Boxing on Church
Boxing is the only sport whose object is to physically hurt the other person. Let that sink in for a minute.
I was introduced to boxing two and a half years ago at Church Street Boxing Gym in lower Manhattan. I chose boxing, a very male dominated sport, because as a former professional soccer player, I wanted something that would challenge me both physically and mentally. The masochist in me thrived on the idea of being able to get hit by someone but also being able to defend myself from those punches. I trained in the mornings. I believe a different kind of commitment is needed to wake up before the sun to train. The people who do so are the ones who define themselves as athletes, and are the ones you want to become a part of your team.
In May of 2014 the owner of the gym asked if I was interested in fighting in a charity match — in one week. I agreed. Crazy, I know, especially since up to that point I had never stepped inside the ropes. I had only trained outside of the ring. Over the next week, the prospect of being hit drove me to train even harder. It was then I started to realize that boxing is more of an art form than an actual sport. Your foot work must be perfectly timed, you must study the other fighter’s style, time your punches, meticulously work on defense and, most importantly, be patient. I won my fight and after the first round they told me to stop hitting the girl. This was, after all, a charity event.
Thereafter, I decided I would fight again in eight weeks. This required a serious commitment. My days started at 4:30 a.m. My training partner, an extremely fit male athlete, met me at the gym promptly at 5:30 a.m. We ran for twenty minutes, skipped rope for four rounds, sparred for five to six rounds, then hit heavy bag with a focus on foot work. That was just the first hour and a half. After that light warm-up, we took a rigorous class led by my coach, which forced me to push myself as hard as I could. My training partner was truly great. He tried to be one step ahead of me at all times and was always extremely encouraging .
While training for this fight, I met world champion Heather Hardy. My coach had always talked about Heather and her love for Heather’s style of boxing. Since Heather and I had immediately hit it off, I threw all my chips in and asked her to spar. Shockingly, she said, “Yes.” We went four rounds. Heather danced around and avoided getting hit. When we hugged it out after the session, she said, “You hit hard. That’s why I danced around you. If you keep up with this, you will be really good.” This was the best compliment I had ever received coming from a world champ and 14–0 fighter. As Heather so graciously put it in an article for the Wall Street Journal, “You don’t know who you are until you’ve been punched in the face.”
