Two steps forward, one step back. In boxing parlance that could refer to a double jab followed by a defensive hook but for the purpose of this article it will refer to my progress at the Harvard Boxing Club. I went again today after a tentatively successful experience on Monday where I felt more welcomed and part of a group rather than the old raspberry ruining everyone's fun by being totally uncoordinated and as slow of mind as of body.
Today though I left with a spring in my step. I had constructive advice from Coach (no idea what his name is, everyone just calls him coach) about my pathetic left hook, I was teamed up with Phillip (Archaeology Doctorate) who also tried to enlighten me as to the failings of my hook and I kept going right the way through our sit-ups and press-ups and although I need to pull a few faces to get through I thought that lack of decorum was a small price to pay for the sense of achievement afterwards.
The sit-ups were especially hard for the first 20 or so as I could feel where the swimming trunks I'd worn on Monday really rubbed against the tatami type floor and irritated my skin but other greater pain takes over and I just ploughed on.
I don't change after boxing as it's only about a 10 minutes walk away and I'm so sweaty that putting any other clothes on would be pointless so I just pulled up my hoodie and amble home. I finished cooking dinner (smoked salmon and potato quiche with a walnut and bean salad I will add) and thought I'd take a photo of the sores on my arse from the sit-ups. Imagine my disappointment as I tried to angle the camera in the bathroom mirror and noted the rather obvious patch of blood which decorated the shorts I was still wearing.
My previous confidence disappeared oddly enough. I imagined my proud walk as I left the gym, swinging my bag over my shoulder as I bid my fellow fighters good-night. I imagined what horrors I may have left on the gym mats we all have to pick up and put away at the end of every session and I imagine what people must have thought on that walk home through Harvard Square.
I know what they weren't thinking. None of them thought, Oh I bet he's got a small sore near his coccyx which he must have irritated while manfully ploughing though sit-ups at his boxing gym.
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