Meet the US Women’s Boxing Olympic Trials Champions

Photos by Sue Jaye Johnson, Zackary Canepari, and USA Boxing

MEMPHIS, Tenn.–Twenty-four women spent their Halloween in Memphis, boxing for the right to fight in Rio. Compared to the historic 2012 Trials in Spokane, this was a low-rent affair, overshadowed by a bigger men’s tournament and largely ignored by media.

The only thing better was the talent. Four years of Olympics inclusion had done its work, and all three weight classes now had strong contenders. 

Marlen Esparza was the odds-on favorite here. She came packing an Olympic bronze, a world championships gold, and scads of endorsements, but her diva swagger had alienated many of her fellow fighters. It made for fun headlines – everybody loves a heel! – but, in the end, the heel always falls to the babyface.

Enter Ginny Fuchs (above). When she lost Trials in 2012, the scrappy blonde southpaw was already punching above her weight. Her coach was a kind, tragic man who travelled with a breathing machine and trained her out of his garage.

She went home to Kemah and doubled down. A strength coach packed new power into her 5’4” frame. A new trainer drilled her in aggressive boxing behind the jab. A publicist kept her on message.

Ginny came to Memphis undaunted by her 0-5 record against Marlen.

“I knew my day would come,” she said. “I just knew I was an all-around better athlete. My dad taught me to waterski when I was four years old. I won every kid’s fun run I ever entered.”

When Ginny and Marlen were in the ring together, the athletic disparity showed. Ginny’s long, ropy muscles twitched like a racehorse.

The right jab kept Marlen at bay, and the left scored. When then two women got close, Marlen’s flurries were smothered. The same week Nike launched its Marlen Esparza HyperJab boxing boots, the babyface was taking her title.

Claressa Shields congratulates her new teammate 

Ginny was used to bucking the odds. All her life, she has struggled with obsessive-compulsive disorder.

“I want people with OCD to know they can still do great in life,” Ginny said.

She laughed at the irony of her choice of sport, with its dusty warehouses and sweat-soaked gloves.

“I’ve gotten better. I think it depends on your life and how happy you are with what you’re doing, the happiness of just being yourself and finding out who you are. That helps the repetitive thoughts go away.”

The Lightweight War

Reigning national champion Mikaela Mayer (in red above) was the tall, classy boxer. She left her hippie dad in California to shovel snow in Michigan with Coach Al Mitchell. Mikaela’s boxing had the beautiful fragility of improvisation. She needed space to get it done, and she couldn’t always find it.

Rising youth world champion Jajaira Gonzalez (in blue above) was the brawler. She came from one of those mysterious boxing families whose unified front repels analysis. Her nonstop punching wasn’t pretty, but it got the job done thanks to her astounding conditioning. Per the fight doctor, her resting heart rate was 39.

Former featherweight world champion Tiara Brown was the beautiful boxer-puncher. Schooled by the D.C. Headbangers, Tiara was master of the half-step back and the brutal body shot, but sometimes her subtleties were lost on the judges. She was best at featherweight and could be outgunned by bigger girls.

“I trained for Tiara and Jajaira,” Mikaela said. “But mostly for Jajaira, because I had never fought her before.”

In their first fight, Mikaela squeaked out a hard-fought split over Jajaira, boxing on the balls of her feet and stabbing with the jab. She had been cut in her first fight of the tournament, and midway through her bout, the bandage fluttered to the canvas.

“I told the doctors I didn’t care if my nose fell off,” Mikaela said. “I just wanted to win.”

Tiara (right) took the split decision over Mikaela when they fought in 2013 

Mikaela had an easy time with Tiara in Memphis, winning one of the more decisive decisions of the pair’s five career meetings.

Tiara and Jajaira fought a thrilling close-quarter war in the challengers bracket. We thought Tiara might have edged it, but the judges gave Jajaira the split, sending her to the finals against Mikaela on Halloween, which was Coach Al’s birthday.

Al said, “My mother used to tell me, ‘Little Fred, I don’t know if you’re trick or treat.“

It was not a happy birthday. Jajaira had learned from that opening round loss and was on his fighter like white on rice. Mikaela tried to get room for her long right hand, but Jajaira was always in the way, clubbing away at anything she could find.

“Jajaira beats you down,” Coach Al said. “She throws so many punches and she don’t mind getting hit, and she roughhouse. It reminds me of the old days in Philly, and I love that.”

Jajaira’s win sent the lightweight bracket into extra innings that I was secretly relieved to miss. I didn’t think I could stand to watch Mikaela lose again.

Al Mitchell woke up in the middle of the night, haunted by a look he’d seen in his fighter’s eyes – “It was like she felt she might couldn’t win it. She’s mentally tough, but it worried me” – and he decided to bring in Basheer Abdullah to help in the corner.

But in the end it came down to Mikaela.

“The first two rounds were bad,” she said. “Then the third round something just came over me, and I said, ‘I’m gonna make her miss. I’m gonna roll her punches and then come back.’

“I would roll right and come back with a right hand, left hook. I would roll left and come back with a 1,2,3. And it was a beautiful strategy, and it worked.”

The Magnificent Middleweight

Claressa Shields came to Memphis 62-1 and left with four more wins, a commemorative guitar, and a Duckmaster pimp stick.

The reigning world and Olympic champion did not appear to be in peak condition for this outing, but it was enough to blow through the field. It was especially instructive to watch Ressa’s brutal dismantling of the game (both physical and psychological) of her chief rival Tika Hemmingway.

Claressa on press: “After I won the worlds, I said, ‘The media doesn’t make or break me.’ I’m not perfect and I’m gonna live the way I want to live. If companies think I fit the criteria to endorse their products, that’s cool. If they don’t, that’s cool, too.

“People love who I am, and they love the way that I box. But I think they love who I am even more than they love how I box.”

On being in the ring: “Those are the most stress-free times of my life. Just to be around other boxers who believe in me. For one week, the only thing that matters in your life is boxing. For one week, I feel like my life is in the perfect order.”

On social life: “For the last two years I’ve been adding and getting rid of people. Anybody who doesn’t make me feel like a good person, I get rid of.”

On retirement: “God forbid if something happened to me tomorrow and I could never box again, I know I would still find something to do.

“I would have water balloon fights. I would go to the movies. I would run from the cops.”

Marlen told the Houston Chronicle she thought she beat Ginny.

Jajaira and her coach told me they thought she beat Mikaela.

Tiara told me she thought she beat Mikaela, and so did her coach, and so did her mother.

“This shit is filled with disappointment, and some people will do anything not to feel that,” said Ernesto Rodriguez, the tournament’s Most Outstanding Judge.

We were eating oatmeal together in a squalid banquet room at the Crowne Plaza.

Ernesto said, “How you deal with disappointment is what shows your character, and the friendships we develop go beyond winning and losing. The end game is not that important.”