Release Through Upper Cuts
How a boxing class combats lingering anger and helplessness
Over a pasta and mushroom dinner last night I relayed the story of my first boxing class to my kids. Boxing! I exclaimed, and received wide-eyed looks of surprise in return. Seemingly a random choice but an activity I had been wanting to try out for years. Then, after both my mom was killed and I separated from my husband of 20 years in the same month in 2021, boxing suddenly seemed like a great placeholder for my subtle anger, fear and sadness.
“So, you were like the new kid in school?” my eldest asked with a smirk, knowing all too well what it was like being the new kid at school. I was the new kid, one who not only had never boxed, but never even wrapped my hands or worn boxing gloves.
The gym, Prevail Boxing, is in North Hollywood and they couldn’t have been warmer when I stepped in the door. “First time?” the guy behind the desk asked before showing me my locker with my name on it, and inside the wraps, gloves and bottle of water. People started trickling in and wrapping their hands, and I tried to avert my eyes and look like I knew what I was in for. The coach bounded over to me. “First time?” he asked ebulliently. He was extremely fit, and when I say extremely I mean his arms were bulbous, tight balloons of muscle. Same with his legs, which were wrapped in indigo tights. I held the wraps in my hands helplessly and he swiftly took them and talked through the complex wrapping of my wrist, fingers and thumb.
The class was comprised of a mix of age and race. I’m pretty sure I was not only the oldest at 47, but well above the median age range. I was pleasantly surprised to find an even split of gender. I explain this because signing up for a new class is the great unknown and I had no idea what I was walking into. Could have been a bunch of dudes with large, meaty hooks, or MMA’ers on a conditioning day. But it wasn’t that. It was a mix of regular, in and out of shape folks, and walking into a mix of race, age, and gender made me feel like the class was more accessible, and more accepting. A place I would want to spend my time (and sweat).
And sweat I did. While the concept of circuits keeps the routine fresh and interesting, it’s also ridiculously hard. Very crossfit-ish, which I’ve always found grueling. Whenever a coach says AMRAP I feel an internal churn of resistance. But I pushed through, admittedly with some breaks. Mountain climbers, sit-ups with a jab, flutter crunches, planks, burpees, and good ol’ push ups…you get the picture. But the station with the bags…that was where the fun happened.
Before class the coach had given me a speed run through of six (SIX!) punches: left jab, right jab, left hook, right hook, and both upper cuts. Then of course there were rolls and combinations. As he called out the punches I had to stop and think through the motion, then do it slowly, then do it repetively. I had to toss out my self consciousness, and throw punches like no one was watching (which, ahem, no one was). I was so focused on the technique that I didn’t focus on the power behind the punch, or the aggression. Until the end.
When I turned it on, and funneled my emotion behind the punch, it felt powerful. I felt in control. I felt the release of resentment, anger, grief, frustration, helplessness, all shoot down my shoulder, through the muscles in my forearm, across my wrist and through my curled fists. The bag met me there every time, dull and unmoving, and accepted all of it. And asked for more.
So I signed up for a month of classes and got a free pair of gloves. Did I feel like vomiting a little after that first class? Yep. But it passed. Do I think my body and mind benefited from being pushed hard, if only for 45 minutes? Absolutely. Will I take the class more than once/week? Doubtfully. My second class is in a few days and it’s nice to know that although I’m definitely a newbie, I’ll never be newer than that first time.
