The story of my life. Yeah, yeah, I know, I am the only one that can change things, but pause to consider.
When I started at Pleasant Elementary School in the Fall of 1966, in second grade, I (along with Suzann as well) was not accepted because I wasn't born there. Do second graders really care about that? No, but seems their parents do, and Monkey See, Monkey Do. Granted I did not have the athletic or academic wherewithal to stand out one way or the other, so when I was forced, forced, I say, to go out for seventh grade football, it was a disaster waiting to happen. I didn't know shit about football. I mean, down to the level of no clue in the differences between offense and defense. These were things that they just assumed you knew. So I didn't know what to do, but I did know that I fucking hated it.
Once I got to high school, I "blended" in with the jocks, participating as a team manager for the wrestling team for three years. The wrestlers were cool, and for the most part, cool to me. The cheerleaders were my buds and the weekend tournaments at Marysville or Hamilton Township were always dates that I looked forward to. The only thing that I was "in" was a group of socialite wannabes who got together basically because there was no other common denominator, save the yearbook or school paper. Still, I wasn't the funniest one, or the smartest one, yet thank God I wasn't the stupidest or the dullest one either.
College wasn't much different, and that was four years of "if I could have done it differently", I would have. Hindsight is such a curse.
And then I was out on my own. There are things that I could have, and should have done differently. But all in all, I am not upset how things went. I did get to be pretty much a jock while I lived in Indiana, but seriously there ain't much else to do in Auburn Indiana except go to the Y, lift, run and sit in the hot tub. It was good to me, as was evidenced by the loss of weight.
Once I met Steve, there was no outside looking in, because the "in" part of it was just the two of us. I have heard that is the way it is supposed to be, so we were doing (and still are) doing fine. But the itch arrived. No, not that one.
The boxing gym opened. And every single paranoid twitch I had when I was playing football in seventh grade came back. Bigger. Not better.
I wanted to be good boxing. I didn't want to be great. I wanted to just be able to do it and not look stupid. I know, so much for that theory. I did the classes, I have done some training, and here I am. Not ready to commit to a Master's bout at the gym's Fight Night, and even if I did, the likely contender would be a guy I know who is better than me. Shit, if I am going to do that, I want to do it with a guy who is pathetic in the ring. And my age and weight put the possible candidates into what seems like a large spectrum, but it is thinly populated (43-63 years old, over 200#). But what about sparring? Just getting into the ring and see what happens? In a very controlled atmosphere, short rounds because of my breathing, and someone there to say to either person "hey, stop and look at what you are doing. Too much to ask? Evidently.
As I step up with my rickety knees up to the soapbox, know this. My gym is a nice place, and a good place to workout. Great people. But it isn't a boxing gym in the sense of a stereotypical boxing gym. There is MMA, there is kickboxing, there are weights and there are fitness training sessions.
Boxing is not the number one priority there. Go figure. If you want to spar, my history suggests you have to team up with one of the trainers and you might be able to spar with someone else that they train. Or you can join "fight club" for $40 additional a month, and maybe get to spar, but the guys there are more MMA and kickboxing. If I kick, I fall. That simple.
Or I ask guys who are there if they want to, and the sometimes say yes, sometimes say they are not into boxing to spar, just for the workout. Then comes the fun part, scheduling. There is one guy (the aforementioned acquaintance who would pummel me if it was a real fight) and we have been trying for years (or so it seems) to get together, but something always comes up. And it is 50/50 on who has to postpone, so I am not pointing fingers.
Or I spar with the trainers, which is fine, but they are better than me, and I will admit, helpful, but also are of the persona that they gotta kick ass. Well, most of them are. Two specifically are not, they are very cool and if they knock me up side the head, there is a reason for it. But after those two, what then?
Yeah, stop yer bitching, Jim. I am totally aware of that. But this is my fucking blog so I rule. You be quiet.
Frustrating? Yup. To the point that I wonder why I do it. Why not just do the classes, use the cardio and move on? Because that was not the intent. I wanted to be good boxing. I didn't want to be great. I wanted to just be able to do it and not look stupid. And now I feel stupid for being in this predicament. For making it a mid-level priority. For wanting to do something that I have never done before and that people did not think I was capable of doing.
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