Wondering how my progress with hip hop classes are going? Unfortunately, my fickle heart has moved forward. Boxing. Ah yes, the wonderful world of endurance, punch combinations, fancy foot shuffle and concussions. For as much as I enjoyed dancing, I was missing that “umph” that “kaboom”! Hip hop was like sex without the orgasm. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience, but never gained anything tangible. It’s been almost a month and I’m noticing differences in my attitude and body. Fit world roll out your red carpet, enters the princess to heed her throne.
Flashback: I was eight in the summer of ’79. Put these gloves on you lazy bums! Dad, a former boxer in the marines, lived and breathed for boxing. Nolan, my younger brother, jumped around as he was convinced this fight was tucked under his belt. I, on the otherhand, was certain that KO was just a few combinations away. My other six brothers bickered and yelled and traded dollar bills as the neighbors took their front row seat on our lawn. I couldn't recall the stupidity behind our argument that occurred fifteen minutes ago! At dad’s command, Nolan’s jabs entered my zone like rapid fire and in my furious, but weak attempt to defend myself, it was always the same fight. I sat in the black corner – consciously subconscious. Dad never coarsed us through the strategy of the sport. We were mere entertainment, and it was a reason for discipline. I forever cursed boxing.
As usual, my life consists of different shades of whims and flights. I was in the search for something different. I was hungry for a direction uncouth and physical. A route that took me away from meditation and the dull "om". There it was Third Street Gym! A mighty gritty world. Raw. Dirty. Voltaic! Can I stick to boxing? Do priests play frisky with their alter boys? Who knows. If I am provided an objective, than I will seek that goal.
I’m just over the idea of trying to heal my body exclusively from the inside out. I’m all about the new age hippy health organic movement, but godamnit! I want to feel my motivation aching through my muscles in pains and jolts. I will never compete as a boxer, because I’m just too much of a chica (well than again I shouldn't say never), but I do enjoy the strategy and the art of boxing like no other I have felt.
This is dedicated to my dad who I have come to respect and understand his passion and love for boxing.
Lesson: A grasshopper is only modest when he does not revel in the height of his jump.
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