Back In The Ring

I just got punched in the face. By a professional. It felt pretty darn good!

Many moons ago, when I lived in the northeast neighborhoods of Minneapolis, my old buddy Johnny and I started working out at Uppercut Boxing Gym. We enjoyed taking lessons and hanging with the tough guys (and girls, the gym was and is run by a woman), but we never had any illusions of stepping into the ring.

Training to box helped me lose a few pounds as well as take out a bit of agression in a somewhat productive fashion. When we moved to Moorhead after Baby Boots (Dylan’s fetal nickname) arrived, I was disappointed to find there were no boxing gyms in the F-M area.

Over the years I have collected various pieces for my home gym including hand wraps, gloves, sparring equipment, a double end bag, a speed bag, and my boxing robot, Slam Man (aka Slammy). It is a lot of fun to wrap up my hands, blast the tunes, and work it out on the bags. Dylan and Julia enjoy boxing as well. Dylan and I have an elaborate routine involving me on my knees in the black headgear and he with the red. We trade punches until one of us decides to fall down, the other begins counting to ten, then the fallen one hurriedly gets up and the action continues. Inevitably, after a few falls, the ten-count is reached and I boom in my best boxing announcer voice that the winner and undisputed champion is Dylan…Michael…Brannnnnnnnnndoooooonnnnnnnn!

Now I get to box with the big boys again thanks to the Golden Eagle Boxing Club. It is fun to work out on my own, but there is something special about hanging out with the type of dedicated athlete who is drawn to boxing. The gym is somewhat sparse, and the do-it-yourself ring is not yet complete, but it feels great to enjoy the camaraderie and encouragement of other fighters.

I explained several times that I was there for the workout, not to spar or prepare for an amateur bout, but the professional boxer who was going round after round with all of the guys was insistent. “I’ll take it easy, I adjust my punches to the fighter,” he assured me. True to his word he did a great job of not knocking me out while making sure to wake me up with shots to the head when I opened up my guard. We only went a single two minute round. Did you know that two minutes can be a long time?

*simulposted to The Daddy Dispatch*

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

*

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>