If you got the title, I absolutely adore you. Those who did not, well, what can I say? It's an inside joke.
Today, my darlings, I will be highlighting my rebirth into the boxing world.
The day I realized that I was most fortunate to have not had to physically fight since my cervical spinal surgery 5 years ago, the double lumbar fusion 14 years ago. The day I realized that after a 20 year hiatus, I had grown into an out of shape has been.
It started with noticing all of these 'kids' walk into the MMA office while I sat to watch Wednesday in the Juniors Jiu Jitsu class. These 'kids' are 18+, mind you. Mostly in their 20's, with a few seasoned 'adults' in the mix. After watching the eleventy billionth seat belt grip and side control exercise, I could not help but allow my eyes to wander and my nose to guide. I plopped that facial feature right into the middle of everyone's business as my legs walked me into the center of this gathering.
I picked up a few key conversations. Things like, "Can I buy hand wraps?", "Do you have adult mouth guards?", "I need new gloves..." Obviously, I knew that Muay Thai was part of the program. But, I was actually standing with the people that did it. This made it real, to me. As did the similarities and connection with Boxing. Since these classes are downstairs, it is very easy to just sit upstairs and be completely unaware, in a chair, and watch your child do their thing as you slowly succumb to a life that no longer belongs to you.
I slowly joined in the chit chat. Over a few days, I became included in a few conversations. After a month, I began to enjoy a few new 'friendships'. After some more time, my new friends were very gracious and invited me to visit the downstairs training room to work on the bags.
I was so excited! I never get excited. But this was something I was good at! This was something that I could maybe get back into for a bit of solid exercise.
I researched Tito Ortiz, who had at least 5 spinal/cervical surgeries. Rich Hernandez, who was back to shadow boxing 16 days after cervical surgery. NFL players like Peyton Manning, who had 4 cervical surgeries. Basically, I was going to give it a go. I would be so careful. A slow, crawling paced attempt to see if I still 'had it'.
I became fast friends with my dude, "Hulk". I give him that name because he is everything but green. Super sweet, a Muay Thai extraordinaire, great cook, nasty sense of humor... he's me with a great body and a penis.
He offers to mitt and work through a few combos with me. I was so excited! I'm back in a gym. Not one that is underneath a laundry mat with metal buckets filled with spit and an angry old man handing me the used wraps from the sweaty dude heading out. I'm in a real gym, with people that are going to take me serious!
Slow and steady. I'm just getting my feet wet. I'm with a friend. This is just a refresher. No old man or chauvinistic gym rat to yell at me to let the 'men' take the double hang or let the 'men' have the heavies! I'm wanted here and there is no pressure.
I enter what I began to refer as, "The Dungeon". Little Japanese girls scream Death Metal through the speakers. Rows of Heavy Bags hang from the ceiling. Opposite, is a room with a mat floor for practice. I feel giddy. I love this shit. Pads and mitts on the wall. I breathe it all in as my heart thumps in time with the music.
I work on some stretches and start to hop from foot to foot. Hulk is not out of the back room yet, and I'm so glad. My tits are in a great bra, but not one designed for much activity beyond a light hair brushing. So I immediately quit that shit.
I warm up with light footwork while I start shadow boxing. I impress myself. I'm crossing like a motherfucker! My feet feel good. My jab is weak and I have no left cross, but that's why I'm there, right? After surgery, I permanently lost some of my movement. But I am not slowing down.
I begin to notice that all of this moving around has caused my workout leggings to start working their way down my body. I've been losing weight and all of our money goes to keeping Wednesday head to toe legit.
Hulk walks onto the mats. He's already glistening, wearing a sliced up version of a Venice Beach tank top and a pair of Muay Thai shorts that are literally begging his quads, hamstrings, and glutei for mercy. Had he been in the possession of female anatomy, I would have put him in my trunk and headed out West.
I start to fidget with my gloves and question why I'm not upstairs, sitting on a hard plastic chair, day dreaming of the good 'ol days. You know, the times when I was young, stacked, and in control of my life.
I see my reflection in the mirror and cringe. I look like a bell. Just a big hoodie to cover big tits, skinny leggings on my skinny legs, unstyled hair in a tangled ponytail, saggy eyes, and the fading dream that I could pick up where I left off.
Hulk smiles at me and tells me he's ready. For a second, I go back in time.
I was about 11-12 years old. It was winter and my Father had just gotten a water core Heavy Bag. It was on our back porch since there was no room inside our tiny row house.
"You gotta know this. Not just here, but when you're out in this world, or your fucking school with those asshole kids."
I listened to him explain the entire history of self defense and boxing for an hour, if not more, in the freezing night air. We had no gloves, no wraps, no mitts. He drilled me for 60 seconds with a 30 second break until the top layer of my knuckles lost the skin. The next day, by the time I got the blisters popped and calmed down, he had me go back out after dinner and start over. After a few months, he found the only place that sold a pitiful stock of boxing gear. We drove a half hour to Timmonium Road and he bought us a little pair of 8oz gloves, to share.
For a while, when he was home between work and his club, that was our thing. Just when I started to enjoy it, he stopped. The bag went inside to a corner of the house. He fought every day at work and for his club, why do it when he was home?
I picked back up, years later, when I moved to a shit townhouse in Arbutus. A nasty old gym, under one of the shops on Main Street. I was surprisingly good and remembered a lot of technique. But it wasn't really a place for chicks. I didn't know where to buy wraps, let alone gloves. The old man gave me the sweaty, wet wraps that men dumped in a box on their way out. I would the old man wrap the guys coming in so that I could learn to decently wrap my own. I was only given a brief instruction on the different bags, and a 5 minute walk around the "ring" to introduce me to shadow boxing.
The fights I found myself in, throughout my life, I can say without hesitation, I am my Father's Daughter. His technique, his drilling, his advice....I gravitate and fall back on his style more than orthodox boxing. Intimidate, dominate, charge, bear paw to the ear to rock the inner ear and equilibrium, hook under the jaw, keep my legs walking through their body until they can't stand any more, knees on their chest, elbow to the orbit....
But, I digress...
Hulk is ready. Let's get back to Orthodox. He is patient. He reminds me to breathe and work slow. "We are just working with technique. Just seeing where you are. Ease into it."
He moves back, I advance. He moves to his right, I step into my left. We begin the dance. It comes back to me.
With every step, I can feel the 'me', that has been packed carefully away, slowly break free. I KNOW THIS! I AM GOOD AT THIS!
Hulk calls, "One - Two, One - Two!" I jab, cross, jab, cross! I go HARD!
"Easy, just relax. Relax your shoulders. We're not going for power right now, just some light work." Hulk is so caring. A straight up friend. I think, "Why go light when I can really get a workout in?" I keep my hits hard, I choose not to err on the side of caution and follow advice.
And as I think about what a great coach he is and how lucky his classes are to have him, I realize that my workout leggings have now rested themself just above my pubic bone. As a matter of fact, my 2 inch ass crack is actually exposed, which is an anomaly because that only happens if I'm naked.
I wondered how close Hulk and I actually are? Because putting sweaty boxing gloves back on is a pain in the dick. Or vag. Whatever.
He has the mitts back up and is starting to sway. I just stand there. He stops and begins to lower his mitts.
I then try to shove the fake thumbs of the gloves into my huge hoodie and down into my waistband. No luck. It would have been easier to tie my sneakers with my hands behind my back.
I looked him in the eye. Silently begging him to just kill me. Situation is now critical. He completely lowered his hands and stared right back.
I told myself to be the "dominant pack leader" and take control. My mind races with, "Don't show fear and act like this happens all day, to everyone." "Hey, at least you'll see where this whole friendship stands!"
Hulk did this thing with his head. You know, the cock your head just ever so slightly to the side as you silently ask the other person, "The fuck is going on?"
I squared up. I looked him dead in the eye and informed him, "Dude. My fucking pants are almost down."
Hulk smiled, "S'cool! We'll be done soon...."
What stopped him, mid-sentence, was me hopping up while simultaneously spreading my legs out like I was ready for hopscotch. In one breathe I squeak, "I need you to fucking pull my pants up right now-They won't wait-I'm losing them and I'm not wearing underwear-There going down-There's no time to rip my gloves off, just pull my fucking pants up, I don't CARRRRRE!"
My gloves were at my crotch, enjoying the show and doing nothing to help my leggings stay up. Hulk looked horrified, and slightly excited. His eyes promising to bring this specific event up repeatedly in the future. Through my panicked state, this reached me like a beacon. His smiling, laughing, and mischievous face was one of a total friend... and I was living again!
Hulk carefully, and quite daintily, jacked my leggings straight up to mid torso level and we went back to combos like shit was right on schedule. I went past the 15 minute time limit. I was rusty as hell, but I was driving through those mitts. My legs were moving. We were dancing in unison. I felt incredible. And finally, we realized I had gone for an hour. Time to clean up and get Wednesday home. I thanked Hulk for the extra legging pull ups and the work out. I couldn't wait to do it again, I felt amazing!
And then.....
I got home and made dinner. I enjoyed a hot shower and was preparing for bed when I realized I was shivering. I panicked thinking that maybe I was coming down with something and that I was beginning a fever.
No fever, and I did feel great. So, I wore my robe to bed.
I was hot from all the covers. The shivers increased. I actually started to have these involuntary seizures throughout my entire upper body. My shoulders shrugged, relentlessly. My arms and hands were flying up and clenching. My back began to pull like someone had a rope, pulling me backward!
"Boy" woke up and flipped out. I literally looked like Regan from The Exorcist. I kept gritting out, "Help me! Help me!" He began to get dressed, he was going to take me to the ER, if I wouldn't let him call an ambulance.
My whole body hurt!
It then dawned on me, the last time I put that much energy and force out into the world, was before my neck surgery, if not before Wednesday was born. I told Boy that it had to be muscle spasms because I didn't listen to Hulk and went all out.
Boy got a heating pad for the center of my shoulders and then laid on top of me for the rest of the night so that I could be as flat as possible and to help control the intensity of the spasms.
I woke up feeling like a million bucks!!!! Boy was not so happy. He was tired and stressed the hell out. He warned me to listen to Hulk or that I would be witness to him informing everyone that I was not allowed access to any of the boxing equipment.
I kept going! Eventually, I even started to help a friend with her progress on nights before she took her Muay Thai class. Then, the Owner allowed me to bring SisterFish so that I could begin teaching her. I got to help HoneyBadger with a private lesson. I've shown a few easy footwork drills to a guy in the Muay Thai class. Not a professional, by any means, I was having the time of my life!
Boy told me to ask my Mother for my Father's old water core Heavy Bag. It is now in our garage. I go out almost every day and rock the hell out of it, with a little mouse that sits up on the wood stack, cheering me on. I choose my pants carefully, but am silently happy they keep sliding down. I have friends that I can talk 'shop' with.
Who would have ever thought?
xoxoxL~
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