Tag Archives: working out

My locker

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My locker

I’ve had my locker at Gleason’s Gym for several years.  I used to schlep my stuff to the gym on a daily basis and then hope that one of the loaner “day” lockers was free.   In those instances even if I found a locker, more times than not, I’d forget to bring a lock or forget something at home, say my shoes or gloves or handwraps.  The solution of course, was to make the commitment to get a locker.

At Gleason’s as at other gyms, locker space is pretty dear.  Once I’d signed up to get one, it took several months before I actually got the call to telling me that I’d been assigned one.  Those months were a time of anticipation and frankly, outright jealousy as I’d ogle the lockers of my gym mates overflowing with gear, towels and deodorant.   When I finally did get the call, I was elated — and well, anxious.

What would I put in my locker?  Would it be big enough?  Should I purchase an extra shelf as I’d seen in other lockers?  Would I have enough places to hang things?  Oh, and the lock?  What type?  Would I remember the combination?

Coming into the gym my first day after getting “the call” I felt triumphant.  I had a locker with my last name prominently pasted to the outside of the locker door.  Opening it up, I felt a rush of excitement, never mind that it was exactly like the loaner lockers I’d been using all along, it was my locker, for my stuff; a little part of the world with my name on it that stored my special things.

After several visits to the gym, my locker began to take on the character of all the others I’d seen — overflowing with gear, and hard to close on cold days what with my winter boots and huge down coat.  Still it was mine, and if missed going to the gym for long stretches of time, my gear remained safely tucked in and at the ready for me.

This weekend I cleaned out my locker in anticipation of the area being bombed to kill goodness knows what kind of insects.  One of the last to get to the gym on Saturday afternoon, I felt wistful seeing the locker room so empty.  The treat was being reunited with stuff I’d long since tucked away inside bags or other crevices.  Who knew that I had my own speed bag??  This after just having put one on my Christmas list!  I was also reunited with my favorite pair of socks which I’d assumed had long since gone to sock heaven, not to mention mouth pieces, head gear, my daughter’s gear from when she was 8 years old and used to train a lot, and even my yoga mat.

Hauling my big laundry bag of stuff home, I of course resolved to keep my locker neater as I worked out where to purchase a large mesh bag to store gear so I’d actually *know* what was in there.  Mostly though, I was able to think through individual moments at the gym and came up the big hill on Washington Street with a smile.

Getting them to the gym early

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Getting them to the gym early

I live in a two-boxer family and if I count the young-one, we’re coming on three boxers.  As the trainers down at Gleason’s are happy to remind us, my daughter was practically born in the gym.  There are many stories told of how she was passed from one lap to another while my husband or I trained.  Her comfort today is telling every time she walks into the gym.  She’s got folks to say hello to,  her trainer, John “Superman” Douglas to fist-bump, and a general feeling of ease as she watches us workout or works out herself.

When it comes to kids in the gym, I always advise parents that there is no place finer to introduce a child not only to the intricacies of the sweet science, but to the rarified world of camaraderie, focus and importantly, people’s dreams.  A boxing gym provides children with a place where they can experience people working very, very hard to achieve complex goals that range from personal fitness to readying for professional bouts.

The boxing gym is also a place where children can learn great physical skills, confidence and a work ethic that will carry them across a lifetime — and this without ever really needing to fight in a bout.  The boxing work out alone with a skilled trainer or in a group class will provide kids with the chance to develop prowess in the boxing repertoire and for those parents who might object to their kids sparring, pad work and shadow boxing can simulate some of the movements of the ring.  Girls especially get a lot out of boxing training — not the least of which is learning how to physically defend themselves.

There’s also something else that happens in a boxing gym: a chance for people from all walks of life to interact and communicate.  In the over-scheduled world of contemporary child rearing, that sort of experience is invaluable as is the “drift” time that happens as you wait your turn.

For more information on children’s boxing programs, parents can contact their local PAL organizations. Many boxing gyms also provide opportunities for training children individually or in groups.  You can also contact Girlboxing and we’ll be happy to pass on what information we have.

Housebound

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Housebound

My daughter has been sick off-and-on with a low-grade fever and headaches over the past few days. This has meant that my husband has been at home taking care of her — and has himself caught whatever bug she’s had.

On those sorts of days when bed, TV and iPad games are your best friends it’s hard to get motivated enough to reset your bed covers, never mind do anything remotely physical. As the fog of misery begins to roll back, however, one sure way of pushing through the rest of the way is to sweat it out with some robust exercise finished by a nice steam.

By robust, of course, I don’t necessarily mean running a marathon, but first off, dragging your bones out of bed and into a hot shower to help you reset yourself.  And sure, if you feel as if you’re about to faint at that point, bed is surely your only option, but if you get out of the shower feeling refreshed and human again, the next step is to get your body moving.  Think Army calisthenics and get into yours sweats and start either with a quick stretch followed by run around the block — or a brisk walk to your gym to make war on the machines or a heaving bag.  What you want is a nice healthy sweat to get all of those toxins out — and as for the steam, if you don’t have access to one, get back in the shower with the water on hot and feel that junk rolling off you and down the drain.

Of course if you can’t run out the door, there’s nothing like shadow boxing to “I Will Survive”!

PS – As this is UMG, it may bounce you back to You Tube.

I want to live

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I want to live

A dear young friend of Girlboxing has been diagnosed with an aggressive breast cancer.  Barely 30 she is facing the kinds of challenges and life or death decisions that no one should ever have to face, never mind a person as vital and full of life as she.

It reminds me that all of us face deeply troubling and difficult problems that can be as debilitating emotionally as they are physically or quite frankly, the other way around, wherein feeling crippled by loss or depression can lead to a physical manifestation of suffering.

Cure alls for these sorts of troubles are near-on impossible, but there are ways of coping that can help find a place for laughter and smiles along side the hugely daunting task of getting through a difficult time.

So of course you know where I’m going with this in the sense of “working it out on the bag,” but more so, finding the “daily something,” the space that’s yours and yours alone can be a source of inspiration and hope to keep you going.

My Aunt was just such a person.  She had every serious and debilitating disease one can have including four different cancers (one breast each and two lung cancers), two heart attacks, three strokes and kidneys that managed to function despite no registry on her blood tests, oh and the diabetes she managed to “cure” through changes to her diet.

Her philosophy for coping was simple.  She’d wake up everyday and tell herself “I want to live.”   This became her mantra:  “I want to live.”  She said this often and always, and most particularly to her doctors who got to thinking that she must have inherited the spirit of several cat colonies because she kept using up lives and coming back.

With each new diagnosis, she’d yell it louder:  “I want to live.”   And the same with each day after radiation treatments, chemo treatments, blood transfusions, midnight schleps to the hospital, or day-long waits in the ER.  “I want to live,” she’d call me and say as we worked through the choices she had to face – all the while never missing a hair appointment or her weekly manicure.  And taking care of those details, walking into her doctor’s as decked out as she could muster gave her something to twinkle about – and that made it infectious.  Her doctors took on her mantra saying, “She wants to live,” thus rallying around her and giving it their best to ensure that she’d have that chance.

When she did finally pass I felt a deep and abiding sadness, but knowing that she had pushed herself to the limit of what her body could take and then some gave me a peaceful sense that she was ready to be where she needed to be.  I also understood that her “daily something” was her effort to stay alive; to give herself the energy and pluck to fight each and every round to its fullest.

As well, I know that we all have that in us.  It’s just a matter of finding that one space that helps us work things through no matter if it’s a potter’s wheel a double-ended bag or a simple one line statement.  So whatever it is: writing a journal entry, walking a mile, learning something new or throwing nothing but lefts at a punching bag getting ready for the Golden Gloves; while your daily something won’t cure you, it sure will help to see you through.

 

Working it out on the bag

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Working it out on the bag


What with Thanksgiving last week, Hanukkah celebrations this week and Christmas looming it’s the time of year when many of us can get hugely over-anxious and stressed out!  Sure some of us manage to get through it all with great joy in our hearts and nary a hurt feeling to consider, but many of us experience other emotions and have moments when we’d like nothing better than to chuck it all for a week in some other part of the world, preferably one without phones or email!

I’ve found that making the commitment to work out is a particularly helpful way to cope.  Whether it’s boxing, dancing, aikido, kickboxing, swimming, running or spinning for that matter — pursuing an active, physically engaging activity can provide a terrific way of getting rid of all the toxins that inevitably build during the countdown to the “holidays” and not just from all that overeating.

I like to think of it as working it out on the bag.  I take the plethora of “stuff” that inevitably gets kicked-up and give it a place to go.

Working it out on the bag means that you have a chance to chuck those things out of your body as a means of ridding yourself of the emotions that may otherwise be difficult to cope with.   And while I’ve found that the physical sensation of extending my body and hitting things gives me the chance to release a lot of “stuff,” any active physical experience of pounding something gives the sensation of pushing your body to its limit, such as the feel of the pavement when you’re running or a gym floor when you’re jumping rope.

The point is, these next few weeks are fraught with the pitfalls of a lot of heightened expectations including your own.  Perhaps the best present you can give yourself is the chance to work it all out on the bag long before you get to the point where you want to scream, cancel Christmas or take to your bed for days and days in the hopes that it’ll all end soon.

You might also like: it’s good to hit things

 

Feeling the cold

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Feeling the cold
Maybe it’s the sudden onset of cold temperatures in Brooklyn (albeit still above freezing), but I don’t feel like going anywhere or doing anything, even though I’ve got a huge list of chores to take care of.  On those sorts of days, the only thing to do is to give myself permission to spend some extra minutes under the covers before putting the steel rod in my spine and lots of layers on my body as I head outside for a brisk walk.

I have to admit those first chilly intakes of breath make me want to run back inside, but after the first few minutes, I really do feel a whole lot better.

There’s a great new park only the Brooklyn waterfront just south of the Brooklyn Bridge.  The wind can be a bit bone-chilling, but there is nothing prettier especially as the city begins to wake-up on a Sunday morning.
By the time I get home from these sorts of brief walks, I’m ready to face the day, knowing that whatever else happens, I’ve already accomplished at least one thing, and believe me, that can really help oneself get through the rest of the day.

The gym is closed?!?

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The gym is closed?!?

What?!? I’m off from work and the gym is closed?!?

How often have you asked yourself *that* question on a holiday when you’re itching to get out of the house and you’re overcome by the sudden onset of your exercise “mojo”?

Funny how that always seems to happen at 8:00 AM on Thanksgiving morning or better yet, at sometime around 2:00 PM on Christmas day.  And oh the shock and surprise when you remember that the gym is closed!  You’d think that there had been a murder with all the carrying-on that happens.  The “oh man, it’s closed? But I *really* want to work out *now*!”

It reminds me of speaking with Rabbi Richard Chapin formerly of New York’s Temple Emanuel about the meaning of faith.  He talked about the religious experience as more than what one often feels are mandated appearances on High Holy days.  Rather, it is the sum total of all of those Friday night services and the attendant repetition of ritual that can give one the chance to glean meaning.  And so with boxing or running or yoga or aikido or any of the host of activities one does at a gym or dojo or on a running track.  It is not the ritual “appearance” on a holiday that give meaning to work and sweat, it’s the every day.  The daily something.  The things we repeat over and over as a mantra to the places we want to go and the person we want to become.

As an advocate for boxing, I’ll always talk about the ring as a place to take care of those sorts of longings, but really it doesn’t matter.  The point is to find those things have meaning to you and to give it a whirl in a way that makes sense and is achievable.  And no, you don’t have to go 15 rounds your first day or promise to run 12 miles or do 200 sit-ups or 10 sets each on every apparatus in the gym.  Nor do you have to suddenly remember that you haven’t been to the gym in a while (shall we say weeks or months?) and figure the best day to start is at 7:30 AM on New Year’s Day.

So enjoy your Thanksgiving Day — and if you really feed the need to move around, I’d suggest dancing the Superbad Slide (and because it’s James Brown it’ll link you back to You Tube).

Dark at 6:00 AM

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Dark at 6:00 AM

Not that I want to complain or anything, but if you live in Brooklyn, NY and wake-up at 6:00 AM, you’re waking up in the dark.  Okay, true, most northern cities around the planet experience this as a regular feature of the winter months, but it doesn’t make it any more palatable.

So why am I up?  Well work for one, but more so to find the time for sit-ups and crunches, shadowing boxing, sun salutations, and in general gaining some moments before the rush of the day.  That it’s all in the dark gives this time a bit of mystery.  As if I were an acolyte of Nyx, the Greek Goddess of Night, reveling in the time before Helios makes his way across the sky in his golden chariot.

Waking up in the dark also seems to push one’s sense of purpose; as if in wrenching oneself from what otherwise feels so natural, one has made a bold statement of the importance of the time before morning.  Sure, it is morning by the clock, but the body remains in revolt, at least mine does.  And even as I make my moves around the living room, I keep looking out the window in the hopes of connecting myself with the first rays of morning light — recognizing that I will only find myself tune with the a natural order of things at that moment when I spy Homer’s “rosy fingered dawn.”

Sit-ups

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Sit-ups.

So I went back to Gleason’s Gym yesterday and had a fabulous if slow, training session with Lennox Blackmore.  I managed to get through it all without needing to call for an ambulance and acquitted myself reasonably well, except for the sit-ups.

Talk about embarrassing…

Back in the day (all of three years ago), sit-ups became my favorite province.  I’d do my 100 with Lennox, and then start crunches, reverse bench sit-ups, or sitting on the sit-up bench doing 15-minute sit-up sets. Not that I ever developed a six-pack or any thing resembling even the slightest ripple, I did know that somewhere under my ample padding I was solid as a rock!  Plus, I knew that the core strength was there and even if I didn’t see the actual evidence of my work in the form of the aforementioned six-pack, my improved back strength, tighter stance, crisper jabs, hooks and upper-cuts proved it.

Well I’m here to tell the cautionary tale of use it or lose it!

I mean doing those sit-ups yesterday was painful, pitiful and beyond awful. Suffice to say it’s one of the parts to a work-out that can come back quickly, and doesn’t need any sort of fancy gym apparatus to do.

So … this morning, I hauled myself up nice and early, pulled out the pad and started doing crunches.  I took it nice and slow and while watching my favorite British police procedural on Netflix, did about 15 minutes worth.   I still ache – but, something did click, ‘cause while I may not be able to find the time I need to get to the gym, I can carve the time to do some sit-ups.  Well, at any rate, I’m going to try – so that next time I see Lennox I can at least get through the third set without stopping in the middle!

Gym bound!

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Gym bound!

I am determined to get to the boxing gym this afternoon.  I mean really, it’s been weeks, and here I am attempting to keep a blog going on boxing!  Well, okay. So I’ve been busy at work, true.  Busy writing papers for grad school, true.  Busy being a wife and a mom, true.  But, but, but … I say to myself, that is no excuse, sister, get your butt to the gym!   So today, after dropping the prodigal off at her dance class, it’s off to Gleason’s for some serious huffing and puffing as I attempt something resembling a work out.

The plan?  Hmmm. A short run, maybe 15 minutes worth at a slow pace to be followed by three rounds of shadow boxing.  By then I’ll be warmed up and ready for the most embarrassing part, facing my trainer, Lennox Blackmore.  He will be as he always is, the consummate professional with a mushy heart of molten gold — while I shall be mortified by how slow I am, not to mention out of breath by about 30 seconds into the first round!

Oh well.  I’ve been here before and no doubt will be here again.  The point is that I shall haul myself over there to begin anew and after a while feel the absolute thrill of working hard.  Once I get over the initial shock of working out, I really do have to give it my all and find there is nothing so satisfying as feeling my muscles dissolve into the delicious agony of having been worked to death.  Of course there will be tomorrow when I’ve got to work through the obstacle course that is my life lately to get myself back to the gym for a second day, but that is in truth a problem for another day.

PS – Don’t forget to catch the last night of the Women’s International Duel Series bouts tonight live from 9:00 PM to 12:00 AM Eastern Time.  I watched last night and they were terrific.  The link is here.

PPS – Read this GREAT story about women boxers in India who have made extraordinary strides in the recently held Commonwealth Games.  The NY Times has it here.

Also, learn about Mary Kom’s Boxing Academy in the northeastern state of Manipur, India here.


Day ahead of myself

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Day ahead of myself.

I’m getting days ahead of myself.  It comes of too much on my mind and not enough focus.  Maybe that’s why the pads a trainer uses in boxing are called “focus” pads.

I clearly need some focus or my family might actually follow through on their threats to set me adrift at sea.  ‘Not that I’ve become a Captain Bligh around here, but it’s pretty clear that the problem is me and not with the rest of my world ’cause they’ve been pretty perfect.


Five Minutes

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Five minutes 

Sometimes all I have is five minutes.  Five minutes to write, stretch, meditate, shadow box, lift weights or as my friend Stephen says, drift.  Those five minutes can be a precious commodity.  Five whole minutes for myself and myself alone.  Sometimes it is five minutes to take a little sleep.  Or five minutes to run downstairs and get an iced coffee.

“Give me five minutes,” can be a refrain when I’m supposed to be somewhere and need to finish something or maybe it’s that I need that little edge.  That moment I use to restore myself and reset my clock before I go on to the next task.

Today I gave myself five minutes to write.  Not unlike the boxer’s three-minute round, those five minutes were my little bit of space that I reveled in as a little secret to myself.  My five minutes to do with what I wanted.

You can go home again!

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You can go home again!

Coming back to the gym after a long break is always a challenge.   Least ways, I usually find it that way.  On the one hand I sweat like crazy and find that my muscles remember what they’re supposed to do despite all the neglect.  And it does feel as if I’m coming back home.  Not that there is a brass band playing, but the “hey, how ya’ doing,” from gym-mates is nice.  The re-discovery of the contents of my locker is also fun especially since my boxer’s locker is filled with long-forgotten paraphernalia and equipment, the odd favorite pair of socks, and the reminder, yet again, that I’m running low on deodorant.

The hard part of coming back to the gym is how out of shape one can become in a short period never mind if it’s been weeks or months!  In my case, if I’ve been boxing steadily for a while, a hiatus feels like being in a fight with the Three Stooges, except that I’m Shep or Moe or Curly.  I’m the one with awful timing that feels as if I’m in the middle of an out-of-sync movie.

To save some “face,” there’s nothing like hitting the gym late on a Sunday afternoon.  By then, there are only a few folks around – and in my case, no trainer to say, “come-on girl,” when I begin outright panting during the second round on the pads.

For a first day back in a boxing gym, I’ve found the best thing to do is to attempt a short run to get loose followed by a tour of my hit-parade of favorite things to do.  My regime consists of a few rounds of shadow-boxing to warm up, followed by a round or two or three on the double-ended bag and a finish on the heavy bag for no more than an additional three rounds.  By the end, I don’t need an oxygen tank and I’ve gotten a decent work-out without pushing myself to a point of absolute misery.  More to the point, if I follow that up with one or two more short training sessions on my own, the sensation of working out in mud dissipates and I find I’m ready to get back in the ring with my trainer with at least some modicum of dignity!

Why I love the jab

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Why I love the jab

I love the jab.

If I throw the punch enough times I can actually find the sweet-spot.  Not unlike a perfectly hit baseball, the sweet-spot of a punch has similar a meaning: the place where the fist perfectly percusses with the object.  Some days it takes three rounds of shadow boxing, four rounds of work with my trainer and I don’t know how many on the double-ended bag before  I find it.  And other days, well, you get the idea.

When I think about the jab, I’m reminded that all things come down to the fundamentals.  For the jab that means stance, arm position, and the actual mechanics of how the jab is thrown.  The jab is also foundational to the sweet science itself.  Try to box without one and you’re really not boxing anymore.  Every trainer also has a story or two about a boxer who “fought twelve rounds with nothing but the jab and won.”    And it is a pretty cool punch to throw.  It establishes your pace, helps you find your range, and keeps your opponent at bay while you ready yourself to let loose with your hammer hand.

The jab also teaches an economy of movement.  A boxer’s body has to be aligned so that when the punch is thrown it’s not just the fist, but the momentum of the entire body that connects. The “boom” is the fist finding its target, but its fueled by the feet, legs, hips, chest and shoulder in one brilliant moment.  If you throw it and the body is misaligned, the punch doesn’t pack any power.  Sure it might look good, but it’s a waste of energy, or as Johnny used to say, “nothing but pitty-pat.”

And I guess that’s what I find I love most about the jab.  The possibility of its allowing me to find a moment when all things align.  My body for sure, but also my mind because in that moment, I’m not there, I’m in the punch; somewhere close to what the Buddhist’s call not-self.  Not to say that boxing is an aspect of Nirvana, but losing oneself in an instant of physical perfection is a nice way of tasting enlightenment.

 

You might also like:   No pitty-pat or Learning to box

Writing it down

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Writing it down

When I first started boxing I kept a punch journal.  There was something very cathartic about keeping a record of my activities.  I was able to measure my progress and relive the nuances of unspoken emotions.

What I was most struck by was my own vulnerability.  When had I ever let anyone give me water to sip or tenderly mop my brow of sweat.  There isn’t much one can do for oneself in oversized puffy gloves – and yet, when I first started I did try to do it all.

Writing down my punch log also led me to write down other things.  How I was feeling that day.  The things that were bothering me.  The things that crossed my mind during the parts of my day’s training when I was on my own.

What you have is the chance to let your feelings flow in the same way that they can in the ring.  And whether those feelings flow out in short punches, or in staccato stats on a notebook page, what you end up with is an abundance of self-expression, that once started is like a floodgate.

I’ve been journaling in one form or another since I was twelve years old, but the focus of my boxing journal has led to a self-awareness I had not encountered before.  The truth is if you’re not honest in the ring, you’re going to get “clocked”.  And what that means is you must put 100% of yourself into what you do – call it being 100% present.  Without that, you will be so busy running in your head between what you think the experience is and the actual experience, that there will be no time to react.  And by then you’ll be on the canvas.  The same can be said of your journaling.  You can be present with what you write down, and find some truths you may not have been aware of or been ready to face.

What I love about boxing is that I never know where it is going to take me.  And whether it is finding a comfort zone for my jab or more self awareness stemming from what I’ve written down in my journal, it makes every day a little happier and more joyous, and that is a very good thing.