Back To Square One

I had considered not going to the gym last night.  My body was still sore, and I had been dragging all day.  Plus, it is not a good feeling to walk back into the gym, knowing that one has lost a match, and knowing that everybody else knows it as well.  I had decided before I got there that I would not spar that night.

Johnny was grumbling about the match he lost last Wednesday.  "I was so mad!  All that I had practiced in here went out of the window during my match!".  He and Jamil sparred that evening.  Alan and I both noticed that Johnny was not moving his head constantly.  He had been moving it a lot during the last match he had. 

Manny came in, saying that he now has Mondays free to workout.  I like Manny.  He wished me a belated birthday when he arrived.  Manny reminds me of my paternal grandfather.  My granddad James was about Manny's build when he was a young man, and my granddad also boxed.  Manny has facial features like my grandfather, especially the high cheekbones.  He was telling everybody about the trip he had taken to Europe.  I had seen the pictures on Facebook.  One charming picture showed his little girl wearing a beret, and posing outside of a shop in Paris, France.  His vacation sounded like a lot of fun.

Manny was working the bigger of the two heavy bags in the gym.  Boom!  The chain and big nail holding it up broke, and the bag crashed to the ground.  Alan attempted to re-hang it, but the bolt had broken, too.  He was going to let Barry know, so that Park District personnel can repair it.

There may be a third match with Meg.  I would like to do it, but I also know that I can't stomach a third loss to her.  Neither can I take the aches and pains.  Usually, I'm able to shake off being banged up after a couple of days.  When I was involved in a car crash back in 2005, not only did I walk away from the totaled car, but I only took one day off from the job I had.  The effects of the latest banging up has continued to hang on. 

Several people noticed that I was limping and dragging about at church this past Sunday.  I moved slowly to get up to the front of the church when it was my turn to read Scripture (I'm the lector for this month).  I thought I felt Pastor Roger's eyes on me as I painfully made it up the few steps to the lecturn.  Yesterday, pain shot up my side while I was talking with him in his office.  "I'm still sore," I groaned.  Pastor shook his head.  "Remember, you got into the ring," he commented.  Margaret, the choir director, had said basically the same thing in an email she sent me earlier this week.  "Sorry to hear that you got banged up, but it's your own fault," she said.  Alex figured that I now owe Meg a couple of beatdowns.  But he, Margaret and Pastor all agreed that Alan should have stopped the fight.

"I knew you were mad because I stopped the fight.  But I had to consider that you were taking a lot of punches, and I had to consider your age," Alan explained Monday night.  I remain disappointed, but I realize that my hurt pride is the real issue. He and I both agreed that I need to work on technique before I meet Meg again (if that happens), or anyone else in the ring. 

Carlos' Fight At Brooks Park

Here is Carlos' fight that took place at Brooks Park this past Wednesday.  I recorded it on his digital camera. Carlos is in the red shorts.

Stopped

Carlos picked me up to go to Brooks Park tonight.  We made it there right at 6:30 PM to weigh in.  Johnny, Jamil and Alan were already there.  The crowd was small, probably due to the snow coming down.  "There are more boxers here than spectators," Johnny commented.

Some of Barry's boys were there -- Kenny, Kevin and Marquis.  I was happy when Marquis got a win.  Kenny is very long and tall, and he used that to his advantage to get a win over his opponent. 

My fight with Meg was the fifth bout of the evening.  Johnny's fight was the seventh, and Carlos' was the tenth and last fight of the evening.  Jamil didn't get a fight; he worked the corner during our fights.

I walked into the washroom to change into my boxing clothes.  Meg walked out of a stall.  "This is awkward," she giggled nervously.  I didn't think it was.  "I'll see you out there," she said before rushing out.  Some boxers do build up a temporary animosity towards their opponents, but I don't do that.  Focusing on what moves I can use to the win is more productive than giving an opponent the evil eye.

The bell rang and Meg came out of her corner like a bull.  The combinations I planned to execute just fell by the wayside.  I took Alan's advice and threw more hooks than I usually do.  The hooks were focused on her body, but Meg worked her punches on my head.  I was worn out by the end of the first round.  The second round wasn't too better, even though I threw as many punches as I could.  Meg was scoring more because I have the annoying habit of not moving my head to avoid incoming punches.

I could hear Jamil encouraging me from the sidelines.  However, Alan's instructions during the rest periods got lost in the fog permeating my mind.  All I remember was him saying, "She's tired too.  Keep sucking air."  The referee asked me if I was okay at the end of the second round.  I nodded.

Meg continued her assault after the bell for the third round rang.  I was desperately trying to hang on, despite being popped in the eye, getting rocked a few times, and losing my balance.  The referee got in-between Meg and I and stopped the fight.  I rolled my eyes, sighed, and shuffled back to my corner.  "I would have given her a eight count," the referee told Alan.  After we were all out of the ring, Alan confessed that he gave the referee the high sign that the fight should be stopped.  There are a couple of ways a coach can do that.  One is to throw a towel in the ring.  The other is to stand on the apron of the ring while the fight is still in progress.  "Why?" I asked him.  "I didn't want you to get hurt," Alan said.  "I understand," I said, even though I would have rather lost on points.  However, that's what a good coach does.  They look out for their fighters.

Johnny lost his fight, too, and he was even more disappointed.  He hung in with the guy, an opponent whom Carlos had fought with during the Loyola Park boxing show back in September.  "Somebody's got to win in our group," Johnny said.

Carlos got fired up on his opponent beginning in the second round of his bout, and he never let up.  I was recording it using Carlos's camera.  Later, as he drove me home, Carlos said, "I can't believe I won."  But of all the guys currently in the Loyola Park gym, Carlos displays the most energy and stamina.  He can go for six, seven, eight rounds sparring.  Carlos said, "I won't fight again until I lose some weight.  I don't want to be knocked out by a heavyweight."

I feel the same way.  Besides not moving my head, my stamina is not as high as it should be, and I need to seriously lose weight.  The pounds have been creeping back up since the holiday season began.  I can't keep plodding around in the ring.  If I keep it up, someone is seriously going to knock my behind out.  It won't be a TKO like I took back during the summer when Ieisha clocked me.  I'll be laid out cold. 

Now there's another second place trophy sitting next to the other second place trophy I have.  I'm ticked because I know I could have done better.