I could not breath out of my nose. Had bad adenoids, so I had no choice but to breath out of my mouth. But I was a fast little dart. My kindergarten teacher would always warn me, "Hillari, don't run so fast and so much!", but I would keep speeding. My mom wasn't crazy about me running all the time, either, especially if I was running from her to keep from being spanked. Of course that never worked. When she caught me, the beating would be worse. "What have I told you about running from me!" she'd yell as the strap came down across my legs.

These days, I turn my nose up at running for the buses and trains. That's mostly because my hatred of public transportation has been high since I lost my car to an accident over the past summer. The other part of that is, I have lost a lot of the joy I had for running. It's a sure sign of getting older when you're thinking, "There'll be another bus in awhile. I'll let that one go."

Steve stood in the middle of the floor with the heaviest medicine ball in the gym and said, "Let's play chase the chicken!" Lan and I looked at each other. "Uh, we think we'll skip that one," we said. Mike was the only one who was up for it. The game is, one person throws the medicine ball, and the other person chases after it, brings it back to the thrower, and the process is repeated. Mike's in good shape. He was chasing the ball for awhile. I did that once some months ago in the ring. I was as tired as I would have been if I had sparred with someone.

My endurance level is strange. Some days it is very low. I'll be in the middle of the second round of a sparring session, trying to find energy to keep my hands up, praying for the bell to ring. Other days, I can do eight or nine rounds on the heavy bags and be ready for more. Maybe it has something to do with my iron levels, or not eating enough fruits and veggies, or seldom getting eight hours of sleep (I'm a major night owl). I worry that if I ever get a real fight, I'll fade early, get pummeled, and suffer the indignity of having the referee stop the fight.

Comments On My Boxing

Last Thursday, one of the choir members, Paulette, dropped me off in front of my apartment after our rehearsal. I had told her that I was very sore from participating in boxing class the night before. "You know what you have to do to keep that from happening," she said. She meant that I should stop boxing. She's always telling me, out of great concern, that I should leave it alone. In true mom fashion (she has two daughters, and is a grandmother), right before I went inside the building she said, "Make sure you take some ibuprofen!"

Margaret, the choir director, and her husband, Glynn, were on me for a long time about taking up pugalism. Margaret would groan and say things like, "What about your face? Your head?" Glynn took it one step further. We always stand in a circle and pray after choir rehearsal. For weeks he would burst out with, "And I pray that Hillari stops boxing!" Now when he sees me, he greets me with "Hey, Champ!" Others at church have taken to calling me that as well. The pastor even used me as an illustration in one of his sermons. He was preaching a series of sermons on the book of Nehemiah. Nehemiah went off on some nobles who were exacting usury from the people. The Scripture reads, "I consulted with myself and contended with the nobles". The pastor gave an illustration of what contended means. "When our dear sister Hillari steps in the ring with an opponent, she contends with them!" The congregation got a good giggle out of that.

Now I wouldn't say that Roger, the pastor of my church, is a champion of women's rights. We were in a deacon's board meeting a few months ago, and the wife of the chairperson came in briefly to speak with her husband. Roger joked, "Alex is giving her his dinner order!" He has made other comments that place him on the anti-feminism side. However, he has never said to me that he thought I should not box. In fact, I invited Steve to church one Sunday, and on his way out, Roger shook his hand. When he found out that Steve was my coach, Roger asked, "Is she any good?" "She's gotta stop dropping her left hand," Steve smiled.

I remember when I told my boss, Les, that I boxed. I hadn't been working where I'm at now for very long, and I don't remember how the subject came up. However, I'll never forget the look of concern and shock on his face. "But Hillari, you could get hurt!" he exclaimed. Another time he told me, "You really should find another sport to participate in." I think I had been dragging around the office because I had a hard sparring session the night before. "But Les, I like the sport," I protested. "Why don't you go into martial arts?" he suggested. "It seems to be more civilized than boxing." I had been involved in martial arts, long enough to receive a yellow belt. I often went home sore after those classes, as well. "People hit each other in martial arts class, too," I said, looking at him over my glasses.

After listening to him attempt to warn me away from the ring several times, I grew curious about his aversion to boxing. "Have you ever been in a fist fight?" I asked him. "No," he replied. "Not even with your sisters?" I queried further. "Oh, no! If I had hit one of my sisters, I would have been in big trouble," Les said, in a serious tone. I had to investigate further. "Not even in grade or high school?" "Nope. Guess I was too chicken," he chuckled. I have known other guys who have never used their fists on anyone, but it's still a surprise to me when I hear that. Guess I'm a little old fashioned about men and women's roles sometimes, and I should know better. I tried to invite him to a boxing show last year, when I thought I would have a match, but he shook his head. "You're not that squeamish," I teased him. "No, it's not that. I just don't want to see you get hit," he explained. Well, he's a peaceful, mild-mannered man, and that is to be respected.

What tickles me is when kids in the fieldhouse see me in the gym, especially the little boys. A couple of weeks ago, I entered the gym, and two grade-school age boys were sitting and talking to Steve. I greeted Steve, and the boys gave me odd looks. I heard one of them ask Steve, "She boxes?" I thought to myself, "Yes I do!" The kids seem to get over the idea of a woman boxing rather quickly, though. I'll often stop and show them around the gym, then ask them to stop in again when Barry, the youth boxing coach, is present. I remember three kids, two boys and their sister, who used to hang around the gym a couple of summers ago. The girl was interested in boxing, and I used to let her wear my bag gloves sometimes.

Broken Noses and Other Mishaps

Discovered that Josh apparently broke his nose during a sparring sesson with Junior some time ago. Josh had some problems breathing, went to the doctor, and discovered he not only had a blood clot, but that his nose had been busted. No wonder he hasn't been in the gym for awhile.

Then I learned that a couple of boxers in the youth program have had troubles. One is currently in jail for having sex with a minor, another appears to have a drug problem. It is perplexing how boxing is a savior for so many young men, but some still manage to get caught up in bad situations.

Mike showed up last night with his wife. Cheryl is her name, I believe. She boxes also. She was in the ring against Ben, who had a time with her, and with Junior, who did his usual fast moves. She moves very well. I overheard her husband say they had attempted to spar in their living room, but it did some damage to the new carpeting, so they had to abandon the idea.

Hattie came in, and I showed her how to do some exercises with the medicine balls. I like the medicine balls, although I don't use them as much as I should. I even have a 10 pound one at home. She told me her arms were still hurting from hitting the heavy bags. It takes time to get used to working with both the light and the heavy bags. The new persons always complain of sore muscles and raw knuckles. I had the same thing when I first started four years ago.

After the big show he did on Wednesday, Mort was no where to be found last night. I understand he works a lot, so it is difficult for him to come to the gym. As usual, Cassandra was a no-show. Sometimes I wonder if she knows the class meets on Friday.

The other night when I was on my way to choir rehearsal, I ran into Kim, who used to come to the gym a couple of sessions ago. She had said then that she wasn't long for the class. I noticed that she let her hair grow out; she had worn a short cut while she was attending the gym.

I was a little surprised that Kevin didn't come in last night. He seems so eager to learn the game.
My muscles were still a little sore last night, but I did several rounds on both heavy bags, plus a few on the light bags. There was plenty of sparring last night, but I don't believe I would have been up to it. Sometimes I do have to remember I'm in my 40s, not my 20s.

Just Like Old Home Week

It appeared that most of the people who hadn't been in the gym for awhile decided to stop in tonight. Mort, Junior's friend was there; Mike, whose wife boxes at Hamlin; Giovanni or Joe, as we call him, came in; Neil, who had been off a few days; Jose and his friend, who hadn't been there since last session dropped in. There was also a new guy there who hadn't seen before. Big dude with glasses and a bald head.

Cassandra showed up very late. It was darn near 8:00 PM when she slithered in. I first saw her in the washroom. I heard her talking, but when I finished with my business in the stall, I didn't see her holding a cell phone. Odd. She didn't stay long.

Very good workout tonight! I was popping the heavy bags. Steve opened the weight room, and Lan, myself, and Junior went in there to pump up. Finally, Gilberto had to put us out. We stayed in the fieldhouse until 9:30 PM. "The cops come by, see the building open, then complain to Mary that it's open past closing time," he explained.

The day after Thanksgiving, Junior and Neil have matches waiting for them in Waukegan. Lan said she could drive them up there. Steve asked if I could go along to help them out in the corner. I don't have to work that day, so I think I'll be able to go. Steve can't go--he'll be in Boston. It'll be fun to work the corners for them.

Slow Wednesday Workout

I was at the gym, but I felt like I wasn't working hard enough. Some days, I feel more sluggish than usual.

Kevin came back to the gym. I heard him say he was gone for a minute because he had to catch up on his schoolwork. A few others of the new people came in as well. I wasn't surprised that Cassandra didn't show up.

There is a show fight tomorrow downtown. Sure wish I could go, but the choir director would beat me down. It's too close to the church's talent show, and I need to practice the song I'm going to sing.

Four Rounds

Hattie came in to the gym tonight, along with J.R., another new person. J.R. is a nicely built young man who moved into the city from the suburbs recently. He and Junior sparred tonight, and he looked good. That's not easy against Junior, who has the fastest hands in the gym.

Hattie worked on the punch mitts with Steve. She was tired, but she hung in there. She told me that she also takes kickboxing classes and yoga. Still hard to believe that she is a grandmother to two kids. Hattie doesn't make it into the gym regularly, but when she is there, she is eager to learn.

Can't say the same for Cassandra, who followed her regular pattern of showing up on Wednesday and skipping Friday. Normally, I'm very helpful to others in the gym, but I wasn't interested in dealing with her that night. I've never felt comfortable around her, and that was long before I got the full low-down on her shaky life. I spy her on the streets around the neighborhood often, and she's usually mumbling to herself. She showed up 30 or 40 minutes late, poked around without a purpose, then asked me, "What did I miss the last time?" Steve had taught the new people the day she went missing, so I told her what he covered. I did not offer to show her anything like I normally would do. Cassandra poked around a little more, then I noticed a couple of the guys attempted to give her advice about the speed bag. I was glad the place a bit full on Wednesday, because she couldn't monopolize the speed bag. Once she gets on that bag, she gets fixated on it and doesn't touch any of the other gym equipment.

Steve commented that he saw Josh once since he won his match at the fieldhouse's boxing show in September. "Some people are like that," Steve said, "They have one fight and that's it." Steve has a drawer full of boxing license books belonging to guys who had few to no fights. A drawer full of guys who apparently showed interest in the sport but dropped off, never to reach for the golden ring again.

Every so often I look at my boxing license book, and I have no fights listed. It is not for lack of trying. If I didn't spar or work the punch mitts, I wouldn't see any action at all. I spent four rounds in the ring today working with Steve on the mitts, and I felt like a turtle. I'm too heavy and too slow. Some of the slowness I can't do much about--that's due to age. My weight loss is at a glacial pace. I can't seem to get beyond losing three to four pounds, and they seem to come back as soon as they are gone.

I saw myself on a videotape of the fieldhouse's boxing show and I thought, "Man, I'm built like my father." He was a husky man. I've only seen one picture of him when he was thin, and that was a picture taken of him when he was in the Air Force during the Korean War. Every picture after that shows a solid guy who just got bigger as the pounds piled on over the years. My mother comes from a family of short curvy women. Mom is petite; she's not more than 110 pounds. I often wish I had inherited more of the genes from her side of the family. Sure would help me be lighter on my feet.

Competition Blues

Got my hopes up when I saw an annoucement that the 2005 National Female Golden Gloves are next month. As usual, they were dashed to the rocks when I saw the registration form that stipulated it was for fighters between the ages of 17 - 34.

The only major arena where boxers over the age of 35 is the Ringside Amateur Boxing Tournament that takes place in Kansas every summer. They have a section for Masters boxers there. Myself and some of the folks in the gym were planning to go this past August, but we neither got our individual schedules or money together.

Won't be long before the Chicago Golden Gloves are up, but I can forget about being a participant there. For the past couple of years, they've eliminated the Masters championship due to lack of participants.

Another option would be White Collar Boxing, which is catching on in popularity. I would have to check on age and weight requirments, but that may be a possibility.

Missing The Fight

Didn't go to the gym this past Friday because I had promised an acquaintance that I would see him in the musical he appears in. The guy looked cute in his makeup, bra, and high heels. It was a different kind of musical, believe me.

When I was there on Wednesday, Steve gave me a lesson on how to hold the pads. I seldom hold pads for anyone. I'm glad he gave me some pointers, because now I realize there is more to it than holding them up and calling out punches. My arms were a little sore afterwards; Steve pounded the pads very hard. I accidently got hit in the mouth at one point, too. Good thing that punch wasn't at full power or I would have been missing some teeth!

I don't like missing my time at the gym, whether I miss the entire session or have to leave early for any reason. I really need the workout because I can't afford to be totally inactive anymore. Once I start slacking off on any exercise routine, it is a hard climb to get back to whatever improvement level I was at before. I am very good about regular gym attendance, even if I don't keep up on the exercises I do at home, however. I was supposed to lift weights today, and got sidetracked by other activities. No excuses tomorrow.

Protect Yourself At All Times

I remember that scene in "Million Dollar Baby" where the female boxer forgets to watch her back during a match and ends up in a bad way. She forgot the mantra, "Protect yourself at all times." I forgot too, during a sparring session with Lan.

Didn't have my head gear on secure, either. Each hit I took upside the head knocked it loose. I told Steve later that I didn't get why my performance was so bad. I do every thing right on the bags, but when faced with an opponent who can, and will hit back, it appears that I forget all technique. I was trying to get some uppercuts in, trying to throw hooks. . .nothing worked. I felt like I couldn't get close enough to do anything without being clocked.

Kept throwing the jab low. Since Lan and I are about the same height, I didn't feel the need to throw the jab high, like I would have to do if I was sparring Steve or one of the other males. Left myself wide open for combinations, and was caught by some good body shots, too. Lan is very quick on her feet, something that I'm not, at least not like I used to be. Age plays a big part in that. None of my reflexes are what they used to be, no matter how hard I work on making them faster. I look at Bernard Hopkins, who is only four years younger than me, and think, if he can move around with grace in the ring, so can I. Ain't happened for me yet.

Guess some of the guys' predictions about the new people showing up regularly were right. I believe only one of them showed up last night, a lanky Hispanic kid who is eager to get into the ring. I wish Hattie (I keep calling the woman Pattie) had showed up. She's got a vibe about her that I like; reminds me of my feisty aunts. I didn't miss Cassandra. I looked at the class roster and noticed that there was no phone number next to her name. That tells me she's probably still living here and there, as usual. I don't know why some people never get tired of being urban nomads. Sarah came in this past week. She had been in the class before, and was a good sparring partner for me.