Throwing In The Towel

While my boxing career has yet to reach the heights of the late, great Frank Bruno I know what he meant when he said, 'Boxing is the toughest and loneliest sport in the world'. Those who have never lived the life of a fighter may strive to include mountain climbing in the lonely sports list but I can tell you from bitter personal experience that being punched repeatedly on the side of the head by a stranger is a pretty lonely experience.

That's why I find myself sitting here tonight considering my future in the ring. Tonight was my first day back at boxing and frankly I wasn't looking forward to it. I've been to the gym four times in the last five days in a vain attempt to ready myself for the physical demands of the class but I was unprepared for the mental scars which would result from being humiliated by a man half my age, with twice my strength who seemed a little irked at being paired up with me and explained that I'd learn nothing of he didn't go for me with real punches. School's out mister!

I have experienced the thrill of being punched in the head when training on King Island but on that occasion Elgin (the coach rather than the marble enthusiast) knew what he was doing and hit me a manner which suggested that he knew what he was doing and was sharpening my skills. My 'buddy' for this evening however took more of the school of hard knocks approach, making no allowances for my feeble reaction times and my limited capacity for prompt evasion.

Once we moved upstairs for pad work I was thankfully paired with George who is a delightful coach, humble, knowledgeable and considerate but the damage was done and I felt dejected and left class early (before we sang our club song and did that thing when you all get in a huddle and shout 'TEAM' while simultaneously throwing an arm in the air.

Admittedly I was already in a shitty mood not having quite recovered from the loss of my dear bicycle which caused me to head out the hills last night in search of the succour one finds in a cigarette. Things were that bad it was time to pull out the dramatic gesture! As I positioned myself on the hill next to the Harvard Observatory       I pulled my tobacco from my pocket (where it has lain dormant for what seems like a month) and realised that I had no Rizla with which to construct my symbol of anger and frustration with which I would rage at the cruelties of a world that allows someone to receive an interim bill for $6000 for their teeth, have a bike stolen and have failed to take out insurance on either of these eventualities, all in the same week.

I now console myself with wine and have taken the additional precaution of 150mg of Tramedol which is in theory for my back but is in practise for my mood. I expect that's how it started for that Aussie bloke who played the Joker. 'Just a little something to take the edge of the loss of my bike'. And look where he ended up. But he didn't actually because that bloke with the beard says he was 'whacked' by a hit squad of star killers.

Glad I've got to the end of that posting.