Sucker Punch Love

Aside from hiking and swimming, and let's not forget ridiculous-distance-cycling, boxing has also become my current favorite way to let off steam during the week. I do it three times a week, an hour each session, at a club just down the road from me. It's not a serious I-wanna-be-a-boxer kind of ordeal, but more boxing-as-a-way-to-get-fit. There's no way I'm ok with getting socked in the face on a regular basis. Brain damage is not in my cards, and nor are any serious joint injuries. I also think I have a funny enough nose, so there's no need to subject it to potential wreckage.

Apart from the immediate fitness and health benefits, the most appealing thing about boxing is the extremely cathartic effect of beating the shit out of a heavy duty bag. Beating it until your sides hurt; your lungs gasping for air at the brink of collapse; your heart rate shooting through the roof, running its own side marathon. With every punch I try to give it my all--but I don't just throw wide and unruly punches. I love that there's structure, guidelines and technique. This makes it all the more satisfying. I see the big guys throw their entire weight into those bags without a care in the world for how it really should be done. To be honest, they don't look so good doing it--they resemble lethargic giants bashing clumsily into the bag. A far cry from the grace and speed of Muhammad Ali.

So there you have it: the ultimate combination of strength, stamina and technique is what makes boxing more than just a sport, but a discipline. An incredibly fun one too. I can walk into a class feeling less than adequate, and walk out after with a buzz letting in only good and positive vibes to the rest of my day. I am also so much more productive, and surprisingly less aggressive. My demons have left the building.