That certain jolt

My right shoulder just finished healing. Now my left one is out of commission. The adrenaline rush is delicious until it wears off.

Not that I didn't have some extra help. I had my morning tea at 10, and for lunch I had a bottle of Energy Tea, one of Moby's Teany drinks. Halfway through the bottle one of my colleagues pointed out that i was obsessively tapping my finger on the lunch table.

"What's in that?" Al asked.

"Good question," I said, looking at the label. "Ooh, guarana and yerba mate." Those two make caffeine look like a barbiturate by comparison.

Caffeine, like its cousins guaranine and mateine, works by stimulating the release of adrenaline into the bloodstream, increasing energy and fat burning. I take guarana sometimes before a workout and it makes me feel like I can work out forever.

I didn't feel much different after drinking the tea, and at 4:00 I got a frozen chai drink from the coffee place in the building. Chai is largely herbal, but it also has black tea. Before hitting the gym I always take panax ginseng, which helps give me a boost no matter how sluggish I feel.

By the time I got to the gym I was pretty hopped up. Jeannie, Martin's cousin, was at the front desk, as usual. As I headed to the locker, Jeannie leaned over and hesitated.

"You know," she said, "I hope it's OK to ask you this." Someone came into the gym and asked for a brochure. I wondered what Jeannie might want to ask me.

"Sorry," she said, "I've been wondering if you ever fought pro--and someone else asked me that, too. Because you're soooo good."

I was flattered, but I think Jeannie mistook experience for talent. It took me years and years (and years) to master the basics. Today I can whack a speed bag like a pro ("You make it look so easy," another gym mate said), but it took me at least 4 years of solid practice to get there and about 8 to become fluid in the ring.

"Oh, God, no," I laughed. "I'm afraid not." But at that moment I had one of those odd existential moments. Her question left me searching for why I had never pursued serious competition. "I guess I've always been too wrapped up in my career to devote serious time to it," was my lame answer.

It's easy to look back and try to determine why you did or didn't do something. Boxing has given me tremendous self-confidence, discipline, and focus, but only with the passage of time. If I could have merged my 40-something wisdom and my 20-something body, I coulda been a contender.

I warmed up next to Angel, my favorite sparring partner. We've been sparring for about 4 years. I always learn a lot from him--mostly what not to do. Most days he spars with four to six boxers, three rounds each. I call him "The Highlander," because he gets stronger and more pumped with each new opponent.

I never plan on sparring when i walk in the gym. I warm up first and then see how I feel. If I don't anticipate it, I don't get too worked up beforehand. Warming up relaxes me, and relaxation is the key to success in the ring. I hadn't sparred in a while; I was in the mood.

"When you gonna spar again?" I asked Angel, who was also recovering from a shoulder injury.

"I did a few rounds with Joe today. You know, that stocky guy?" he said.

I nodded. "How'd it go?"

"Man, by the end I was so tired. I'm so out of shape," Angel said.

I rolled my eyes. "Uh huh. Tired to you means you can go only 20 rounds instead of 25. Give me a break." Angel is about 10 pounds lighter, 2 inches shorter, and 5 years younger than me. He never looks out of shape.

"I'm just waiting for my next sparring partner," he said, looking me up and down.

"Well, let's go, then," I said. I went to my locker to get my sparring gear and laced up. All the -ines--caffeine, mateine, guaranine-were kicking in nicely.

I felt good, loose, relaxed. Angel always tries some new tactic on me. The last few times we sparred he's switched stances to confuse me. Tonight he decided to fight only southpaw.

Some people don't get why your lead hand is your weaker hand. I'm left-handed but lead with my right jab. That's because a jab is not a power punch; a cross is. When I throw a left cross, my dominant hand, all my weight is behind it.

Angel kept his jab in my face all through Round 1. I stepped to my right and tried to defuse it, but he kept peppering me with jabs. I countered well and landed some good rib shots, but like a skilled chess player, his relentless strategy beat my move every time. About 20 seconds into the round, I felt it: the warm rush to my head of adrenaline.

At some point in my life my flight reflex was reprogrammed as a fight reflex. I really don't mind getting hit. Adrenaline takes care of that. I'm sure caffeine and friends helped. Angel was getting in some pretty good licks, especially to my nose, and they didn't faze me.

By the end of Round 1 I felt my temples throbbing, blood coursing through my veins. I get such a rush from boxing. Like sex, boxing strikes a primal chord I can't describe, a place where I feel both vulnerable and invincible. Whereas sex has little to do with love, neither is boxing about hate. Yet both are different sides of the same coin--they're both about the struggle for power.

In the second round I started throwing more combinations, some of which landed effectively. But payback always followed. I switched to orthodox halfway through the round. I'd practiced as a righty dozens of times, but I could get no further than throwing a 1-2. Angel was still in southpaw mode, drilling me. My adrenaline was my shield. I felt my head snap back, but it didn't hurt. I felt his left cross connect to my temple, but I felt nothing. Then, near the end of the round my vision went blurry. Angel had knocked my lens out of my left eye.

I've gotten used to fighting with one lens. Not the smartest thing to do, but with 16 oz. gloves on I couldn't stick it back in. The alternative is no lenses, but then my nickname might as well be Mr. Magoo.

Round 3 was more of Angel popping me with his right jab, but by then my adrenaline was in full force. I clinched more and tried to stay close, out of range of his jab. I felt his right glove lace my nose, and I landed a stunning right to his temple. I had to be careful not to hit Angel's ear. Two years ago while sparring I landed a left hook to Angel's helmeted head. Whatever way i hit it, his eardrum became inflamed, and he couldn't box for about 6 months. I felt terrible, and other gym regulars came up to me and said, "So, you're the guy..." After that I wouldn't spar with Angel for a long time for fear he'd exact revenge.

At the end of three rounds I was done. My left shoulder felt sore, and I had a slight cut on the bridge of my nose. I felt like I'd used my craftiness effectively. I realize I can't stand there and slug with someone younger. For a guy who claimed to be out of shape and tired, Angel looked fresh and ready. I don't think he even drinks coffee.

Someone recently asked me, "I've never boxed. What's it like?"

Drink a few cups of coffee and find out. Or spar with Angel.