One, two, three, four; duck, duck; give me ten, now a six, ten uppercuts, another ten—repeat for fifty minutes.
It began with an easy warm up. Pushups—on your knees beginners; the more advanced—on your toes. You can guess which ones sold me—knees all the way. I pushed through, avoiding nose to floor dives, my determination kicking in, assisted by ugly (had to be but I couldn’t tell) face contortions to ease the pain. There was no backing off or bombing out.
The inners were way too small, so up a size, then on with the
gloves. There’s definitely an art to pulling on a boxing glove then fastening its velcro straps with your other hand already gloved up i.e. wrapped in a big, black and white, spongy thing that luckily turns into the perfect tool to ‘bang’ the other glove into place. It was a self-conscious moment of clumsiness—a first time; an I don’t know what I’m doing time, an I don’t have a clue—I must look like a goose time—a time to take a sneak peek at everyone else from under a bowed head, cheating on ways to get these monsters on before a nonchalant façade turns to quivering embarrassment.
So there I was—kitted up like a pro with no idea as to what came next and, retrospectively, glad I didn’t!
It was a slow start. Adrian the fit, gorgeous, muscled-up burly hunk, oops, instructor, was humane. Fiz and I could keep our gloves on. Tonight we were spared the pads.
The initiation was four quick punches. Repeat. It progressed to four quick with two from the side and then two upper cuts, then ten uppercuts, throw in a duck to the left and one to the right. It took a while for my brain and body to calibrate. After a few rounds, a few pad misses and a couple of close swoops to Adrian’s nose (just missing contact), I finally found a rhythm—not very pretty but one all the same. I was happy.
Fifty minutes later, a major decline in form, a face the colour of a capsicum (red that is!), arms and legs flailing out of control, unattractive puffing and panting and, for whatever reason, shaking hands: it was over—no, not my life—the boxing session.
Apart from a morsel of whingeing and wining that had to be shared, I actually enjoyed the challenge and, with 2018 just around the corner, a membership at Hunt Fitness is a serious possibility. The friendly support from Adrian, the team, and the rest of the group was encouraging and even though being the oldest (Fiz) and second oldest (me) we were welcomed and didn’t once feel we didn’t belong. It was healthy fun, we worked hard and we laughed a lot. Got to be happy with that!
Thanks Adrian. Congrats on bringing your vision to life. Hunt Fitness is the place to be—professional, friendly trainers and an inspirational environment.
FIZ: I felt great Saturday morning … chuffed that I had minimal muscle soreness, that I was holding up so well, that I already felt 10 years younger. Come Sunday it was a different matter altogether. Ouch! My muscles were reminding me of jabbing left right left right on Friday night. Yet it didn’t dampen my enthusiasm for taking up boxing lessons.
It’s just—how do I fit it into my life …. And then there is the cost. Having had my first experience of learning boxing at Hunt’s, I want to continue at this stylish venue. Grrrrrr
It reminds me again how susceptible I am to a bit of style … how lovely it is to be in an environment where someone has bothered about the aesthetics. I have homey at home!
And what is it about learning boxing that appeals? I couldn’t share in the elation about Queenslander Jeff Horn winning a world boxing title because I saw a clip of the fight and it sickened me. Boxing is violent and results in significant injury. But, but, … there’s something about feeling the strength in your arm to connect a punch. It’s a power surge that is extremely welcome as an antidote to the slowing down, being careful, holding -on-to-the-rail type of behaviour that I’m shuffling towards.
So I’m planning on boxing lessons to build up the strength in my bones … mmmmmm or is it because Girls just wanna have fun!
|post class - we managed to stand|