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The wit and wisdom of the sweet science! Check out http://girlboxing.org

A rainy Friday at the movies: When we were Kings

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A rainy Friday at the movies:  When we were Kings

October 30th, marked the anniversary of the famous “Rumble in the Jungle” fight between Mohammad Ali and George Foreman.  It was an audacious event that swirled with controversy.

In looking at the documentary, “When We Were Kings” directed by Leon Gast in 1996, one can realize just how bold this fight was as a statement about boxing as a place holder for minority politics in American culture in the early 1970’s.  On the heals of the Civil Rights Movement, the event capitalized on the idea of “being somebody” in a context and vernacular that was referential only to itself.  It’s a film that is nicely done and well worth seeing.

 

 

 

Learning the sweet science

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Learning the sweet science.

The first time I boxed was at a local gym in Brooklyn that offered a six-week “boxercise” class as an adjunct to the usual Yoga, Pilates and Aerobics classes.  The sports facility itself was pretty large, so an area was cordoned off towards the back of the basement floor for the new boxing program.  We had a couple of speed bags, heavy bags, and the smallest ring I’ve ever seen, though at the time it loomed very, very large.  There were about ten people in the class, most of whom had seemingly boxed before and after group calisthenics, we all struggled with wrapping our hands as the lone instructor did pad-work with each of us in turn in the ring.

Having never wrapped my hands before I was rather slow and had to put it charitably one of the more interesting concoctions.  By the time it was my turn to enter the ring, the instructor seemed pretty annoyed by the whole process — and of course since I hadn’t thrown a punch since I was 12, I was not exactly a boxing phenom.   That I went back at all was a testament to my true desire, and having suffered through all six weeks, my gumption remained as in tact as my lack of skills.

All of this is a long way of saying there are right and wrong ways to take up the sweet science, and for those who are interested in learning to box, it’s probably a good idea to shop around for a class.  If you’re in Brooklyn and want to box in a real boxer’s gym, I’m very partial to Gleason’s Gym down on Front Street in Dumbo.  The gym’s been there forever and is filled with a wonderful group of trainers including several fabulous women champions who will guide novices through experienced fighters in a regimen of training individually or in a group setting.  The gym has frequent outreach events, and is very welcoming to new comers — at least that’s how I felt when I walked in with my one truly awful boxing class under my belt back in 1996.

That’s not to say that Gleason’s is the only boxing gym in New York City.  There are several great ones including Manhattan’s Church Street Gym, Mendez Boxing, Kingsway Boxing and the Trinity Boxing Club.  There are all Women’s programs in many of the gyms as well.  One can find terrific training for kids too — my daughter has boxed on and off since she was about seven.  It’s not her main martial sport, but she’s gotten a lot out of it, not to mention the fun of having a bunch of boxers for babysitters as I trained.

The main thing is not to feel intimidated — my trainer, Lennox Blackmore is fond of saying that he just wants to “get me where I want to go.”  For any aspiring boxers out there that can mean a chance to tone-up or go all the way to the Golden Gloves, Master’s tournaments or even the Olympics!  As for boxing gear, there is always plenty around for as long as you need it.  So come on down and enjoy.

[See Blogroll for links to Boxing Gyms mentioned above]

 

Who do I box today

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Who do I box today.

For all my extolling of the virtues of the vote, I want to puke!

As a friend reminded me yesterday, Emma Goldman once said, “If voting changed anything they’d make it illegal.”  In a new variant on that, voting seems to have assured yet another period of acrimony and division in the service of big business and bigotry.

So who do I box today?

The public has “spoken.”

I’m just glad I don’t live in Arizona where the  public  voted to ban affirmative action. Or Wisconsin for that matter where Senator Russ Feingold was voted out of office, the only Senator with the temerity to vote “no” on the Patriot Act of 2001 and one of ten who voted against the renewal of 2006.  Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t like the idea of people reading my mail without the consent of an open court.

Oy!  I’m so depressed!

I guess it’s time to hit the bag.

 

 

The power of the vote

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The power of the vote

Yep, it’s that time of year again in the United States:  Election Day.

We mark the date when citizens have the opportunity to exercise their franchise and in so doing take a moment to reflect on the folks who fought and in some cases died to make that power available to all of us.

This year marks three important anniversaries:

– The enactment of the 15th Amendment to the Constitution granting the right to vote all (male) citizens of the United States 140 years ago on March 30, 1870;

– The enactment of the 19th Amendment to the Constitution providing women with the right to vote 90 years ago on August 26, 1920; and

– The Voting Rights Act of 1965 codifying the 15th Amendment and signed into law by President Lyndon Johnson 45 years ago on August 6, 1965.

To honor all those who fought for the franchise, why not take the time to get down to the polls today and vote.

I know that some of us feel that our voices aren’t “heard,” but without the vote, we have no chance to balk about what happens next, and believe me, the “crazies” in the world have sure figured it out which is why they’ll be heading to the polls in droves.

So instead of a “Tea Party,” why not head to the polls for a “Constitution Party” — and “pity the fool” who loses sight of the prize: a better tomorrow for our children and our children’s children.

For those who are interested, here’s the text of the 15th Amendment granting Rights of Citizens to Vote and the 19th Amendment granting Women’s Suffrage Rights.

Amendment XV – Rights of Citizens to Vote

Section 1.  The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the Unites States or by any state on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude.

Section 2.  The Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

Amendment XIX – Women’s Suffrage Rights

The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any state on account of sex.

Congress shall have the power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

Of circles and squares

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Of circles and squares

At the end of Frederico Fellini’s seminal film, 8 1/2 , all the varying characters and important figures in Guido’s life (the protagonist played by Marcello Mastroianni) gather on the preposterous set of his latest film project.   In the finale of the scene, everyone walks along a concrete rise as Guido urges them on in the guise of a Master of Ceremonies at a Circus.  The shape of the rise, which is circular, provides the context for the resolution of Guido’s many demons:  his questions about himself as an artist, his mistresses and wife, his early sexual escapades, the death of his parents and finally the meaning of life.

The resolution which is joyous and raucous with all past sins forgiven puts me in mind of how much “stuff” we all carry around inside our heads.  Those of us who bring ourselves inside the boxing ring often are accompanied by our own load of “demons.”  The tease of the ring and the discipline of the training are a boxer’s way of reconciling those disparate elements to find the clarity necessary to fight.

To my mind, the boxing ring is a space set a part from everything else.  During a fight, even sparring at the gym, the rules of the space engender a respect for what happens there.  For the participants, the space is defined by the “combat” set to three-minute intervals and it is only in the one minute “interregnum” between rounds that the fighter interacts with the folks in his or her corner.   As every boxer will tell you, however, boxing is really about one’s ability to keep the demons at bay long enough to truly be “present” in the fight. If not, it’s like boxing with only one hand.  All that junk gets inside to cloud the mental picture of clear thinking necessary to truly box.

A boxing event will have all the elements of a circus.  Crazed hawkers, a boisterous and celebratory crowd addicted to the potential for danger, and “acts” themselves: the boxers who are one part entertainers, one part artists and one part gladiators.  Each has a meaning to the crowd, but more importantly, each has meaning to the boxer plying his or her craft.  The boxing event is a fighter’s way of orchestrating the fight so that the job is done and done well, with all senses in tact, and as with Guido, the chance for a resolution with all demons aligned and playing nicely together.  Would that it were that easy.

No time like now

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No time like now

My emotions are on a hair-trigger these days – sure symptoms of an erratic gym life and I am determined to get in some time today.  When I’m off kilter like that it’s a fine balance between doing too much and killing the muscles, and doing too little which will mean I won’t satisfy the gym itch and more grumpiness on my part.

My plan for the day is to run some, stretch, shadow box, and then do a few rounds each of the heavy bag, double-ended bag, and speed bag, with a fine finish of some abs.  Hmmm.  Nice plan.

As for its execution, there is no time like now.

 

Post Script:  Gleason’s was great!  Not quite to plan, but good enough.

The power of art

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The power of art

My daughter started studying her martial art a few weeks before her 6th birthday.  As a young one on the mat she was an absolute mighty-mite executing perfect forward and backwards rolls that were the envy of the Dojo.  Now entering her 6th year as she turns 11, she has become a mature Aikidoist with a love and appreciation for the art and physical prowess of the sport — and for the confidence, mental discipline and sense of accomplishment it has given her.

As a discipline for young women, Aikido provides a clever alternative for girls to learn an art where size and weight are less an issue that one’s ability to execute well-timed defensive moves that takes advantage of an opponent’s forward momentum to land them on the floor in awkward positions (and the chance to run away from trouble once they’re down on the ground!).  Aikido also offers training in weapons to include the “Jo” (long-stick) and the “Bokken” (modeled after a Japanese sword).  With such moves Aikidoists become skilled in the defensive possibilities of such weapons and of the adaptive possibilities of broom handles and mega-umbrellas.

Whether it’s boxing, aikido, karate, Tai-Chi or any of the other martial arts, a brief course of study for a young women can offer a taste of the possibilities for personal defense and their own physical power.  I know that in my daughter’s case, it has given her a confidence in her physical capabilities that has translated itself into the schoolyard where she can hold her own with the best of them physically and mentally.  That’s not to say that she’s ever been in a physical fight, but the mental toughness of her martial art has given her the confidence to walk away from confrontations and the sense of self necessary to keep the mental taunts of the bullies out of her head which can be just as devastating if not more so.

I’ve also watched as other girls and boys for that matter in her Aikido classes and at places like Gleason’s Gym have transformed into clear thinking young people who are cognoscente of their abilities and mindful of the responsibilities of the unique skills they’ve garnered through the disciplined study of a martial art.  Sure, it’s not for everyone, but offering the opportunity to young girls in particular means raising a generation of women who will grow-up understanding the possibilities of their own physical prowess.

Fighting it

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Fighting It

A full-length documentary film, “Fighting It” is a personal look at the lives of five women fighters.  The film is in the final throes of post-production with a release date set for next year.  The film’s perspective is to portray the passion, work ethic and accompanying emotional highs and lows of women who box, their compelling stories and the conflicts they face as they pursue their dreams.

The women featured in the film range from amateurs training for the Golden Gloves to professionals struggling to make a go of it in the burgeoning women’s professional boxing world.  All have wonderful and inspiring stories of what has brought them to the fray of the boxing ring.  It is a story that will be well worth the wait.

http://www.fightingitthemovie.com/

I love …

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I love …

I love baseball.

I love boxing.

I love late 1960-1970’s salsa.

Olympic dreams

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Olympic dreams

With the Olympics twenty months or so away, there hasn’t been much in the news lately  about women finally being given the nod to fight in three weight classes in the 2012 London Olympic Games.  What I wonder is whether the hard work and sweat of the young amateur boxers who have begun their preparations for the games will result in Women’s Boxing being taken more seriously in the run-up to the games and beyond.  Let’s face it, at this point, we’ll take an ESPN “Ocho” just for the chance to see the sport at all on television.

It’s also not as if there’s a hug pot of dough to support American male boxers, so the question is how are the American women with Olympic dreams going to support themselves if there is so little out there to begin with?   Women have been in the amateurs for years, so at least there is institutional knowledge to train women to score points under the international amateur system.  That doesn’t mean that these women will be given the kind of material assistance, “team” training camp facilities, coaching know-how and enthusiasm necessary to truly boost their chances at winning gold.

So, what to do?  For one thing, it’ll be up to all of us to push USA Boxing to give equitable treatment to the Olympic dreams of these young hopefuls and to push the press and sports television to recognize that Women’s Boxing is here to stay and needs to be recognized.

It’s good to hit things

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It’s good to hit things.

I shadow boxed at home last night.  I put on 16 oz. gloves and boxed around the room for a couple of rounds before I pounded away at my closet door.  “Get this girl back to the gym,” seemed to be the refrain from my family who thought I was crazy.  I kept thinking how good it felt to hit things even though I wasn’t releasing much power or hitting very hard.

Hitting things is always my ultimate secret about boxing.  I love it.  I love how it feels to connect.   I love the physicality of working out on a big heavy bag and pushing in with my shoulder as I practice upper cuts.   The double-ended bag gives me a place to workout as a rhythmic dance.  It doesn’t have that da-da-da, da-da-da rhythm of the speed bag, but after a round or two, the timing is such that it starts to have its own distinctive beat.

Sparring is something else again.  It has its own magic that for me isn’t about the hitting so much as working through the space as a physical manifestation of a chess game.  Each jab is a feint, a loyal pawn that makes its way forward establishing pace, rhythm and control to set-up all the other punches, bobs and weaves in the arsenal.   To spar is to be in a pas-de-deux with my opponent as improvisational as tap dancing or trading eights with Miles Davis’ trumpet licks.

To hit something at the boxing gym is to come face-to-face with the truth.  You can’t hit and hit hard without that commitment or the emotional depths that get mined every time a punch is thrown.

Shadow boxing in the dark

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Shadow boxing in the dark

I’m up really early this morning with a full day in front of me and no likelihood of getting to the gym this afternoon.   So here I am, ready to do at least a little something at home.  The hard part is figuring out how to get started when all I really want to do is get back to bed.

This morning I’m shadowboxing to “Payback,” by James Brown.  The thing about the song is I can move to it and imagine that I’m hitting a giant double-ended bag as I shadowbox in the living room.

Mostly what I love about this song is the sway.  And somewhere around the lyric, “gotta deal with it, gotta deal with it” I’m into the groove.  Jab, jab, right, left hook, right upper cut, left upper cut, left hook, left.

After the song finishes, I have an instance of “what now,” panic.  Playing it again feels right and with muscles starting to wake-up it does feel good to prance around the room.

 

Boxer’s heart

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Boxer’s heart

My paternal grandmother was one for the books.  A great raconteur, she came from a time and place where women were at the back of the pack no matter how hard they tried.  Still she dreamed and dreamed big, if not for herself than for her children, grandchildren and their children.

She was a widow who supported her two kids by working the graveyard shift as a night auditor in one of the big Manhattan hotels starting in the late 1940’s.    Her idea was to be home to get her children off to school in the morning and to be home when they came home from school in the afternoon, “like a normal family,” she’d say.  In many ways Grandma was luckier than most women in her situation because her Aunt also lived with them and willingly took on the burden of watching the kids at night.

One story Grandma always told was how her boss came to say that only the men were going to get raises that year because they had to support their families.  “What was I doing there, taking in the waters?” she’d say of the injustice.  “I’d a mind to quit, but what was I going to do then?”

She did eventually quit that job and worked her way up through the chain at a lot of different high-end hotels.  Still, she worked that graveyard shift for more than twenty years, only switching to days towards the end of her life when she was quite ill.  By then it was the early 1970’s and with feminism on her mind she’d say, “it’s a good time to be alive.”

I bring this all up because while she never set foot in a gym, she had a boxer’s heart.  She worked hard; fought for her family, and always jumped back up no matter how many times life knocked her down.  And while she may not have built the bridges she always dreamed of, I cannot think of a better legacy than ceding us her great spirit, her humor and her willingness to literally walk the extra mile if it meant bettering her family.

Playing hurt

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Playing hurt

Injuries are never fun.  There’s the moment of insult to your body, then coping with the physical pain on top of the emotional component that seeps in whether you want it to or not.  Let’s face it, most injuries ache, may well be serious, and can mean the end of a dream or at the very least a postponement.

Boxers have an interesting relationship with pain.  Getting hit can hurt!  It is shocking, jarring and can literary knock a boxer senseless.  For the most part, with good training and practice, the hurts don’t really hurt per se – especially at the level of sparring in the gym.  Sure, the hits can be hard, but with protective gear on, there is some modicum of safety.  More to the point, it’s the place where a boxer will work out his or her own relationship to pain.  To what pain means and to how cope with it, and to learn to differentiate between how the body absorbs a blow and where it creeps over the line to injury.

For women boxers the issue of playing-through-pain can take on other components.  Our relationship to pain is complex, after all, we go through the whole labor and delivery thing and that is no picnic.  Getting body-checked in the ring though can be no joke and one has to be “ready” for it on the one hand as part of the game of boxing, and on the other be prepared for the emotions of “getting hit.”   Many of us also have to work through, decades of mental conditioning on the subject of hitting, getting hit, our “delicate” dispositions, and unfortunately, a legacy of abuse of one kind or another.   This last can be a complex intrusion into the workout that’ll cause many a boxer to breakdown into a puddle of tears for no seeming reason long before an actual “hit” would ever fell a boxer physically or mentally.

In the end, boxers contend with all sorts of injuries all the time.  The usual suspects included pulled muscles, sprained ankles, concussions, broken noses and cut eyebrows.   The injuries we don’t see are the very old hurts they may have compelled us into the gym in the first place.  Those are the harder ones to acknowledge and heal, but eventually, if a boxer sticks with it, those aches get worked out too through a mixture of stamina, determination, grit and a lot of humor.

Sumo wrestling

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Sumo wrestling


I grew up in New York City in the 1960’s where the sports curriculum at P. S. 19 on 12th Street and First Avenue consisted of punchball with a pinkie (that’s a Spaulding pink ball) and in the earlier grades, we played dodgeball with a giant red rubber ball.   Where I lived on 12th Street, we also played other “gender-neutral” sports such as boxball or King.   The game was similar to handball, but played in a “box” equivalent to the squares on a sidewalk (one person to a square) against the side of a building.  Oh.  There was also stoopball where you’d toss the ball at the stairs on the stoop and count the number of bounces into the street before catching it as bases.

Bottle caps was another favorite that also used the concept of a sidewalk square as the boundaries for where we pushed the bottle cap with a flick of our fingers to different points on the square while attempting to dislodge our opponents’ bottle caps.  The secret to the game was in how much the bottle cap was weighted.  Serious aficionados would burn candle wax into a favorite bottle cap or two and kept them stuffed in a jeans pocket just in case.  This latter was mostly a boy’s game, but girls were always welcome to play.

The ubiquitous New York City street game was stickball.  Played in the street and based on baseball, the bat was a mop or broom handle and the ball was a pinkie.  This particular game was not as popular as others on my block as we had the luxury of a schoolyard across the street where we actually had room to play some version of a “proper” baseball, though it never really seemed to take off.

I bring all of this up having read the New York Times piece on the push to bring sumo wrestling and women’s sumo wrestling at that to the Olympics.  Along side women’s boxing which has already been given the nod by the Olympic Committee, the inclusion of these two traditionally male “combat” sports would represent an extraordinary turn of events in Olympic history, never mind in our conception of the meaning of sport.

Back on 12th Street, even boxing was a remote sports tradition, but given how fair we all were with each other when it came to the games we did play, I think we wouldn’t have minded giving sumo wrestling a go, though it’d have to have involved a pinkie.

Article link:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/19/sports/19iht-SUMO.html?sq=sumo%20&st=cse&scp=2&pagewanted=all