It was my last boxing session tonight, and to be honest, I'm a sad about it. I've loved these sessions.
Over the last six weeks I've been doing a half-hour boxing sessions at Duke's Gym with one of their trainers.
It has been fantastic.
As somebody who avoids cardio like I do measles, this has been a journey. I bought a cheap a pair of pad gloves and over seven half hour sessions, I got to bash the crap out of my trainer, Mak.
There are a lot of good things about muscle memory. Years of boxing training has me in the stance, arms up, head protected, ready to pounce. My left jab is fast. My right cross powerful. My hooks come from the hips, upper cuts from the knees.
I chant the moves as I punch...chin... chin... kidney... jaw. I slip and duck.... and I come out looking like a pomegranate, albeit a happy one.
Mak and I parted on good terms. We're going to miss each other. Me, I'll miss having somebody to beat up, even if they are wearing focus pads (and he smells very nice).
Mak's going to miss this psycho middle-aged woman who makes him laugh between rounds.
I wanted to get him a gift - but time and inspiration were lacking. He said the best gift I can get him is to keep up the cardio - and maybe find a boxing gym that lets women in and maybe cart my now warn in gloves with me to the new gym use the big bag and speed bag regularly, and get onto the skipping rope again.... and do what it appears my body craves.
Because I have the absolute privilege, at 58-years-old, overweight, yet very strong, of being able to take on this physical challenge head on and love every minute of it.
I know how lucky I am.
(As an aside, I saw one of the old crew from the old gym tonight while boxing - it was great to see her - though we never knew each other's names but have always admired each other's dedication from afar. Gyms really are a community.)
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