The Boxer Rebellion

The Boxer RebellionIt was time. This writing caper was starting to be my undoing. Sitting on my ass hammering away at the keyboard and doing no exercise was adding inches to my belly and stiffness to my unused muscles. I had always been a very fit guy, playing so many sports that I had to keep a timetable to know what equipment and which uniform to put on before I dashed out the door to play.

As age takes hold of you, then the inclination to do some physical activities just for the sake of keeping fit disappears down the toilet. Older people tend to turn to more Bacchanalian pleasures that involve restaurant menus, recipes and wine lists. Oh, and don’t forget the cheese. I have to admit that I found these pastimes a lot more pleasurable than shopping for sporting equipment.

I don’t ever do things by halves. It’s always full steam ahead, like a bull at a gate. So with trying to get fit, I looked at my options, the things that I thought I might begrudgingly like. Walking? Sure, but to walk off this tummy and get a bit of fitness it meant 20 km a day. Who had time for that? Jogging? Too physical and my football knees would last maybe two days, one of them being at the medical clinic buying a knee bandage. Swimming? Yeah, worth looking at, but not in the winter. Even with a heated pool, you still had to brave the ice cold elements walking to and from the car. And a bathing costume. I would have to buy something that was both modest and stomach covering.

Most people overcome this problem I was having by signing up with the local gym. I checked it out. I met with a personal trainer there and he did a physical check on me. We went through some of the more low impact equipment there, a few weights, some treadmill stuff and specific exercises for my ailing back which sitting and writing weren’t helping. Then he suggested some boxing. I blinked twice and looked at him as if to say “You’re crazy!”

Once he explained it to me, I got a better understanding. He didn’t mean for me to jump into the ring with a wannabe Muhammad Ali, he suggested the punching bag and gave me a website on which I could research some boxing gloves that would suit the exercise. To be honest, the only time I ever wore a set of gloves was when I had a fight in the schoolyard with the local bully. The teacher made us put on gloves and go hell for leather. I remember I won because I landed an early blow to his nose. He was a prolific bleeder. Bad luck for him.

Anyway, I checked out all the equipment I would need, not a lot really, and from this website I picked a set of gloves and started going to the gym. I found hitting the bag a rather cathartic way to release daily frustrations. Who would have thought that?