In the summer of 2012 I followed a whim and took a free lesson at the LA Boxing studio. It was love at first jab, and the two of us were happily united in a private ceremony at the register while my AMEX card officiated. I’ve wrapped my arms and donned the gloves as often as I can each week for four months and have the empty space where my love-handles used to be to prove it! I’ve never participated in such liberating yet hardcore activity in my life! I struggled for weeks to build up the lung capacity necessary to excel here, but I think I’m prospering now. After only a month my jogging distance doubled! My abs are still horribly nonexistent, and my potbelly is on the mend, but I’m determined to lose it before the end of the year. This belly has been a part of my entire life, so I think my body is simply reluctant to change. I’ll have to continue pushing through with the help of my three mind-bogglingly excellent instructors.
I think my instructors secretly laugh while pushing me, as my face is always contorted into some look of agony or another—like I want to crawl into a cave and shout FAREWELL, CRUEL WORLD! Someone took a photo of me and pasted it above the water fountain, right smack in the middle of the members’ board.
I’m not sure how I feel about it yet, but I’m leaning towards amusement. I huff and puff and grunt Serena Williams’ style throughout the whole second half of class, collapse at the end of my pushups, and am altogether an awkward boxer. Even funnier, though, is how I am one of the more intimidating “boxers” during my evening classes. It is chock full of 90 lb sticks of women and tiny men. It’s encouraging to at least know I’m in the upper percentiles of participation and not struggling to stay upright. I regularly have chafed and bleeding knuckles, so I’m halfway to BAMFhood already. When the remnants of my stomach fat drain away and Hale Berry abs take their place I will probably celebrate by eating an entire cake going jogging in Rock Creek Park.