boxing for dummies

I attended my first boxing class today. I’ve been curious about boxing for a while and I’ve walked past this little gym at Yonge and Bloor many times.

When I mentioned to my friends and family I was thinking of trying boxing, every one of them expressed concern over the inevitable damage to my face.

“Your FACE! What about your FACE? You can’t perform on stage with a broken nose!”

I assured them that beginners weren’t allowed at the ‘Get-Punched-In-The- Face-For-An-Hour’ class on Thursday nights.

I opted instead for a ‘Fundamentals and Conditioning’ session.

The gym is small, but well laid out and the people are friendly. Fight posters and photographs of boxing champions line the halls, and the lack of ventilation only seems to add to the gritty ambiance.

I arrived 15 minutes early, and decided to watch as the previous class finished up. They all looked like normal people and all their facial features were basically intact. It also looked like their gloves were getting mighty heavy after an hour of boxing drills.

A generously-tattooed man walked up to me and cordially offered to wrap my hands, which he did with such precision and skill that I wondered if I’d ever be able to untangle myself.

He advised me to warm up by skipping rope until the instructor arrived.

No problem, I thought. At the age of 8, my skills in the rope-skipping department had earned me a spot on Sesame Street, jumping rope to illustrate how much more fun it is to play in twos and threes (a philosophy I carried into adulthood).

I was sure it would be just like riding a bicycle.

8 skips and one major stomach cramp later I realized that maybe this bicycle was a bit rustier than I had anticipated.

Suddenly Guns and Roses began blaring over the sound system. The instructor had arrived!

The class instructor’s name was Rico. Rico only stands about 5’7″, but Rico is a man who commands respect. He has years of experience and boxing wisdom written across his middle aged brow. Rico teaches boxing. It’s what he does. And pardon the inevitable pun, but Rico doesn’t pull any punches.

Rico tells you clearly and simply how to stand, how to punch, how to use your body and maintain proper form. His style is simple and direct. Rico knows what he’s talking about and I, a mere beginner, have much to learn.

Rico, it’s safe to say, is the Mr. Miyagi of Boxing.

Except more Italian.

And bald.

Once the newbies had learned the basics, we were put through a series of punishing drills involving medicine balls, punching bags, push-ups, sit-ups, and jumping jacks. We even got in the ring for a few minutes to dance around an ‘opponent’ (a not-too-menacing red foot stool) and practice our footwork.

The hour and a half went by in the blink of a black-eye.

Favourite moment: when my knees stopped hurting and I could make it through more than two dozen skips without skinning my ankles with the plastic rope.

Least-favourite moment: putting on the club’s gloves and feeling the cold sweat left behind by the previous user against my skin.

Boxers may be tough, but next time I’ll bring my own gloves.