the full understanding of experience
it was today during my second day of boxing training that i finally understood why fighters clinch in apparent exhaustion and don’t fight, even when it seems a single flurry would take out the opponent. as a less than informed boxing viewer, i confess that i always found clinching mildly disgusting. why don’t they fight, pussy charley wondered. spinning circles around a heavy bag, punching as hard as i could for three minutes, the question was answered.
got to the point where i didn’t even want to lift my gloves. those 16oz piddly padded things became dumbbells, almost like magic, and the muscles in my shoulders spoke to me. they didn’t speak to my trainer though, who was more interested in my shitty footwork. that bastard. doesn’t he know fighting is tough? 
since i’m a longtime drummer who can kick living hell out of a drum with little effort, i figured that even with my skinny arms and wrists i’d have a leg up in the boxing world. that delusion was corrected when my coach put on mitts so i could box them instead of the bag. fuck! a couple of times my left wrist felt like it had been sledge hammered. i kept at it and tried to lessen the pain with better form, but eventually packed it in. this coach moves the mitt toward you when you’re hitting, and it ramps up the impact pretty bad. was a nice little hurdle early in my training though, and i was glad i at least kept it up for another round or so.
arms and legs ache now, 8 hours later. two rounds of footwork drills toasted my lower leg muscles like cycling never has. what a great thing, this boxing training. i recommend it highly, even if you don’t want to spar.
already making plans for my first fight (ha!). since my nickname is danger, i’m going to enter the arena to the sounds of mystikal singing “Danger (Been So Long)” — one of the rare rap songs i love, perhaps because it’s all about pussy and stuff.