Gym Diary: Week 4

(Photo by Seawaterandbone)

Last week I tried to convey a small part of the appeal of boxing and why after a decade spent mostly on the couch I’m willing to endure the pain and suffering the sport demands. I’ve since been humbled by the response to the post, which only served as further proof that I’m on the right path.

While I explained a bit of what makes boxing so compelling to watch, it’s worth noting that training has its own appeal and uses beyond the ring. This week on my off night between workouts I ventured out to Rock Creek Tennis Center with Vijay to hit for the first time in months.

My focus was immediately on positioning my feet correctly, staying low and keeping proper form, which is a long cry from my history as a lazy baseliner that goes for too much on passing shots. I still lost (Can’t serve at all anymore and still spray forehands at times), but at least there’s hope of returning to something resembling my prior form in the future.

Of course more than twenty years of practice, bad habits and a lack of hustle are hard to erase so I won’t pretend that I was suddenly covering the court like Rafa Nadal. But the difference was palpable.

In tennis if you have good timing or long arms or quick reflexes you can often compensate for poor footwork or preparation. You won’t be as consistent with your groundstrokes but your results will be good enough that the impetus to change won’t be that great.

In boxing if you refuse to move your feet and just throw arm punches you’ll probably get knocked out. That, in short, is why it’s so much easier to remain focused on doing everything correctly.

We spent Monday night mostly working on combinations and defense. Rodriguez is training me like he would any other fighter, so the first task is to keep my hands up and protect myself at all times. Keeping proper space between your feet for balance while your opponent is advancing is also important, lest you get crossed up and toppled over with a tap to the chest. We also dabbled in switching up and fighting southpaw; jabbing with my right was predictably satisfying but my straight left was laughably weak.

On defense Rodriguez taught me to tuck my chin behind my shoulder and reach with a jab to the body when the other fighter comes in with the straight right. Timed correctly the move lets you duck your opponent’s punch and land a clean shot to the ribs that should back him up. We also practiced rolling under the jab and exploding with a hook to the body, which may be my favorite punch.

Tonight we were back at it focusing on footwork. Shadowboxing alone is an amazing workout if done correctly and I found myself drenched after just a few minutes. Then it was more footwork drills followed by rapid combinations. Ducking low to avoid the punch, dipping to one side and finishing with the uppercut. Then we closed with the simple one-two followed by a right hook.

The last drill sounds easy but it’s actually the most difficult because Rodriguez pulls the pads away so quickly it feels like you’ve got no chance to hit them before they’re gone. Plus, anyone who’s watched a fight knows whiffing on a punch completely throws you off-balance, leaving you wide open for the kill shot from your opponent. But after missing for like 30 seconds in a row I started to get a feel for the timing of the drill and closed by snapping off several hard combinations.

Boxing is very much a sport of rhythm and anticipation; you have to sense what your opponent is going to do before he even begins to do it. If you’re looking for the pad or an opening to throw a punch you’re already too late; it has to come completely from instinct and muscle memory.

It is those moments after we’re halfway through the drill, when I’ve already rallied once and am sucking my third wind that I can feel myself stop thinking and let my hands take over. Those are the moments that keep me coming back.

It’s just you and your fists and the man in front of you, moving in opposition and yet somehow in perfect synchronization born out of necessity. I found myself shooting my gloves so rapidly, admittedly dropping my guard while doing so, that I didn’t even realize what punches were being thrown as I let go.

Just as the timer rang I pivoted for one final right hook, turning my right foot and hips ferociously to unleash more torque than any forehand hit back in high school. The resounding sound of the glove spanking the pad and the subsequent smile from Rodriguez was more rewarding than a double bagel.

I spent most of my tennis career attempting to hit picture-perfect shots, succeeding at times but never enough to justify the risk. In the ring, landing one perfect shot is sometimes all it takes.