Had a mixed boxing class yesterday – had a great partner, was in the mood to hit the shit out of stuff, and felt like I was going to burn and fall over at the end. The “mixed” part was the “burn and fall over at the end” part.

Our MA school was closed on Monday for the holiday, so I went jogging Monday instead, and got my ass kicked more than usual when I came back in for my Weds class. Why aren’t I getting better at this?

No, that’s not fair. I am, in fact, getting “better,” yea, yea, at certain things. But I’ve got pretty high standards for myself. I know how to throw a hook now (though, not a good one), I know what a boxing stance is (though my movement continues to be way too stiff – I have yet to move into that bouncy, duck-and-weave boxer style of movement), and I can complete my jumproping rounds without feeling like I’m going to die. But I still feel like a damn idiot. This may have to do with the fact that I was once again paired with a great partner. Eddy really pushed me to complete all the punching rounds without pause. He confirmed what several have already said, that I’ve got a good right cross (I’m not totally hopeless!), and during that last round, I was throwing straight “pushing” punches, driving my mitted partner all the way to the wall. It was invigorating, and it was also painful. I started my new morning routine with those 30lb free weights this week, and driving nonstop punches after already being sore because I’d added more weight to my daily routine… well, damn, I burned up.

I have this deep American dissatisfaction with things that are difficult for me. Being good at anything takes years of practice, a dose of talent, and backbreaking, muscle-burning hard fucking work. You can know this on an intellectual level, but until you’re pounding the crap out of somebody’s mitts after dancing around the floor for forty minutes of jump rope, abs, and punching combos, well, you don’t really know anything about it (how do people do 3-8 hour workouts every day? Ah. That’s right. They do it because it’s their life). And juggling trying to be not-bad at this with everything else in my life I’m pursuing and want to pursue (I’d planned to take a French class this quarter, but due to lack of funds, I’m putting it off another quarter), I should actually be pleased that I’ve got a decent right cross.

But I’m fucking ambitious, remember? And I am highly dissatisfied.

Will look into bumping myself up to three days a week beginning in October (Saturday classes have begun). Three days. No more.

Yes, I know I’ve been hard on myself about limiting this stuff, and I’ll tell you the reason: despite all that burning pain, the constant feeling that I’m totally incompetent, the hours of transit time, and the loss of writing time, I have this image of myself being a strong, no-bullshit person. That is, if I get into a bar fight, I want to be able to *fight*, no bullshit. No posturing. No bullying. Just a great right cross.

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