Adventures in success

In college I read a quote by André Gide about taking risks: "It is only in adventure that some people succeed in knowing themselves, in finding themselves." Reading that was one of the things that motivated me to take up boxing. Until then I had always taken the safe course, the path of least resistance. I bought into the myth that gay guys don't like and shouldn't play sports. But from an early age, about 8 or so, I loved boxing. True, my interest had a lot to do with seeing hot shirtless men in satin trunks and leather gloves, but I was drawn to the dignity, the quiet intensity, the strength, and the equanimity of boxers.

I rejected the notion that gay guys shouldn't fight and heeded Gide's words. I'm deeply glad I did. This year marks the 19th year since I took up boxing. In the beginning I didn't know where this interest would take me, whether I'd stick with it, but I feel I've succeeded in getting to know myself, find myself. Along the way I have made some great friends who share my interest. To anyone who sees only the violence there's no way to explain why boxing has become my religion.

I've been knocked out a few times, got a concussion once, some black eyes, bloody noses. But worse than any of those has been the wear and tear on my joints. Missing a punch is a great stress on the body. I've hyperextended my shoulders and my elbows more times than I care to imagine.

This spring I was just getting over a sore right shoulder when I developed biceps tendinitis in my left shoulder. I'd been injured enough to know this time I needed to rest. Through a combination of drugs, acupuncture, chiropractic, and massage, I made a full recovery. I couldn't hit the bags without pain. Once the pain subsided I was itching to get back in the ring, like an equestrian who's been off a horse for a while.

Last week I sparred with Angel, my regular sparring partner. Nice and easy, I told him. I missed almost every punch. Didn't step in with my jab. Angel pushed me to work, and by the end of Round 3 I was still feeling good. At least I was still relaxed and calm. I've been running 5 or 6 miles a few times a week, which has helped a lot. The shoulder felt great, and I was back at full speed.

Tonight Joey, one of the new trainers, asked me if I wanted to move around. "Yeah, move around," I said, "it's been 5 months since I've been in the ring." I wouldn't have been so firm if Joey were not 19, a Golden Gloves boxer, and the grandson of a legendary boxing trainer. He's been around boxing his whole life. It doesn't matter if you're in tip-top shape--age trumps experience when it comes to speed.

"He's really fast," Angel said, helping me on with my gear. "Just throw two or three punches at a time and get out of there." I yessed him. Of course I knew that. You know before you go in what you're supposed to do. But once you get in there, everything changes. Joyce Carol Oates, in her brilliant essay On Boxing, equated boxing with a nonverbal conversation in which the questions and the answers become increasingly more complex. You can't stop the action to ask the other guy what he's thinking. You have to figure it out as you go along.

I was relaxed, feeling great. The bell rang. Joey and I touched gloves. He clearly had a longer reach than I. He could step in and pop me and be onto the next combination before I could land. His style was the kind I hate, keeping one arm down by his waist and the other in position. It's a common style, and if you're not careful you can get mesmerized by the dangling arm and find yourself looking up at the ceiling. Joey took it easy at first, but by Round 2 he was turning up the heat.

I was already regretting this sparring session. Joey wasn't hitting me that hard; he was just making me feel old. In Round 2 I noticed that he put one arm behind his back. What the fuck was he doing? Was this a ploy to humiliate me--I can fight the old man with one arm tied behind my back. He seemed to expend no effort. But I couldn't let on. Boxing is as much poker as it is chess. Don't let the other guy see you angry, hurt, or frustrated. This is what Gide was talking to me about. Find out what you're made of, how you handle adversity, how you solve problems on your feet.

For a brief irrational moment I wanted to take Joey out, but I knew that was neither advisable nor rational. My years of ring experience have taught me to dispassionately channel my energy. I landed more combinations than in Round 1, but I still couldn't figure out why he had his hand behind his back.

Normally I block out all other distractions while I'm boxing, but this time I listened to Angel shout instructions to me from outside the ring. I didn't want to box Joey; he was taller and rangier. I wanted to get on the inside and trade with him. But his unorthodox style and my ring rust made that difficult. He switched up southpaw on me, something most right-handed fighters don't know how to do. And even though I'm a southpaw, I'm so used to fighting righties I still don't have the hang of fighting other lefties. Plus he was so damn fast.

At the end of Round 2 I returned to my corner and dejectedly told Angel I felt like Joey was humiliating me by fighting me one-armed. Don't pay any attention to him, he said, just work your combos and stay away from him.

In Round 3 Joey was back to fighting two-fisted, but I could tell he was favoring the right hand. He didn't jab much with the left. Taking away someone's jab is like removing all the locks on your front door. It makes you vulnerable to an attack. Joey had switched to lefty and was using his right jab to stick me. I had figured out how to get on the inside when he moved his hands away from the body and went after his ribs. The rust was starting to shuck.

I threw a left cross at Joey's head. I missed. I knew the second I threw it that I had hyperextended my elbow. Adrenalin anesthetized it then, but I knew I would feel it later. I traded with Joey for the last 30 seconds of the round on the inside. In my head I was already cursing myself for missing the punch, knowing the pain would come.

The round ended. Joey and I touched gloves. It felt good to be back in the ring. Joey was complimentary. "Yo, you threw some good punches. Just got to move more, don't stand there." I later learned that Joey too had hyperextended his arm sparring with me and that's why he fought with one arm behind his back.

As I nursed my elbow with ice later, I realized that Gide's words still rang true for me. Although I could still do OK in the ring with a guy half my age, I'd have to live with some pain and suffering. And as long as I could live with that thought, the rewards would far outweigh the risks.