Who here has boxed? (Amatuer or pro)

Simple question...a simple yes or no would suffice, but anyone who wants to expand on that is free to do so.

Me: yes.

I built up a wonderful 4-2 amateur record.

I joined the local boxing club at sixteen and I fought as a welterweight. My parents were always dead against me fighting, so I used to pretend I was going to badminton lessons. (There was a badminton hall next to the gym.)

Of course, I got bust when my dad one day arrived early to pick me up, and decided to see how my "badminton" was coming along. I'm pretty sure he was surprised to see me in the ring!

I never really intended to actually fight, but as a boxing nut I was always curious as to how I would do in the ring. My friends and I used to box in the back yard, and one thing led to another and I found myself at the gym one day.

It was a bit nerve-wracking at first. All these guys pounding bags, sparring, skipping rope...I was intimidated by their muscular builds and mean looks. ****, the place had a strange smell, leather mixed with sweat. Maybe I made a mistake coming here?

One of the trainers got hold of me and within 5 minutes I was having my first sparring session...holy ****. Already? No hitting the bags for a few weeks first? No skipping rope or maybe doing some roadwork?
Nope.

Being totally green we weren't allowed to spar in the ring, so we were put into a corner of the gym and got laced up. My opponent (who thank God was as green as me) looked like trouble. This guy was seriously muscular, with bulging biceps and cannonball shoulders. What the hell was I doing?

Luckily he couldn't fight for beans and my jab and left cross (I was a southpaw) found his face for the duration of the session, which only lasted a few minutes. After that night, I never saw him again.

It took three weeks for me to 'graduate' to sparring in the ring, and the first time is something I will never forget.
Perhaps the trainers saw something in me...because I was the first of the new guys to get in there. My heart dropped when I saw my sparring partner, a guy who went to the same school as me, and was a very experienced fighter.
He was a good friend, but he let me know very quickly who was boss in there. A torrent of leather came my way and all I could do was cover up. He seemed so fast, so cocksure of himself. My punches missed by literally feet sometimes as he darted in, landed three or four punches, and darted out before I even knew what was happening.
Luckily he took it easy on me, or so I was told. My aching face was definitely not in agreement. I went home quite crestfallen at being so utterly embarrased...

But I went back, and before long those tough sparring sessions started to pay off. My movement got better, my jab improved, and I no longer was afraid of getting hit. I got used to it, although my nose never did stop itching when punches landed on it.
Looking back, I must say that sparring sessions were more like actual fights than sparring, especially when two relative novices were put in there. The experienced guys would go easy on you, and even give you useful tips when sparring.
The newish guys (like myself) would go full out with a point to prove. I mean seriously, if a guy hits you with a good punch, you're not going to let the sumbitch get away with it, are you?
Of course not. Occasionally one of the trainers would tell us to cool it, but by and large they let us get on with it.

My first fight came as a surprise. I arrived at the gym as usual, only to see a bunch of chairs and tables set out around the ring. The place was also fully lit, and people were buzzing about all over the show.
What the hell?
My trainer walked up to me and said "you're fighting tonight." Gulp.
I quickly looked for an escape route, but none were available.
I wasn't a coward, but imagine turning up for a normal training session and being told that no, you're making your debut tonight. Thanks for the advanced warning!
I waited with butterflies in my stomach for my turn...there were a lot of fighters I didn't recognize. The fights came and went and soon enough it was my turn.
My opponent seemed as nervous as me, and to be honest I remember little of the fight, other than that I won. I think I was so nervous, the whole thing passed in a blur.

My next fight was a nightmare. I don't know why, but I squared off against a guy with nine years experience. Who did the matchmaking for these events? ****, here I was a sixteen year old kid facing a twenty-eight year old guy. I got pounded worse than Tim Tomashek in all his fights combined, or at least it seemed like it.
I could not get off, I could not throw punches like I wanted to. His lateral movement and sudden changes of direction befuddled me. Every time I got him near the ropes or the corner, he would deftly spin out and catch me with counter punches. It was incredibly frustrating, because he was by far quicker than anyone I had encountered before. I felt like I was punching in slow motion.
The decision was a formality and although my trainer tried to console me afterward, I didn't really hear his words. I went into the bathroom to wash out my bloody nose, and contemplated my defeat as I saw the blood mix with water and wash down into the plug. My head was pounding as if ten elephants were stomping on it and I wondered if it was physically possible to feel worse.
My next fight was also a loss, again to a more experienced guy. At least I got in some good licks this time and gave a good account of myself. Still, a losing record was not something I was proud of.

It was my last fight that really had me questioning this boxing stuff. I won, but it was a fight that really makes you question why you do what you do.

I was blessed with a good punch. If I hit you right, you stayed hit. But the guy I fought seemed impervious to pain. He walked through my punches - everything I had - and delivered his own. In the first, he hit me with a shot that literally lifted my off my feet for a split second and made the crowd gasp. He swung a haymaker that luckily landed just above my right ear, and if that had landed on my jaw, I would have been in deperate trouble. He crowded me and threw punches from seemingly every angle. I returned to my corner with my eyes watering like mad, courtesy of a right to my conker. I was sure he won that round.

He was not well-schooled though, and I found it impossible to miss him.
In the second round, I think I broke his nose because he started bleeding profusely. Blood covered his vest and even dripped onto his shorts. His face was a mess. But you think he'd stop trying? Hell no! He fought with even more ferocity than in the previous round, and eventually I got sucked into a full-out brawl. I gave up on circling him and just stood there, throwing leather for all I was worth. How either of us weren't given standing eight counts is a mystery to me. How they let him continue with a smashed nose was crazy, but they did.

It's a strange feeling when you're no longer fighting to win, but fighting to survive. You seem trapped in a bubble, and things seem to happen in slow motion. I heard no bells, although I must have. Advice in the corner fell on deaf ears. The punches no longer hurt. All you see is this guy in front of you, trying to half-kill you.
I got the decision, but I don't remember the ref raising my hand or actually hearing the decision myself. I don't remember the ride home or anything. All I remember even now is that short, squat guy in front of me with blood running down his face.

That fight made me rethink my future in the ring. I got into it out of curiosity more than anything. Was I cut out for this? Was I willing to go through literally hell to win? Not to sound vain, but I was worried about my nose being broken, my face slowly being moulded into another shape over time.
Many of the guys I saw about the gym wore that look of a hard life. They had real fighter's faces. Here I was a middle-class kid mixing it with toughies that didn't have things as easy as I did. They had to fight for everything they had. I didn't, and that fact was not lost on me. I wondered if there was a line I would not cross, and if I would recognize that line when I saw it.

It wasn't a conscious decision really, but I slowly drifted away from the gym. The black eyes and swollen noses stopped being a bragging point. They lost their novelty value. Girls and parties became more of a priority and eventually I just stopped going altogether.

I don't regret a single second of it though.

 

Finally, a bite! Thanks Ted. Anyone else?

 

:good

I was hoping someone would come out with some stories. Where's Bigcat when you need him?

 

Well, why not go to a gym and ask if they'd mind you hitting the pads and bags? I'm sure they won't charge much.
It's still a good way to get a feel for it all.
I was actually considering it last year when I was really out of shape, and I figured the best and quickest way to get back into shape is do what boxers do. (Minus the sparring bit.)
I eventually settled for a treadmill though.

 

Nice post. I enjoyed reading that, especially the bit about unschooled guys being easy to handle.

When I was boxing, word got around my school that I boxed and every so often someone would ask if they could join me at the gym.
I had no problem with that and so off we'd go.

Sparring with green guys like this was always fun, because it was as if they were punching underwater or something. Being used to sparring and fighting with guys who knew what they were doing made me think I hadn't progressed much, but getting in the ring with guys totally new to it all made me realise that I had learned quite a bit.

It was also quite funny, because some guys would telegraph with their faces, if you know what I mean. Their eyes would go all big before throwing a punch. Whoops! Here comes another one!
It was so tempting to take advantage, but since I knew these guys I didn't.
One new guy even used to clench his tongue between his teeth, until one of the trainers clipped him around the ear for that. One of the funniest things I've ever seen...

Talking of pain from taking punches, the worst pain I felt was not even from that hard a shot. I had my mouth open because I was tired, and this guy hit me with a short left hook right on the side of my chin.
It's hard to describe the pain, but my lower jaw sort of jammed into the left side of my face, and for a moment or two I felt paralysed from sheer agony.
I stopped moving and tried to work my jaw, to loosen it up. My opponent was probably surprised at my reaction, because he just stood there watching me flap my mouth like a goldfish. Or maybe he was just a good sport.
Like I said, the shot wasn't that hard but he caught me just right, and with my mouth open (a big no-no obviously) it made it worse.

 

Welcome to the board. :good

 

Why did you stop?