So, Anyway, I Started Boxing

Published 1 year ago by Steve Beaudry

Last year I decided to start taking my fitness seriously. So for the past year or so, I've been working out pretty much every day. Every weekday, anyway. My routine has been fairly easy, but also very consistent. Go for a long walk or jog, stretch, lift some weights, do some squats, pullups, just enough to tire myself out and get on with my day. For the most part, I've found it to be pretty effective. I've lost almost 60 pounds since I started and have physically felt better than ever. But I've been doing it all without any instruction. I've picked up a few things here and there from a random YouTube video, but there has been no personal direction, just whatever I felt was right.

The past month or so I've felt like I hit a plateau. I hit 220 pounds on the scale, and that was a milestone, but it's been a struggle to get any further. The pudge in my gut taunts me. So I decided I need to take up some kind of instruction. Personal training was a non-starter. Do you know how expensive that is?? So sharing a trainer with a class was the more prudent option. I decided boxing would be a good choice because it seemed to focus on the upper body and I needed to steer clear of putting too much stress on my legs because of my knee injury. I figured I'd throw a few punches, learn a little bit how to fight in case I ever actually needed to, lose some weight, and gain some agility and it would all be fun and games.

Half a minute into the first warmup workout I realized my fatal mistake. I forgot to bring my inhaler. And this was a full-body cardio experience; there was no getting away from the stress this was putting on my respiratory system. I made it three "rounds" into the warmup before the instructor took me aside and said, "Listen, if you have to take a rest, take a rest, I see you struggling."

I sat down and caught my breath for a while, but that little while gave me a moment to think. As the instructor kept on shouting out commands for the rest of the class, I thought was this a mistake? Did I bite off more than I could chew? More than I even wanted to chew? It didn't take long for me to answer myself clearly: No. These warmups, this workout, these are all things that any healthy human being ought to be able to do. I've been going easy on myself working out on my own, now it's time to step it up; to put in the work that came easily to our ancestors while they chased down wooly mammoths. Those hunters gathered in groups that encouraged each other to push harder than either one of them would have pushed individually. Standing here in front of a punching bag in the company of a dozen other people all attacking the stuffed and weighted pleather in front of them was just the right amount of motivation to keep going.

This was something that someone who was in shape would be expected to be able to do. This is something that a Starfleet cadet would be expected to be able to do. Part of my motivation is to get in shape enough to confidently cosplay whatever badass character I wanted to. I had the audacity to order a Starfleet captain's uniform, now is time to earn the right to wear it.

Luckily my respiratory distress isn't a fatal condition. I can take a few minutes to slow it down and my lungs will find their way back to normal pretty quickly. I stood back up and, at the suggestion of the instructor, I shadow-boxed with the group for the next few rounds. Then, after a while, I was feeling confident enough to throw a few actual punches. Burpees, jumping jacks, leg kicks; those were pretty much off the table to save myself from having to gasp for my next breath, but when the punches were instructed, I threw them.

Like I said, I've been working out for about a year now. I haven't really written this much about it because it hasn't really been all that interesting. I've posted my achievements and my milestones, but nothing along that journey has come close to the drama of today at Title Boxing Club on Henderson Blvd in Tampa. Was it more than I bargained for? Absolutely. Am I giving up? Absolutely not. For a brief moment, as I was gasping for breath, trying to decide whether I could do the next warmup, I felt that euphoric feeling in my muscles; the one I imagine is associated with a "runner's high." In all my time working out, I had never felt that before, or at least not that intensely. I may or may not be trying to chase that feeling again. But whatever the case may be, I will definitely be going back if for no other reason than to get rid of this gut. (It seriously taunts me.) I just need to remember my inhaler.