boxing

“What made you box?” The question was put to me by an older gentleman I’d met waiting outside in the rain for the community pool to open. He was olive-skinned, and had eyelashes so long they curled, instead of batting his goggles. His question was concise, straightforward and open-ended. It was also somewhat personal.

When people think of boxing, they usually picture two men in a ring--slip, parry, weave, and then a slow-motion blow, eyes closed, lips peeling away from a face and blood splattering. But when they think of a woman boxing, someone like me, they picture an aerobics class. Step kickball change, punch, hop-step, breathe. And punch again!!

The boxing I do actually falls somewhere between the two. It's hardly jazzercize but save for about three minutes, no one is throwing any punches at you just taps—and the more serious “love taps” are always reserved for guys.

So why do I do it? Everyone has an issue to work out and my instructor is quick to comment on "my issues" on days when I hit hard. But the real reason I box is simple. "It makes me feel strong," I said. It’s less about hurting someone else than it is about proving myself to myself. My answer gave a little too much away, but he'd asked the right question in the right way and I trusted him implicitly. Satisfied, he smiled and kept on swimming.