So What Am I Doing Kickboxing Anyway?

For a year, I’ve been taking private kickboxing lessons with a group of middle-aged people who all admit to being out-of-shape. Recently our private lessons ended and we had to try the regularly scheduled classes at LA Boxing. I was apprehensive.

While wrapping up my hands before my first class, I heard one young woman say she was going to be 21 and her friend exclaimed she would be 23. I glanced behind me to see who they were. I realized my apprehension had a lot to do with my age.

Sometimes when I walk into this boxing gym I notice the other women look at me. In other gyms they might simply be noticing a fellow hamster in the wheel. But in the boxing setting, I have the distinct impression they’re sizing up the competition.

In the latest LA Boxing promotional video, friends won’t fight the guy in the LA Boxing t-shirt for the remote. He has a reputation. These instances always make me wonder if it’s right for me.

So what am I doing kickboxing anyway?

Marlow and Barbara fighting

Recently The Washington Post ran an article, Blood Sisters: Through boxing, two suburban women build a special bond in the ring. People asked me about the article. They wanted to know what I thought about fighting.

I’ve actually seen these women fight. They stood there and beat each other. They didn’t move. They didn’t block. They hit each other relentlessly. Word was, they were friends.

The article emphasizes their friendship but also the violence:

What’s a best friend if she can’t break your nose or bloody your face?

And in the 2 ½ years that Barbara Bartolomeo and Marlow Prado-Blankenship have been boxing together, they have blackened each other’s eyes, split lips and cracked nose. Later they giggle, displaying their wounds to friends who stare in disbelief, unsure how to respond. After all, what woman in their mid-40’s with husbands and children and sprawling, suburban homes in the Montgomery County community of Boyds beat each other for fun?

I started down the kickboxing path to get into shape and I’m certainly much more fit. In that first class I couldn’t help but notice I had more stamina than the two younger women. 

Being able to protect myself is certainly another benefit. This week a few guys were on the bags around me. I decided to pound out a few kicks to warm up. After my first “thump” they all whipped around to see who had delivered the blow. The confidence to know you can defend yourself is reassuring.

In the Post article, the women said they box to escape. The hard-hitting energy is a release. On more than one occasion, beating the bag has helped vent my frustrations. A friend mentioned having a bad day and feeling like kicking something. I know where you have perfectly legitimate excuse to do so.

One time we were sparring without gear which means you aren’t supposed to hit each other. My friend and I both accidently socked each other in the face at the same exact moment. The competition and aggression can easily get the best of you. I glanced at the clock to see how long my face would sting then experienced a solid ten minutes of pain. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to hurt someone or be hurt.

Every week I ache. I’m bruised. Most of the time I can’t lift my arms or legs. But I keep going back. I’m not fighting someone. It’s between me and the 150-lb. bag. I still worry about the perception of being a fighter.

When I was interviewing clients about their journey from homelessness to housing, one woman kept saying “I’m a fighter.” She had suffered from terrible depression and wound up on the streets hopeless, but she found strength and fought back. She was a fighter.

That’s the only kind of fighter I want to be.