My friend Patti’s porch in Williamsville, Vermont, is one of those places in the world that forms still life images that are indelible.
I’ve sat on it, in winter and summer, spring and fall, but it never quite leaves me.
When I was there last, the remaining vestiges of winter were still apparent. And yet I gamely insisted on wearing my summer Keds, despite the mud.
As a writer’s retreat, it was a perfect place with just the right amount of mist to shroud me as I strung together the words I needed to propel me that much further into my book, A History Of Women’s Boxing.
Now that it’s actually sitting with the publisher, I carry the images from Patti’s porch as some sort of proof that writing is a labor of love, no matter what its purpose.
Breath heaving, arms aching, knees buckling after three rounds of sparring with my trainer Lennox Blackmoore, I looked at him standing quite nonchalantly a few feet away from me with admiration and a tint of envy and said, “you’re in some shape.”
Len just smiled as the bell intoned for our fourth round and said, “My mind is not tired.”
“What?” I thought.
“My mind is not tired,” he said, as a mantra, our eyes locked, our bodies circling each other in the ring.
And suddenly getting it I said, “my mind is not tired.”
A eureka moment, my punches flowed as crisp staccato accents on a drum kit.
“My mind is not tired,” I screamed to myself, remembering to slip Len’s right hand, and pulling back as he was went to my body, I let loose with my own overhand right that hit the mark.
Len nodded and said, “nice one,” but that didn’t last for long as we held each other’s gaze feinting, flicking punches, slipping, moving; his punches still tagging me from the right one, two, three times, but decidedly less that the week before.
Coming into the fifth round–we continued. The words “my mind is not tired” a true tonic for my body which really was feeling out of gas, but was moving with focus.
I practiced the shoulder roll, not quite getting it, but at least pulling away enough for the punch to graze me before letting loose with my straight right to the body. I remember to stand low too, something I had kept forgetting. I stayed low, feinted, slipped right, slipped left, feinted again, surprised Len with a lead right, pulled back, danced to the side, danced back again, took punches, pushed punches away.
We ended the round with Len on one side of the ring and me on the other. My breath really was hard, but I felt triumphant, I made my way over, slowly. Len took my helmet off and offered me water. He was smiling.
“Good work,” he said.
I felt proud of that and made my over to the uppercut bag to work on slipping punches again. Flagging for a moment, I said, “my mind is not tired,” and kept going having learned something.
Boxing really is all about the mind. The mind and the will to persevere, to take old damned bones and make them slip when everything in the body screams “pull back and get the heck out of the way.”
With a plethora of stories on individual boxers, exclusive interviews, news on upcoming fights, editorials on the state of the sport, and a site loaded with goodies it takes days and days to go through; the site is a MUST GO for anyone interested in the sport.
Starting this month, Sue has opened up her considerable archive of boxing records to the public. It is treasure trove of women’s boxing photos, original documents, video streaming footage, as well as a repository of historical documents.
Set up as a separate (but linked) website, WomensBoxingRecords.com is the most comprehensive website on the Internet for historical information of female boxing.
Named as one of the ten-most significant women’s boxers of all time in last year’s February 2012 edition of Ring Magazine, Sue Fox is more than that — she is a women’s boxing treasure for her years of devotion to setting the record straight in the sport.
As a former boxer with an illustrious career during the great spurt of women’s boxing in the 1970s, Sue also brings all of the passion for the sport that only someone who has actually fought in the squared circle can bring.
She has also been, and remains, an important point of contact for women in the sport. While not exactly a “mothership,” WBAN is a lifeline for denizens of female boxing from amateurs to professionals and everything in between.
If you can … go check it out, just click on the links:
I haven’t made it to the gym over the past few days, much to my chagrin. Between deadlines, work and a concert at my daughter’s school today, my plans to spend round upon round boxing on the the upper cut bag and slipping underneath have not come to fruition, but that hasn’t meant it’s left my mind.
Instead, in the moments of free time I’ve had, I’ve been watching heavy bag work-out videos and thought I’d share a few I’ve found that seem to have some good pointers.
1. Good instructional workout routines on the heavy bag: warmups, working lefts, head movement, outside work and finishing on the inside …
2. Advanced heavy bag techniques: working one hand, working in spot, “compound” attacks …
3. Freddie Roach Heavy Bag Training: footwork, balance and transferring feet, rolling and slipping, creating opportunities …
4. Uppercut bag workout with slipping under the bag
Yep. One of those days. Lots of entanglements. A load of unexpected work from my publisher. Cold. And no internet.
True to my mantra of “it’s just that,” I am at Starbucks along with a lot of other folks stepping in for a bit of warmth, computer time and even a few “old school” readers with actual books.
Unfortunately it’s meant I’ve had to “kill” the gym for the night–but I’m determined to make do and turn frozen lemons into a nice hot toddy!
Having actually lived in Siberia, I can attest to just how cold -25 F degrees feels! It was in the winter of 1992, when newly posted by the Peace Corps to the city of Khabarovsk, Russia in the Russian Far East, things were positively balmly when they hit zero degrees.
At the time, the buses were unheated, so there was usually a good six inches of ice caked on the windows–and really in that no-joke sort of cold, fur gloves, hat, boots and scarf were absolutes even for this vegetarian!
Still human civilizations have managed to survive the cold for millennia and I’m certain, we shall come through tonight’s “polar vortex” mostly in tact. What it should put in mind is that we are a part of a natural process that includes weather systems great and small that can wreck havoc or assuage us at any given time.
In case you’re up for delving into some real cold weather fun as you huddle close under the covers here are a few of my “Cold War” favorites:
Ice Station Zebra (1968). Starring Rock Hudson, Patrick McGoohan, Jim Brown and Ernest Borgnine, directed by John Sturges!
“Your orders, Get there before the Russians!”
The Bedford Incident(1965). Starring Richard Widmark, Sydney Poitier, Eric Portman, Wally Cox, Martin Balsam and James McArthur, directed by James B. Harris.
“The Bedford can cause more damage in ten minutes than the whole US Navy in World War Two.”
The Hunt for Red October (1990). Starring Sean Connelly, Alec Baldwin, Scott Glenn and Sam Neill, directed by John McTeirnan.
“The hard part about playing chicken is knowing when to flinch.”
Having gone back to the gym for a fairly serious heart-pounding workout three-days-a-week, I can attest to the benefits of the experience–not the least of which is the sensation of being fit.
Carving out the time for it–and then sticking to it is something else. Aside from negotiating when to go (before or after work) there’s the bit about squaring things with loved ones for the two plus hours, times whatever number of days a week you intend to go.
With that taken care of, it’s just a matter of actually showing up!
Having offered every excuse there is to give–it’s raining, too hot, too cold, I’m tired/hungry/had a bad day/had a good day–the starting premise for success is to go even if my arm is in a sling!
I guess the point of it is having made the commitment to the gym, why cheat at solitaire so to speak. This time is for me and even when I’m tired and grumpy and not feeling 100%, by the time I’m half way through my workout, all of the excuses I was formulating in my mind *not* to go have long since disappeared from my consciousness.
By that point my muscles are warmed up, my body limber, sweat dripping in sheets of water, my face flushed from exertion; whatever resistance I may have had replaced by the minutia of slipping a straight right.
Gym time is also about making the experience a good one. After all–it is you who are making the commitment to come and workout.
In my case it has meant making certain that the trainer I work with shares my objectives and listens to what my needs are. That wasn’t always the case for me–and it took a while to understand how to assert myself in the gym. It’s also fundamental to the old boxing adage “protect yourself at all times”!
If I can make a suggestion to anyone coming back to regular workouts, ensuring that you are comfortable with your trainer or instructor is a very important part of the experience. Furthermore, just because you haven’t been in the gym for awhile or you are a novice at particular skills or breathless after a couple of rounds doesn’t mean that you are at the mercy of a trainer who doesn’t have your best interests at heart.
In boxing this can mean being pushed to spar before you’re ready with a risk of serious injury–a totally unacceptable outcome. It can even come down to the choice of a gym or the type of activity you chose to do during your gym time. The main point is to be honest with yourself about what you hope to achieve, how much time you have to devote to it, your willingness to commit to it and you willingness to “try on” a few trainers to find the right one for you. With all of those pieces in place, the experience should be nothing less than fabulous–making each and every time you hit the gym a special treat: one that you deserve for putting so much of yourself out there in the first place!
The little things have a way of disrupting the big things even in the best of moments.
Take internet connectivity for one.
This has been my latest cause of uncontrollable, snarling, derangement. It is truly an “are you kidding me,” kind of thing, ridiculous and laughable all at the same time—and that’s me I’m talking about.
In the I-want-it and I-want-it-now category of things, having ON DEMAND superfast, Internet is the world I like to live in. (And no, I don’t step out of my rage to reflect on the days when 56KB modem connectivity was fast—I live in a megabyte and preferably gigabyte world!)
So, when over the past couple of weeks our Time Warner Cable connectivity s-l-o-w-e-d to a crawl, (as now—and yes I’m naming names), capriciously it seems and for no discernible reason that I can glean (and in spite of the full connectivity fan mocking me from its perch at the top of my computer screen), I am ready to scream.
“Why?” I lament.
“I need it NOW!” I rant.
And in my full hysterical, the world-is-out-to-get-me paranoia-infused sputtering, foaming-at-the-mouth “best,” I give an award-winning homage to everyone’s favorite Captain, James Tiberius Kirk, by yelling out “Khan…… Khan…… Khan….”
This because, I cannot see the weather, Google a Star Trek factoid, send a tweet, add a blog post, or watch this or that episode of Eureka on Netflix—my latest series addiction.
Okay—so OBVIOUSLY it’s time to hit the pause button here.
I mean I should know better.
Hey, I even went to Buddhist “school”—ten days in silent meditation at Wat Suan Mokkh in Chaiya, Thailand.
Where is all of my “it’s just that” training?
Where is non-self?
Why am I so attached to the mosquito-bite moments in life?
As in the ring when my trainer Lennox Blackmoore’s fist connects yet again, (lightly thrown, though I should give him the right to slam me after the third time in a row when I still haven’t slipped), I cannot attach to the fact of getting hit because it only exacerbates the lack of fluidity and sight I have of what is in front of me.
I guess what I’m saying is its the essence of living in the moment.
A fist on its way to one’s left temple is about as in the moment as it gets and there are two stratagems: get hit or get out of the way. All else has no meaning.
And so it is with everything else.
It truly is “just that” and each time I get caught up in the spiral of no internet connectivity or any of the hundreds, heck, thousands of little things that can be annoying to the point of snarling, it really is getting to the silly stage.
So, is there no Internet this morning? Nope, but it’s okay. I live in Brooklyn, there’s always Starbucks.
With the coffee brewing and a day old baguette heating up in the oven, all seems to be set for the early morning … and oh yeah, it’s a snow day for the prodigal just home from a week in Paris. Ah, the life!
The trip was momentous for her–likely life altering–having had the opportunity to see things from a different point of view and without her parents to render opinions and shape the experience as she traveled with a friend and his family.
It puts in mind that the big things in life often come in small moments that cumulatively equate themselves to momentous change. For her, at fourteen, it seems it was in experiencing the textures, sights and smells of the City of Lights along with the joy she had in discovering pain au chocolat. And yes, to state again, without her parents to filter things through–just herself going about defining each experience on her own terms.
Travel always has a way of transporting a person–but no less important are the transformative moments we push ourselves to even in the “ordinary” routine. Sometimes it is in taking the time to tarry, or in how one puts an extra something special into those parts of one’s day that are otherwise forgettable.
Creating alone time is another way. The gym comes to mind wherein whatever time one allots, one can experience something of the sacred about it. A daily run can certainly fit that bill–as can the rhythms of each round spent shadow boxing or perfecting a left hook.
Whether to time, to the number of rounds or to the body’s inner clock that seems to have a sense of beginnings and endings that are quite apart from how the mind (shall I offer up the “parent”) defines what can and cannot be done–that period can become an entire world quite apart from the rest of one’s day.
So if a trip to France isn’t in the offing, an hour or so among the plants, kneeding bread or banging away on the double-ended bag may be just the trick for adding a dose of transformation to an otherwise, cold and snowy morning.
With the pomp and circumstance of New Year’s celebrations having been cleared away–it’s the second day when reality hits and all the resolutions come into focus. Yep, one *does* need to make good on going to the gym, drinking decaffeinated coffee, losing those ten pounds by March 1st or keeping a daily blog!
It’s also very easy to cheat it on the first day. Hey, perhaps one was hung over, or played the old “it’s a holiday” stratagem, but on the second day any available excuses are o-v-e-r and it is time to deliver–even if it only feels as if it is mist on the water.
And that is it.
When one begins something new it does feel rather foggy for a time. One has the clarity of strategic vision, but the way forward may not be as clear cut. One still has to perform the actual design of whatever it is one intends.
Many things feel that way, whether it is tackling a book, starting a new pottery series, ordering a decaff latte, or hauling oneself to the boxing gym after what feels like a months’ long hiatus.
The beauty of new beginnings is that it affords all of us the opportunity to put our reconstituted selves into action. And while it doesn’t have to begin on the first day–or frankly even the second–the point is to consider that the “new year” is a nice way to mark the changes one wants to put in place.
The tree is up and lighted. The dining table cleared. Family happily ensconced with the prodigal daughter aching for the morning when she can tear through her many brightly wrapped packages.
There is something wonderful about seeing one’s 14-year-old still so excited about what Santa will bring!
I admit to a bit of excitement myself mostly because Jewish pagan that I am my investment in the holiday has its own crazy sort of quality to it that is devoid of religion–yet tied to the ideas of joy, peace and giving.
Having reclaimed the living room from writing space (the couch was my literary island for weeks at a time when I wasn’t in the basement of the Dean Street Starbucks in Brooklyn) to actual place where the family can gather, I am feeling a rising crescendo of anticipation, not so much about what loot I’ll net, but at the thought of the twinkle in my family’s eyes when they uncover the secrets within the paper, ribbons and bows that festoon their presents.
I guess that’s what it’s always about in the end. Thinking of the one thing that can bring absolute joy to another. Sometimes it is something as simple as a favorite food or the special hot chocolate that accompanies breakfast or perhaps a kind word said at just the right moment.
It all puts in mind the months I traveled through Asia on my own. I traveled light having figured out that each thing I brought with me meant that it had to be schlepped on my back–and after a while I shedded possessions as a snake would its skin, growing a new self that would only carry things that could have several uses, trading as I went for books and other nice to haves that I carried one at a time.
I also came to embrace things for what they were: moments in time that were unique and unlike any other. These experiences were serial in nature and while time certainly didn’t stand still–the days always felt longer because my experience of them was so complete.
Christmas is like that for me. It is full and every second of it feels kind of precious. A true day off from the work-a-day world where so much of it goes by without thinking, I find in the tiny red, gold, blue and green lights of the tree a kind of magic that makes me feel very alive.
Sure, the spell will be broken–but for the moment I feel at one with Santa as he drops off presents in Georgetown, Guyana.
Please accept my very best wishes to all of your this very lovely holiday night!
Stepping back into anything whether its training or writing blog entries takes a bit of getting used to!
With my manuscript for A History of Women’s Boxing at the publisher (and working through manuscript cuts)–I can attest to how difficult it is to find one’s way back to the earlier routines.
Boxing–not unlike serious dance–is a sport that requires constant fine tuning not only to keep one’s muscle-memory in tact, but to make physical sense of all of the nuances. Throw in some old bones like mine and that savvy seems to revert back to near on zero after a few months!
For the last four weeks I’ve been attempting to turn back the clock–so to speak–to move my body into the next “space” vis-a-vis how I look to myself shadow boxing in front of the mirror. In a word … Ugh! Well, okay, I’ll modify that. “Ugh!” for the first three weeks and a mere, sheesssshhhh for today.
With just a four-month layoff, my timing became non-existent, I couldn’t muster more than 50 situps and the pad work was ugly. Facing my trainer Lennox Blackmoore in the ring was even worse! I could *barely* make it through three rounds (never mind four) of the *ugliest* looking punching you’ve ever seen! And there was not ONE straight right that I didn’t walk in to! Talk about humbling.
By the second week–I could at least make it through three + rounds, but my ring performance was no better even with Len egging me and shouting SLIP! I think I managed to slip exactly one punch–well, maybe I’m being a bit generous to myself. I also managing a 16 round workout, but the situps remained pathetic.
My next step was to add two nights of training on my own after work–to at least bring my conditioning up and to focus on basics such as stance and the jab-jab-right-slip-right combinations. Last Saturday, however, was even worse in the ring–I still kept heading into the straight right, and finally in frustration, I just had Len keep throwing rights at me till I’d slip left out of the way! That seemed to help somewhat although I was still feeling bummed and even my timing on the double-ended bag was awful.
Back at it this week I kept plugging away doing rounds on the slip-rope and the heavy bag to work on those imaginary punches coming my way and spending rounds working on my stance, my footwork and throwing punches from the “slip” position. The only bright spot was realizing that my conditioning was coming back–with my body comfortably moving and working hard through all 16 rounds of work.
That all paid off today when I was able to get through four rounds in the ring with Lennox still able to breathe! As for slipping those punches–we’re talking a work in progress! He nailed me CONSTANTLY, but I did manage a few in every round and kept up with him when we shoe-shined during the last 30 seconds of the fourth round.
As for the rest of my workout, I had lots of stamina and spent a good six rounds slipping and punching as I moved around the heavy bag and the double-ended bag. The speed bag work was fun too. I was doubling-up like a demon and jumped over to the double-ended bag during the one-minute round breaks. And beyond that I actually did 100 situps–admittedly slooowwww, but at least back to my old number!
Despite the fact that my conditioning is much improved, I still feel like a physical moron in the ring and realize that it’s a matter of retraining my brain. The fact is, when I see a punch coming, I want to pull back, and that would make sense if I was stepping back with it and following it up with something, but I’m not. I’m just dumbfounded as I try to hit back and as the milliseconds of inaction tick by I, of course, get slammed with another punch!
The “Pollyanna” in me is convinced that my 59-year-old body can learn some new tricks … but even if I never really do, I at least feel good for trying.
Here’s a nice short video on how to slip a punch–and if you don’t have a slip bag, you can always follow my lead and slip the shower head in the morning.
Girlboxing 