GOOD fun today, although I ache. Like Hell.
Couldn't make Thursday training, so I booked an earlier session with Steve, so that I didn't miss out. It all went really well, as far as I was concerned. Yes, there were the usual issues with fitness and stamina (although not as much as usual, which shows there's improvement), but every now and again, flashes of sharpness surfaced.
It could be a jab, either in sparring (did three rounds of it with Steve), or pad work (five), or even on the bags (four rounds), but evry so often, there it is. I don't know where it's coming from - my previous training, I guess - but it is most welcome. I knew, Steve knew, and anyone else that cared to watch could see it coming out.
Other things have changed. I could never skip the way that most boxers do, having only learned it when I started boxing. Today, for no reason at all, I just started doing it the way it should be done. Well pleased. I've also managed to get halfway decent on the speedball and the punchball (I think that's what it called). So there seems to be a co-ordination there that wasn't present before.
All of these things act as positive encouragement, and make me want to go back again, because you just don't know where it will lead. My defence is still absolute rubbish, and the footwork requires concentrated effort. I was still cooking some several hours after I finished, but it's all happy days.
Thursday, 27 March 2008
Tuesday, 25 March 2008
The Warsaw express
WELL, I gave myself a month, and it took a week.
Foolish enough to be hanging around the area where those that spar gear up, I was coerced into the ring by Robbo, and got a really good idea of just how far I've fallen. In for four rounds against two of the Poles, I just about held on for three of them before being almost completely overwhelmed in the fourth. Fortunately for me, my opponent (we were introduced afterwards, but my inferior English hearing lost the name) took pity on me and stood off. If it had been one of my old sparring partners, I think I would have been pummelled.
I should also admit that the fighting wasn't that tough. Both the guys are new to boxing, having only been going three months, and there was a lot of bobbing and weaving and not much jabbing. Had I had a few months under me, it would have been very uneven - I think. Both of the guys showed promise, and put in far more spirited performances against one another than against me. I think I benefited from a bit of fear of the unknown.
There were some plusses to take from my sparring, some nice touches, some old flashes. Same as last week - I just have to be patient. Particularly humiliating was a smash to the gut. It wasn't the punch, it was the wobble afterwards (from my fat belly, not all of me). I can't imagine that the fight was much of a spectacle.
However, as I said last week, this time around it's a spur, not discouragement. I went into this with my eyes open and knew that 18 months of being in a state of mental flux, with plenty of vices as crutches, was going to take its toll. Every time that I hit a challenge, I'm not daunted by it - I find it a comfort. There is the advantage that I know what's coming this time around, and it's hugely, hugely enjoyable. I love it. It's home.
Of course, I'll ache for a couple of days, and I'm running the risk of a cold because I pushed myself to the point where I was wheezing and coughing - well, retching. But wtf?
And I'm well impressed with the Poles. One of the great things about working for myself is that I can now say what the Hell I want. Those boys have just confirmed my view that Eastern European economic migrants who come to this country put most of us to shame, with their work ethic and their willingness to take on anything.
I had a Polish mate at my last boxing club called Mario. He spent the day jet washing cars. No matter what your level of education, it's hard to believe anyone would derive a great deal of satisfaction from such a job. We all know that a lot of British people would turn their noses up at such work, despite not being qualified for much else. I'd rather have a million Poles (or Romanians, Bulgarians or Hungarians) in the UK, working their way and paying their taxes, than pay for just one drongo's drugs bill. These are the very same people that will blame everybody but themselves and then vote BNP.
Every hard working person in this country should be grateful for Polish immigration. If you aren't, go make friends with a couple of them.
Foolish enough to be hanging around the area where those that spar gear up, I was coerced into the ring by Robbo, and got a really good idea of just how far I've fallen. In for four rounds against two of the Poles, I just about held on for three of them before being almost completely overwhelmed in the fourth. Fortunately for me, my opponent (we were introduced afterwards, but my inferior English hearing lost the name) took pity on me and stood off. If it had been one of my old sparring partners, I think I would have been pummelled.
I should also admit that the fighting wasn't that tough. Both the guys are new to boxing, having only been going three months, and there was a lot of bobbing and weaving and not much jabbing. Had I had a few months under me, it would have been very uneven - I think. Both of the guys showed promise, and put in far more spirited performances against one another than against me. I think I benefited from a bit of fear of the unknown.
There were some plusses to take from my sparring, some nice touches, some old flashes. Same as last week - I just have to be patient. Particularly humiliating was a smash to the gut. It wasn't the punch, it was the wobble afterwards (from my fat belly, not all of me). I can't imagine that the fight was much of a spectacle.
However, as I said last week, this time around it's a spur, not discouragement. I went into this with my eyes open and knew that 18 months of being in a state of mental flux, with plenty of vices as crutches, was going to take its toll. Every time that I hit a challenge, I'm not daunted by it - I find it a comfort. There is the advantage that I know what's coming this time around, and it's hugely, hugely enjoyable. I love it. It's home.
Of course, I'll ache for a couple of days, and I'm running the risk of a cold because I pushed myself to the point where I was wheezing and coughing - well, retching. But wtf?
And I'm well impressed with the Poles. One of the great things about working for myself is that I can now say what the Hell I want. Those boys have just confirmed my view that Eastern European economic migrants who come to this country put most of us to shame, with their work ethic and their willingness to take on anything.
I had a Polish mate at my last boxing club called Mario. He spent the day jet washing cars. No matter what your level of education, it's hard to believe anyone would derive a great deal of satisfaction from such a job. We all know that a lot of British people would turn their noses up at such work, despite not being qualified for much else. I'd rather have a million Poles (or Romanians, Bulgarians or Hungarians) in the UK, working their way and paying their taxes, than pay for just one drongo's drugs bill. These are the very same people that will blame everybody but themselves and then vote BNP.
Every hard working person in this country should be grateful for Polish immigration. If you aren't, go make friends with a couple of them.
Tuesday, 18 March 2008
I want to fight that bloke, but this bloke wants to fight me
I RETURNED tonight to a different fight club. I thought things wouldn't stay the same, but I recognised only two people there, and one of those was from my last abortive effort, so I don't really know him.
Matt, my old sparring partner was there, of course, as reliable as Swiss transport. Although he tells me he's given up sparring, which I'm partly disappointed about it (this is the man who's hit me in the face more than any other person on the planet, even my brother). But I'm also a little bit relieved, as his fitness, dogged tenacity and downright madness sometimes overwhelmed me.
I'm a month away from sparring. I was thinking two weeks, but then I saw my new Fight Club associates. To a man, they are all younger than me, and nearly all of them are fitter. Not all of them are experienced, but there are one of two that look very good, and will surely be in the ring soon.
I was particularly taken with three Poles, who spend their time between rounds and time on the bags engaging in lively banter. They just cheer you up, even though I don't understand a bloody word they say. One of them is particularly tasty, and did very well in the sparring against two guys that probably had at least three inches in reach on him.
Of course, he's the guy that I want to fight. He has to be. I haven't watched him close enough to suss out his style (and find some attack points), but he he has combined a quick boxing brain with some serious ferocity, and bested his opponents many time, on one occasion reducing one of them to a quivering wreck.
But there's another guy there, and I can see it in his eyes: he wants to fight me. It's an alpha male thing - insecurity, uncertainty, fear. The session is is broken into three parts: the warm-up, sparring and bags, and core fitness work. During the last part, he was shouting. "Come on, lads!", as if he had some hand in training. My response to that was "fuck off", and others around me felt the same way. We're going to fight, and he's going to lose.
Another guy there intrigued me. Friendly, and quite new to Fight Club, by the looks of it, he looks really wimpy, but he looks very, very handy. Very quick, obviously with previous experience, he seems like a nice bloke with it. It will be interesting to see how he prospers.
I'd forgotten how much I enjoy boxing. I felt very, very calm afterwards (although I'm still cooking from the exertion and I ache on a global scale). It felt like coming home, a return to a comforting bit of normality.
But it did feel a lot different this time round. I didn't feel any pressure to perform. I felt like I was there for myself, for my benefit, my enjoyment. Of course, a lot of things have happened since I left Fight Club in earnest in September 2006, a lot of things that have been resolved. I think Matt got it right. He said, "I've got nothing to prove anymore," - the reason why he no longer wants to go into the ring. It certainly feels that way. Sure, there will be competition, probably flashpoints (why wouldn't there be? It's a room full of blokes fighting), and various other issues. But I won't be involved in it.
Do your talking in the ring. As Hemingway put it, boxing's the most honest conversation two men can have.
Matt, my old sparring partner was there, of course, as reliable as Swiss transport. Although he tells me he's given up sparring, which I'm partly disappointed about it (this is the man who's hit me in the face more than any other person on the planet, even my brother). But I'm also a little bit relieved, as his fitness, dogged tenacity and downright madness sometimes overwhelmed me.
I'm a month away from sparring. I was thinking two weeks, but then I saw my new Fight Club associates. To a man, they are all younger than me, and nearly all of them are fitter. Not all of them are experienced, but there are one of two that look very good, and will surely be in the ring soon.
I was particularly taken with three Poles, who spend their time between rounds and time on the bags engaging in lively banter. They just cheer you up, even though I don't understand a bloody word they say. One of them is particularly tasty, and did very well in the sparring against two guys that probably had at least three inches in reach on him.
Of course, he's the guy that I want to fight. He has to be. I haven't watched him close enough to suss out his style (and find some attack points), but he he has combined a quick boxing brain with some serious ferocity, and bested his opponents many time, on one occasion reducing one of them to a quivering wreck.
But there's another guy there, and I can see it in his eyes: he wants to fight me. It's an alpha male thing - insecurity, uncertainty, fear. The session is is broken into three parts: the warm-up, sparring and bags, and core fitness work. During the last part, he was shouting. "Come on, lads!", as if he had some hand in training. My response to that was "fuck off", and others around me felt the same way. We're going to fight, and he's going to lose.
Another guy there intrigued me. Friendly, and quite new to Fight Club, by the looks of it, he looks really wimpy, but he looks very, very handy. Very quick, obviously with previous experience, he seems like a nice bloke with it. It will be interesting to see how he prospers.
I'd forgotten how much I enjoy boxing. I felt very, very calm afterwards (although I'm still cooking from the exertion and I ache on a global scale). It felt like coming home, a return to a comforting bit of normality.
But it did feel a lot different this time round. I didn't feel any pressure to perform. I felt like I was there for myself, for my benefit, my enjoyment. Of course, a lot of things have happened since I left Fight Club in earnest in September 2006, a lot of things that have been resolved. I think Matt got it right. He said, "I've got nothing to prove anymore," - the reason why he no longer wants to go into the ring. It certainly feels that way. Sure, there will be competition, probably flashpoints (why wouldn't there be? It's a room full of blokes fighting), and various other issues. But I won't be involved in it.
Do your talking in the ring. As Hemingway put it, boxing's the most honest conversation two men can have.
First night nerves
IT'S been a long time, a damn long time. And last time's effort was a complete failure. But tonight, for the first time since last April - almost a year - I'm going back to boxing.
Before my last short-lived, abortive effort, I had gone some eight months without boxing, and prior to that, I had only boxed for eight months. So, in other words, the time that I've not boxed is substantially longer than the period that I did.
In the interim, I've grown fat, weak, and I don't like it, don't like it at all. I got back to smoking, too, and that robs me of my energy. I was smoking when I last returned to boxing and I don't really know what I was thinking, trying to combine the two.
But then I lost my job and my mother died, and things feel different now. I don't feel like I'm piling the pressure on myself any more. I don't feel like, when I reach the gym tonight and realise I'm the biggest guy there (fat, not muscle) that I'm facing an insurmountable task, that I'll never be ready to fight.
Having had good sessions back on the bags (apart from poor stamina) has helped. It fets really good to get back to whacking bags and, while my footwork has gone to pieces and no doubt my mind is working too slow, and I'm sure there are hundreds of other things to fix in the return to form, I feel like I'll be there for my pleasure, that it won't be eroded to a chore as the weight of my own expectations bears down on me.
In short, I can't wait.
Before my last short-lived, abortive effort, I had gone some eight months without boxing, and prior to that, I had only boxed for eight months. So, in other words, the time that I've not boxed is substantially longer than the period that I did.
In the interim, I've grown fat, weak, and I don't like it, don't like it at all. I got back to smoking, too, and that robs me of my energy. I was smoking when I last returned to boxing and I don't really know what I was thinking, trying to combine the two.
But then I lost my job and my mother died, and things feel different now. I don't feel like I'm piling the pressure on myself any more. I don't feel like, when I reach the gym tonight and realise I'm the biggest guy there (fat, not muscle) that I'm facing an insurmountable task, that I'll never be ready to fight.
Having had good sessions back on the bags (apart from poor stamina) has helped. It fets really good to get back to whacking bags and, while my footwork has gone to pieces and no doubt my mind is working too slow, and I'm sure there are hundreds of other things to fix in the return to form, I feel like I'll be there for my pleasure, that it won't be eroded to a chore as the weight of my own expectations bears down on me.
In short, I can't wait.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
