Having spent a goodly amount of my early childhood laid up with one illness or another–including bouts of Measles, Chicken Pox, German Measles (Rubella), Mumps, not to mention continuous weeks and weeks of fever, swollen glands, strep throat, oh and a positive TB test that still means I need to get a chest X-ray every ten years or so–the notion that a few vaccinations could spare my blessedly healthy daughter weeks of that sort of misery was a no-brainer.
Okay. Perhaps there was a bit of a selfish motivation as well. Did I really want to sit up night after night nursing a highly contagious sick child who could “take a turn” and end up hospitalized or worse?
Reading the Little House On The Prairie series and the Betsy and Tacy books to my daughter reminded me of what the pre-vaccination/pre-antibiotic world was really like for small kids. In both series, siblings and friends of the main characters died rather uncerimoniously of Measles and Whooping Cough, Maleria or other infections, or spent part of their childhood in iron lungs or other contraptions to help limbs withered by Polio. Coming to those parts of the stories, I wanted to skip over them to spare my daughter the pain of what those losses meant in a much more precarious world than the privileged one of early 21st century America.
I didn’t though. I plowed through and explained that the world of those books was the world of places scattered throughout Asia, Africa and South America. Places where diseases, long controlled here and in other industrialized (post-industrialized) nations, represent mere glimmers of our collective past.
It puts me in mind that one of the negatives of privilege and its uglier cousin, entitlement, is the ability to forget that the niceties we all have access to are built on the work, toil and pain of others.
Sure. I can understand that for some people, such things as vaccination can bring about frightful consequences, but for those for whom it will not, don’t we owe it to those few who truly cannot take the risk to endure the “stick” and any momentary discomfort for ourselves and our kids?
And whether it’s measles today or some other forgotten horror tomorrow–maybe we should all have a bit of a group think about what it means to be a member of a community where we all pitch in for the greater good. Just sayin’.
I’ve been attempting to work through the recent terrorist attack at Charlie Hebdo, the French satirical newsweekly—and thereby attempt, in some small way to write about it.
For the French, the three days of carnage beginning with the horrific murder of 12 staff members, including four renowned cartoonists at the offices of Charlie Hebdo, by Said and Cherif Kouachi, has been an agonizing period of anxiety and pain. In all, 17 people were horribly murdered including a young policewoman, a jogger and four shoppers in a Kosher supermarket who were all apparently gunned down by another in the Kouachi brother’s “terrorist cell,” Amedy Coulibaly.
For those of us in New York who lived through the experience of the World Trade Center terror attack on September 11, 2001, there is an acute understanding of the almost out-of-body dissociation one can feel living through the moment-by-moment experiences of that sort of horror. We are, after all, merely ordinary, perhaps showing courage in our daily lives, and perhaps not, but certainly not prepared for the kind of terror that a Kalashnikov wielding “crazy” brings.
If I am being disingenuous at all, it is in the sense that we people who live in cities do come to understand that there are those intangibles: Cars that suddenly veer off and cause havoc and death in a restaurant storefront, or the running gun play of teens that may careen in through a window, putting a small child in harms way. Not to mention, the daily violence in families that spill out into “social services” pretty much unnoticed except for the truly horrific ones that end up on the covers of the tabloids. Still, those truly terrifying experiences do not seem to equate with the other kind of sudden violence in the cocoon of our western democracies—and go against our sense of decency, right and wrong, and collectively at least, if not individually, our sense that such things as cartoons that satirize religion and politics, are just this side of “okay” in the scheme of things, even if they tend to be on the edge or even over the line of distasteful. What they are not, are killing offenses by self-proclaimed executioners in the name of one ideological or religious belief or another.
What I keep asking myself is this. Are our beliefs really that tenuous? Are they that uncertain, that a cartoon, really, a cartoon can be so offensive as to warrant the murder of 12 people?
I write that having figured that if what I believe is strong and certain, I, me, the individual, can well afford to be magnanimous in accepting that others may not agree or share my point of view. Thus I would never consider that the words of another would so shake me to the core of my being that I would jump at the chance to “right” the perceived “wrong” by choosing to kill as many nonbelievers as I could as I made my way to whatever Valhalla I figured I was entitled to for my “acts.”
The giant, “ugh” aside—at any given moment on our beautiful earth, just such things occur day by day by day in both religious and sectarian struggles all the in the name of a greater something or other. Or, to bring down to the ground, even to the level of a power struggle between two partners where one feels the right to bash the other senseless in the name of being “right.”
And while it was heartening to know that 3.7 million persons marched in Paris yesterday in solidarity to reaffirm the principles of Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité (Liberty, Freedom and Fraternity), I am fearful of the backlash to terrorism that can just as easily sweep through to give us yet more examples of the ugliness of revenge on the ordinary, the “us” that is not quite us that devolves into further violence and extremism.
It is the misadventure of well-intentioned reactions that scares me just as much as the acts of terrorism themselves. And having lived through the daily miasma of misery inflicted on ordinary citizens caught in the cross fire of acts for and against terrorism, I remain fearful—and perhaps the tiniest bit cynical about what the future will bring.
My best self, however, knows that just such ideals as freedom and peace and love live on anyway.
After all, in the midst of acts of terror the world over, two-alarm fires, police slowdowns, and the kind of cold that almost demands that one turn over after the alarm goes off to burrow that much deeper under the covers, by 10:30 AM this past Saturday morning, Gleason’s Gym was full of men and women in varying stages of their workouts. A quick glance showed the Give A Kid A Dream youngsters shadowboxing alongside boxing professionals in front of the mirror, amateur fighters putting in rounds ahead of the Golden Gloves, and fighters sparring in all of Gleason’s four boxing rings.
For me, sweaty from five great rounds sparring with my trainer Lennox Blackmoore, the scary fever dreams of terror were suitably buried in one recess of my mind or another. And while I have shed tears for the victims, and will likely go to Synagogue this Friday in solidarity with the French victims at the kosher supermarket in Paris, I will try hard to push forward with a smile, with little thought given to the crazies with Kalashnikovs. They are, despite their seeming out-sized appearances, a really, really tiny portion of the world, which is mostly occupied by persons going about their day in the struggles that define us.
Leastways, that is what I hope for, even if the blue meanies hit me square in the nose sometimes with darker thoughts. Oh well. Je suis humaine.
Having been nursing a miserable cold over the last week that has left me a sniffling, sneezing, foggy-headed wreck, I’d almost lost sight of the looming New Year. Sure, I’ve been aware of it—and have even felt myself in an interregnum of sorts eschewing anything particularly new, or when it comes to writing, even engaging in anything more rigorous than pithy “all my best wishes of the season” notes on holiday cards.
Now that the first day of 2015 has arrived, I can certainly say that I have been busy for a good portion of it taking care of chores (laundry, cleaning up the kitchen, and attending to social media), making New Year’s Hoppin’ John (the vegetarian version—an anathema, I’m sure, to the memory of my mother-in-law, and anyone with southern roots for that matter, who’d have surely had a fair amount of fat back added to it), continuing to nurse my cold (finally, seemingly, on the mend, though I’m still pretty foggy), and even catching a bit of a bowl game with my husband.
With all of that done, along with a few naps, it’s time to tackle the real part of my day—which is to ponder the boldness that a new year can bring to one’s life, along with the grand gestures that can punctuate one’s entry into them.
Whether it’s a thousand word blog post, a thousand strikes with a Japanese wooden bokken on Rockaway Beach, a thousand folded paper cranes to commemorate peace, a thousand jabs to start off a trip back to the boxing gym, or a thousand crisp cramp rolls on a tap dancing board, embracing the things one loves, by doing it to the count of one thousand is a brilliant way to begin or reaffirm one’s commitment to it.
Let’s face it, our lives get away from us and with rare exception most of us are at least tripled up with commitments at any given moment—not to mention our feelings of disappointment, angst, grief, anger and guilt at our inability to put the time in to the things that we consider are at the heart of what’s important to us.
Given the year I’ve just had, which was nothing short of miraculous when I consider that I published a book on the sport of women’s boxing, not to mention having reengaged in my own boxing pretty much every week all year—oh, and taken up tap dancing too—there were still the bits that I hadn’t done, such as blog regularly, work consistently on my next book and ensure that my family is taken care of in the way they should be.
With the New Year though, I have the opportunity to sort through those things that have meaning and the things that can be jettisoned, and having distilled it down—my thousand “somethings” are the thousand words of this post which constitute my way of saying writing’s the thing.
Blog posts about women’s boxing and whatever else catches my fancy, poems, essays, diatribes, and yep, “the book” are the purview of my reaffirmation to wordsmithing. And not just writing, but also finding the fun in writing and dare I say it, the joy of writing because, yes, it is a joy. A tremendous I-can-say-anything-I-want, action of plucking goodness knows what out of my thought processes and having it translated onto the page through fingers that dance and clickety-clack over the keys of my laptop.
Yes, JOY damn it! Writing can be joy—not a chore, not working to a deadline, not what the editor says or wants—but writing for the sake of it, because one can, because words can bring out ideas one never knew one had, because words have a magic and are, in my estimation as potent as anything an alchemist can conjure up. And importantly, because this year I am sixty, and if I can’t embrace the go-where-my-mind-wants-to-take-me journey that writing can be now—then when?
And, at least for me—and perhaps for all of us—that is the point, isn’t it? If not now, then when, whatever one’s passion, be it pottery, politics, winning a world championship belt (the way Sonya “The Scholar” Lamonakis did this past year) or being the best-damned cramp roller in the world.
All of these things amount to wonderful journeys—akin in some ways to the great pilgrimages. One sets out on a journey from point A to point B and through that process one can experience each point along the arc of A to B as transformative. Perform a jab a thousand times, and one begins to feel what it is like to really throw a jab. One will also have the chance to notice that jab number 10 will be different than jab number 860—tiredness aside, one will have a fluidity of action, an ease, a sense of accomplishment and the momentum to carry on forward to one’s goal.
For each one thousand “somethings,” one can journey on to the next one thousand or to whatever constituent sets one decides upon, but one will have already made one’s start, one’s leap into the thing that gives energy and joy and a myriad of other emotions and feelings that commitment can bring.
One can also find how those things tie in together. For me while writing is the thing, boxing and tap dancing are the physical embodiments of letting words unfold on the keyboard. By learning to maneuver in the ring with my trainer, Lennox Blackmoore, or by learning new tap dance sequences and steps from Michaela Marino-Lerman, I’m enacting ways to trust my instincts and my ability to do so with fluidity—all of a piece when I think about it, because for me writing is an exercise in being bold, brave and fearless without which, the writing process ends up being a lot like cheating at solitaire.
If I can offer anything, it is to say that if one possibly can, do attempt to embrace the things that have meaning, and then do it a thousand times!
Chevelle Hallback: A boxer for all time, exclusive Q and A.
Chevelle “Fists of Steel” Hallback (29-8-2, 12-KOs) first stepped into the boxing ring in 1997 winning by TKO. In only her second fight she battled the great Lucia Rijker, and while she lost by TKO in the 5th round, Hallback has been taking on and winning fights against the best in the business ever since. Notable fights have included her bouts with female boxing greats Layla McCarterand Melissa Hernandez.
After two disappointing and some would say controversial losses in fairly close succession in 2011 to Cecilia Braekhus and Myriam Lamare, Hallback took some time to regroup and now is back with a vengeance.
This past June, Hallback came out swinging against Dominga Olivo (8-11-1), winning by TKO in the second round in front of her hometown crowd at the St. Pete Times Forum in Tampa, Florida.
In their first outing on December 3, 2010, Chevelle Hallback defeated Victoria Cisneros by split decision. Credit: Jose Leon Castillo III
She’s now slated to take on Victoria “La Reina de Guerra” Cisneros (11-15-3, 4-KOs), a tough, hard-nosed fighter whose won-loss record belies her strength and savvy in the ring. It will also be a WBF Female Welterweight Championship fight for the vacant title, and in a nod to Hallback’s huge fan base in Tampa will be the main event, at the St. Pete Times Forum.
The two met before in Cisneros’ back yard at the Route 66 Casinoin Albuquerque, New Mexico. In that fight, an eight-rounder, Hallback won by split decision by the scores 78-74, 77-75, 75-77. Both fighters are thrilled with the prospect of fighting for a title in their rematch.
Chevelle Hallback and “A History Of Women’s Boxing” author Malissa Smith at the International Women’s Boxing Hall of Fame, July 10, 2014, Fort Lauderdale, FL.
Having had the opportunity to finally meet up with Chevy at the recently held International Women’s Boxing Hall of Fame event in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, I was excited by the prospect of Chevy giving Girlboxing an exclusive interview about her upcoming fight.
Here’s what Chevy had to say:
1. Boxing fans are getting excited at the prospect of seeing you in the ring again after your fabulous win on June 13. Tell us about your upcoming WBF, female welterweight battle with boxer Victoria Cisneros.
I am very excited about my upcoming fight with Victoria Cisneros. This is a rematch from when we fought about 3 years ago. I won that fight by split decision and she’s been asking for a rematch ever since so August the 22nd she gets her wish.
2.After your long lay-off and quick dispatch with a 2nd round TKO in your last bout, what is your game plan as you train for your title bout against Cisneros who brings a strong record (11-15-2) of achievement despite her won-loss record?
My game plan for August 22 is very simple, to be in the best shape of my life and be prepared to do whatever I need to to win the fight and the title.
3. You are a three-time world champion, you are ranked in the top twelve pound-for-pound all-time female boxers in Ring magazine among other accolades, what more is there for you to achieve in the sport?
I want to make my mark in history by being the first female to fight and be televised on HBO.
4. You must be anxious to be coming back into the ring in your hometown for the second time in a year. What has that been like for you?
It is truly a blessing to be coming back home to fight for my family, my friends and my fans once again. It is truly a blessing from above and I’m going to take full advantage of it by winning the world title.
5. I’ve heard you say for years that you want to fight on HBO. What is it you have to do to get to that goal?
I just have to keep doing my part and that’s winning each and every fight from here on out that I put in front of me. I have to keep preparing, keep praying, believing, and having faith that if I do my part, I know God will do his part. Faith without works is dead. That means if I believe that it’s going to happen then I have to work towards it. I have to believe it will happen even though I don’t see it.
Chevelle Hallback delivering a left hook to Cecilia Braekhus during their welterweight title fight on May 7, 2011 in Copenhagen, Denmark.
6. You had two tough losses against Myriam Lamare and Cecilia Braekhus in 2011. Lamare herself fought Braekhus earlier this year and lost in a rout, whereas your fight was hard fought and has been viewed as a controversial loss. As you enter back into championship contention, do you have particular fights in mind — perhaps a rematch against Braekhus?
Yes yes yes yes yes! I want a rematch with her so bad that it almost hurts. I’ve been asking and I’ve been pleading and I’ve been begging for a rematch against her. She has given other fighters second chances to fight her, why not me? I’ll wait as long as it takes, as long as she’s still fighting and as long as I’m still fighting. I got a very unfair shake and I just want the opportunity to erase that mistake.
7. Throughout your 10+ years career, you have fought tough, hard opponents — and the best of the best female fighters from around the world. What is it that is inspiring you to enter into contention again?
To make history. To do something, that I was told a long time ago! I couldn’t do, accomplish, or it would never happen, and that is to fight on HBO.
8. Female boxing continues to ride a wave of boom and bust, and in many cases, the only option for some female boxers has been to jump over to MMA in order to keep in front of fans and have an opportunity fight at all. Having been a part of women’s boxing for a long time, what is your view of this and the kinds of options available to young women as they enter the sport?
You have to do what’s best for you. But if you have a passion and a desire to do something then don’t give up on it and go to something different. Work hard and keep having faith that what you are trying to accomplish, you will succeed. Not only for yourself, but you will pave the way for the ones coming behind you or following in your footsteps. Be a trendsetter.
9. You’ve been an inspiration to female boxers– and I know you’re known as fists of steel, but at my gym we call you “abs of steel.” What inspires you and keeps you working so hard? And importantly, having done so much for the sport, where do you go from here?
I AM a trendsetter. I want individuals to know, whether in boxing or whatever they’re setting out to do, that if you keep keeping on, keep the faith, work hard, believe in yourself, and don’t look back, you can accomplish anything, even when people say you can’t do it. If I can do it, hopefully it will give others inspiration to capture their goals and dreams as well.
***
Chevelle Hallback’s interview with Billy C at the International Women’s Boxing Hall of Fame inaugural induction on July 10, 2014, in Fort Lauderdale, FL.
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Chevelle Hallback vs. Melissa Hernandez from 2/7/2008 (Part I)
I may be a little late to the party … but the issues surrounding how we think about women as objects versus as living, breathing persons that are more than sexualized gender constructions is not something that just flares up with a headline. Nor should we consider a young woman attending college an object of derision because she doesn’t cotton to waking up after a party in her sorority having been date-raped by her chem lab partner. Oh- but that would belie that swinging “co-ed” meme that still seems to underlie our dismissal of college women whose plaintive pleas for action are met with a wink and the consternation of college administrators who might actually have to take some responsibility for the conduct of students on campus.
The horror show that was the “Santa Barbara” mass murder outrage a couple of months ago, in that instance, the targeting of women and a few men who happened to be in the way, renewed all sorts of conversations in the popular media and elsewhere about a wide range of topics spanning from gun control to treatment of the mentally ill to the divide between men and women.
And yep, in the mind of our shooter, his lack of attractiveness to women was not *his* fault, but theirs, thus in his twisted mindset, it became a killing offense. If the headlines published in the NY Daily News were to be believed, it all stemmed from the perception of a snarky comment from a friend stated off handedly at the age of ten — and that young woman has been in fear for her life ever since.
Whoa.
What is going on here?
As a mother of a fourteen-year-old, I’ve gotten to know the bit about “slut-shaming” and other lovelies inflicted on tweens and teens by boys *and* girls for offenses as deeply embarrassing as a perceived inopportune smile, but shooting???
Oh and the sexualization of tween and teen girls is another lovely that parents and their kids contend with daily as in the, “But Mom, those are the only shorts they sell,” argument. You know the ones– they’re basically nothing more than butt flashing snippets of “distressed” denim material, and the prideful “good” Moms and Dads (myself among them), create havoc in our homes peeling our daughters out of their shorts and back into “appropriate” clothing.
Still … what is that all about. It’s okay to wear short-shorts for running (same style for men and women), but not for walking? Why not wear short-shorts on a ridiculously hot day without the expectation of some idiot somewhere saying something so wildly offensive and disgusting that one’s own mind needs an ablative scraping just to remove the memory it.
Scratch the surface, however, and that clothing argument gets to the heart of that old canard … “she is just asking for it.”
A million years ago in 1970, I used to walk home from Julia Richmond High School on East 68th Street, through Manhattan’s famed Central Park to our apartment on the Upper West Side.My favorite route was up the East Side park drive, then around the running track at the Reservoir until I reached the West Side before the last part of my trek home.
On a lovely Spring afternoon somewhere along the northern edge of the Reservoir, a man grabbed me from behind by placing me in a choke hold that lifted me off the ground. He proceeded to wheel me around and carry me several yards, my body still suspended in the air as I struggled to breathe. He then threw me into the underbrush off the main path. After sexually assaulting me, he ran away and I somehow made it out of the park, disheveled and emotionally shattered, into my mother’s arms.
While I’m not here to “testify” per se, the interesting part was me shaking my head and saying over and over through convulsions of tears, “but Mom, I’m wearing a lumber shirt over loose wide-leg jeans…” a nod to my hippy-girl style complete with long, long hair.
And there we were … my mother and I in this moment, sharing my insistence that I wasn’t “asking for it.” Or, was just being alone with my thoughts enjoying a lovely day the “signal” — much as our young “Santa Barbara Killer” figured he was right to murder women because they were at fault for not liking him.
What I find astounding is the meme of “asking for it” is as current today as it was 44 years ago. And then as now we are still buying it hook, line and sinker.
It is also incredulous to me that people actually believe a woman walking home from school, the movies, work, the grocery store, a night out with friends or the myriad of other places that mark her point of departure … is actually asking for it.
I mean, let’s get real, assault against women whether sexual or otherwise, continues on and on as a 24/7 activity in every corner of the world — including our much vaulted enlightened society. Are we really saying all these women are asking for it too?
And with the exception of a few folks (men and women alike) who explore sexual pain and suffering, trust me, women aren’t waking up and saying, “Gee, I’m going for a walk in the park, come rape me,” or “I’m going to make spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, kill me if it isn’t al dente.”
I mean, pahleeze, women are continuously on the receiving end of hits, punches, slaps, broken bones, acid thrown in their faces, being set on fire, infanticide, kidnapping, sexual assault, rape and murder precisely because they are women — and if not in real life than as a daily diet of our popular culture.
Something truly has to give.
From the personal side, it is truly alarming to realize that yet another generation of young women in America does not feel safe at home, driving to work, at school, at work or just going for a stroll — not to mention women in uniform who live in fear not from the “enemy,” but from their fellow soldiers, sailors, and officers. (Yes, tell me please how a woman in uniform is “asking for it.”)
I could go on for a while, and wish I had a solution, other than to say, we all, men and women alike, have to shout-out enough and be done with it.
Suffice it to say, my biggest fear remains walking down the street after dark with a group of young men 14 – 23 moving towards me.
The culmination of over two years of work on my new book, A History Of Women’s Boxing.
I get to strut my stuff in the ring at Gleason’s Gym and speak to an audience of assembled friends about the courage, bravery and pure gumption that women have shown for the past three hundred years each time they’ve donned the gloves. Oh yes, and smile a lot, sign books and jump around with glee!
It’ll be a moment to savor — though I admit to a plethora of doubts: Did I get everything right? Did I forget someone? Did I make the point about pushing social and legal boundaries enough? Will the reader understand just how brave it was for a young and plucky Barbara Buttrick to insist that she had the right to box in 1949?
The historian’s lament plagues me a bit too. There’s never enough time or materials or opportunities to interview — except perhaps if the historian is Robert Caro, be still my historian’s heart.
The writing process is also a marathon battle — reminiscent of the endless rounds of the bare knuckle boxing era. If we consider that there are “championship rounds in boxing” — of which Layla McCarterknows a thing or two having insisted on the right to fight 12 three-minute rounds more than once — plowing through a writing project that is voluminous in the best sense nonetheless gets very, very tough as it heads towards the final chapters. In my case I overwrote by about two hundred pages, which necessitated a mad scramble to cut, cut, cut. Talk about taking shots — those words were my children, and in my “humble” opinion, the points made were as important as any in the final cut of book, but like any gut shot, one sucks it up and moves on because that’s what happens.
If the writing was at times an arduous task, the overriding sensation, however, was one of deep, deep respect for the women who ply their trade as boxers — such that the project became a true labor of love. Just the act of climbing through the ropes is, in my estimation, a resounding statement of defiance against the strictures that continue to be imposed on women as they go about their work-a-day worlds — nevermind what that meant in the 1970s when women took to the courts to gain the right box.
It still boggles the mind that women’s amateur fighting was virtually illegal in the United States until 1993 when a young 16-year-old girl named Dallas Malloy sued for the right to compete, not to mention Dee Hamaguchi who opened up the right for women to fight in New York’s Golden Gloves in 1995.
I mean what was that? Amateur boxing was illegal which meant women had no safe means of learning to compete other than to turn pro? Hmmm.
I’ll add that the quickest way to become a feminist is to take on a history of women’s anything project. Talk about a wake up call! Wow!
As I wrote the book, I admit to having favorites, women like Belle Martell who not only was the first licensed referee in the state of California, but who was also a promoter for amateur fights, took the tickets and then jumped in the ring in a ball gown to announce the bouts–the first women to do so. Belle also tried really hard to promote women in the ring in the early 1950s with the idea that they’d save a sport that was dying on the vine due to television. Gussie Freeman was another one. Talk about a character, she boxed briefly in the 1890s, but made such an impression people still remembered her 50 years later.
When I was a kid, our history textbooks consisted of stories of kings and queens, generals and presidents, with very little about the men and women whose lives collectively swayed the shape of society as the centuries passed.
As a microcosm of society, the history of boxing provides an interesting perspective on social interactions between people, the power of popular culture and issues of race, class and the exploitation of labor. Throwing women into that mix provides a more nuanced understanding of those same issues. For one, women’s spectatorship became an important ingredient in developing boxing as a sport from the 1790s on!
The image of a woman in boxing gloves also became a potent symbol of the changing place of women in western society at points in history, most notably in the period between 1880s and the end of World War II when the place of women was upended in a clear line.
That we still question the place of women in the ring today is just as telling. Yes, there were and are those who object to boxing period no matter who contests the fight, but the notion that female boxing is an anathema still seems to finds its place in the conversation about the sport, which goes to the heart of the argument about the “place” of women in society. Ugh … still?
Regardless, women push through it all anyway and climb through the ropes knowing their muscles have been honed into perfect boxing shape to leave it all in the ring having given their very best.
All I can say is that I am very, very proud to have contributed in some way to sing their praises. And yep, here’s to the ladies who punch!
New York City has been sparred the brunt of a huge snow storm system that has hit a lot of other places across the country pretty hard. We count ourselves lucky on that one and otherwise cling to the notion that Spring really is a mere few weeks away.
Elsewhere in the world individuals breathe a sigh of relief or cringe at what may befall them next. Certainly friends in Ukraine and Russia must be going through a myriad of emotions and fear as they sit on the brink of another of the world’s conflagrations in Crimea–the site of so much suffering in a prior war well over 150 years ago. Having been in places during times of strife, I can attest to the strangeness of going about one’s business while across town people are confronted with guns.
Watching the Oscars last night along with some billion others on the planet was a moment to savor fantasy and dreams as pretty men and pretty ladies adorned the images in pretty clothes, dripping with pretty jewels.
How marvelous that we could all take a collective time out from our troubles to savor Pink in pink and Ellen hocking the rich and powerful for pizza money.
Best of all were the wins and none more than lovely Lupita Nyong’o whose speech was uplifting and full of hope. “When I look down at this golden statue, may it remind me and every child, no matter where you’re from, your dreams are valid,” she said.
That is something to savor on a Monday morning when besnowed or not, troubled or fantastically happy, we chase our best selves as Matthew McConaughey implored us to do.
Friday Night At The Women’s Boxing Fights … February 28, 2014
La Barbie Juarez (l) in the ring against a tough Melissa McMorrow as they battled for the WBC Female Superflyweight International Title, February 22, 2014.
Up this week … two women’s boxing title bouts!
Co-Main Event:
Fernanda Alegre (18-1-1, 9-KOs) vs. Marisol Reyes (13-8-1, 6-KOs), WBO Female Light Welterweight Title held at the Club Atlético Huracán, Necochea, Buenos Aires, Argentina, on February 21, 2014.
WBC Champion Mariana “La Barbie” Juarez (39-7-3, 16-KOs) met WBO Flyweight Champion Melissa McMorrow (9-4-3, 1-KO) in a tough 10-round fight at the Gimnasio Miguel Hidalgo de la Angelopolis in Peubla, Mexico on February 22, 2014. They competed for the WBC Female Superflyweight International Title. There was a lot of contraversy associated with the decision so you be the judge! (Fight starts approximately 12:00 minutes in.)
Happy Valentine’s Day @ the Women’s Boxing Fights!
Mako Yamada newest WBO Champion. Photo: Ulysses Sato and Aaron Jang
This was a big upset, Mako Yamada (7-0, 2-KOs) defeated defending title-holder Su-Yun Hong (9-1, 5-KOs) for the WBO Female Minimum Weight championship fight! The bout was held on Sunday, February 9, 2014 in the city of Chuncheon, South Korea. Yamada, a 19-year-old from Fukuoka, Japan, won by split decision with a decided body attack in the early going, and came out on top with scores 97-93, 96-94 in her favor and 97-96 for Kong. You be the judge!
Next up, the main event! The WBC Female Super Bantamweight women’s boxing champion, Alicia “Slick” Ashley (20-9-1, 2-KOs) in her WBC title defense against Zenny Sotomayor (10-5-2, 8-KOs). At age 46, Alicia Ashley is all the more remarkable for her longevity in the realm of professional boxing and for her extraordinary exploits in the ring over a professional career that began 15 years ago in 1999. In her fight against Sotomayor held in Las Pulgas, Tuijuan, Mexico, on October 23, 2013, Ashley won by TKO at 1:43 in the fifth round.
What with the snow falling vertically and wind gusting as high as 40-miles-per-hour, my usual leisurely 15 minute walk from home to work was quite an adventure in negotiating where to step. And as for the walk home, Adams Street near Fulton was a veritable icy lake of slush.
When it comes to slip sliding along though, the real dream is avoid the punch that inevitably finds its way onto my head, not the huge piles of snow, ice and all around yuck that is our New York City winter.
The good thing is, life goes on anyway and bitching and moaning aside, it is after all the 13th of February which means not toooooooo many more of these snow-laden morning and evening rush hours to go. Least ways, that’s the hope.
Apropos of nothing in particular, if you do have to think winter–it might as well be skating where so far at the 2014 Sochi Olympics, some of the performances have been remarkable.
It began this afternoon, a twinge on the inside of my left wrist, and then the sudden awareness that my pinky finger and ring finger were feeling a bit numb. Talk about an “oh no” feeling, I had surgical treatment for the same thing in my right wrist about nine years ago, so the thought of having to repeat is not exactly high on my list. While carpal tunnel syndrome generally entails a narrowing of the sheath where the nerve that feeds the thumb, index and middle finger (medial nerve), it can also cause symptoms in the Ulnar nerve.
Thinking about it and given that I’ve had relative wrist health (with the exception of a ganglion cyst on my wrist as a result of rehab on my shoulder), my first question was what’s different?
The obvious culprit was a new keyboard at work–slightly smaller, lighter and not as angled as the previous one. I certainly hadn’t given it a thought, but as each new key stroke caused yet a new ache on the top of my wrist, I knew I was probably onto something.
The mechanics of my body position in relation to the keyboard aside (which will have to get dealt with tomorrow), my task now is to immediately reduce the inflammation, which includes taking an anti-inflammatory (ibuprofen or aspirin). Next up will be wearing a wrist brace to keep it angled in a non-stress position for a few days. There are also a series of exercises that can be done to aid in wrist health. The main thing is to address it fairly immediately and if it continues over a few days–to seek out medical attention.
The main thing is to see if non-invasive treatments can be started to mitigate the problem before it gets to the point of requiring serious medical intervention.
Having blown off the gym tonight, I’ve been tucked into my WARM apartment with the family, the cat, some delicious potato-leek soup and lots of the Olympic sport of curling. I even watched a bit of women’s hockey and saw the American team score three goals inside of a few minutes in the first period, quite an impressive bit of playing. And of course yesterday, Sunday, I spent the afternoon and evening watching wall-to-wall figure skating and the men’s downhill, Friday night’s boxing. Oh, plus the Downton Abbey episode with lots of new possible suitors for Lady Mary in the offing, the dowager’s illness and more!
That the thread of the past two days has been non-stop sports and the vicissitudes of life for the upper classes not to mention denizens of their “downstairs” rooms is, admittedly, even for a devoted television watcher like myself, beginning to get to be a bit too much–but given the alternative, c-o-l-d, it is about the best I can muster. Yes, yes, I was out and about too … party on Friday night, a fabulous lecture series at my daughter’s high school Saturday morning (“Knowledge College” at Bard High School Early College Queens), and a trip to Staples to get Spring term school supplies, but really … those freezing puffs of air on the way to and from places is getting to me.
What with the new season of Netflix’sHouse of Cards set to begin on Friday, there is that to look forward to, plus the next round of figure skating, so really, aside from the walk to and from work, and yes, maybe even the gym, I’m homebound for the duration until the the temperature reaches into the 50s!
Reading the Little House On The Prairie series and the Betsy and Tacy books to my daughter reminded me of what the pre-vaccination/pre-antibiotic world was really like for small kids. In both series, siblings and friends of the main characters died rather uncerimoniously of Measles and Whooping Cough, Maleria or other infections, or spent part of their childhood in iron lungs or other contraptions to help limbs withered by Polio. Coming to those parts of the stories, I wanted to skip over them to spare my daughter the pain of what those losses meant in a much more precarious world than the privileged one of early 21st century America.
Girlboxing 