'The Sweet Science' proves a middle-aged glove affair

Boxing day is celebrated on December 26^th in Britain, Canada, Hong Kong, Australia and New Zealand. Traditionally, this post-Christmas holiday is when tradesmen and servants receive Christmas gifts from their employers.  To put it in perspective for those of you equally obsessed with “Downton Abbey”, it’s the day when Lord and Lady Grantham bestow their trinkets upon Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Carson and the rest of their impressively large staff.

My version of Boxing Day is quite different.  It is celebrated every Tuesday at 8:30 a.m.  There are no presents, and the only wrapping I do involves wrapping strips of cloth around my wrists before sliding them into a pair of gloves. Instead of dispensing gifts, I’m dispensing jabs and uppercuts. 

How did an overweight, middle-aged, out of shape housewife find herself in a boxing gym once a week?  I lay the blame completely at the feet of my friend, Julianne.  Everyone has friend like Julianne.  She’s the one that strongly suggests you do something you would never think to try in a million years.  Julianne prodded me into applying for my columnist job, dogged me every step of a 10k she made me run and said, “You have to try this boxing class, it’s so much FUN!”

The thing about friends like this is that no matter how much you might curse them for pushing you out of your comfort zone, you always end up being grateful to them for introducing you to something new.  And thus the same came to pass with boxing.

If you blink you might miss the sign for Undisputed Sports Training.  The studio lies hidden in a nondescript office park just a mile from my home in Hanover. “B” Street? Who even knew there was a “B” street in Hanover?  Walking up the stairs, the first thing that caught my eye was the railing made from hockey stick handles.  It turns out that the owner and trainer, Stephen Murphy, is a both a boxer and a hockey player. 

The studio itself is decorated in early no-nonsense.  You won’t find juice bars or disco balls or flat screen televisions there. The plywood walls sport a few boxing posters and several full-length mirrors.  There’s an assortment of heavy punching bags, a double ended bag, and a couple of speed bags hanging from the ceiling, and an actual boxing ring.  This isn’t where people go to sip smoothies and gossip while getting a light workout.  It’s a place where you go to sweat.

And sweat I do as my friends and I warm up with several minutes of jumping rope.  I start off at a brisk pace, the rope making rapid swish-swish-swish sounds as I spring off the pads of my feet.  About 30 seconds into this, my pace slows down to a two-footed jump-pause, jump-pause, jump-pause.  About 10 seconds after that I’m barely able to keep up the fairly lame single footed swish-step-step which 5 year olds do when they’re learning to jump. I begin the warm up like Rocky Balboa, but end looking more like Little Lulu.

When I think “boxing trainer”, I picture a grizzled, tiny old man with a cigar permanently wedged in the corner of his mouth, barking orders.  Our trainer, Stephen Murphy Jr., is just the opposite.  A twenty-something, former Golden Gloves finalist, Stephen, dressed in sweats and a knit cap, quietly puts us through our paces, working us through drills on the heavy bag, the speed bag and the double-ended bag.  The latter is a punching bag centered on a floor-to-ceiling stretchy cord, designed to help with hand-eye coordination, of which I have none.  As I try to land more than a few jabs in a row, I feel like I’m sparring with the world’s largest cat toy.

We do shadow boxing for warm-ups and cool-downs and although I typically try to avoid my reflection in the mirror, I force myself to watch my form to see if I can make improvements. I think I look like Rocky Balboa when I’m shadow boxing.  What I actually see in the mirror looks more like those novelty punching nun puppets you find at Newbury Comics.

Throughout the hour we do squats, lunges, push-ups and sit-ups in addition to hundreds of jabs, hooks and uppercut punches.  If you have any pent-up aggression, the heavy bag is the place to release it.  How lovely to be able to punch something repeatedly and not have to worry about being punched back (or arrested).  My girlfriends and I do manage to sneak in some gossip, but Stephen just rolls his eyes and encourages us to do another set of punches.

By the end of the hour, my friends and I are tired and sweaty, our arms wobbling like wet noodles. I know my arms will ache for a day or so, but it’s that good kind of ache, where I know I’ve really worked my muscles.  But it’s more than just a physical workout: all those jabs and punches release the tension I’ve stored throughout the week.  It’s definitely a workout for the body and the soul.

So that’s the story of how overweight, middle-aged, out of shape housewife discovered the joys of boxing. Maybe you’d like to check it out too.  Come on over to Undisputed Sports Training and perhaps you’ll see me there.  I’m the one who punches just like Rocky Balboa.

In my mind.