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Writing in Fists

Lately I've been taking boxing lessons at the Tenleytown Gymnasium and Boxing Academy, trying to get in better shape and doing a little sparring to rid myself of certain self-destructive aggressions.

I like boxing because it allows for an unlimited amount of variations as to what can happen each and every minute of every round, of every match. My coach, Paul "Snook" Martinez, tells me that each fighter has to, at some point, develop his own style, his or her own voice, in writing terms. Some, he explains, build their endurance and just protect themselves and take as many punches as the opponent can throw out until the opponent weakens in the assault. Some rely on quickness, always dodge-dodge-dodging. Others are strength fighters, getting by on sheer brute force; they wear their opponents defenses with a sheer battering.

Me, I don't know what my style is yet. So far, in my sparring, I've relied on blind aggression and ferocity. I literally "come out swinging." My success has depended mostly on my opponent. If I get a few early hits in, I'm as good as gold. If his defenses are up, then I tire really quickly (smoker's curse) and I am dead meat.

I've only had three 'fights' so far. It's funny; people at the gym want to spar with me. I guess it's because I don't have any real muscle tone yet, nor any endurance, nor any real experience. They think I'll be an easy and quick fix for their ego. Maybe I am. I'm not very good yet. I ignore all the coach's advice. Technical talk bores me; I fight on flat-out instinct. And so, I'm not taken seriously. Still, they underestimate. Often, they have never seen a more ferocious flurry of fists for 90 seconds, each attempted punch harder than the last, all aimed at the head and face.

I don't like pounding guys too much. I get a tiny hesitation when I land a good punch in someone's ear or jaw. I back off. Conversely, I like being hit. Especially in the head. I like the weak-kneed dizziness that follows. I'm not one for protracted battles. Get it over with. I just need to work out the kinks for a few rounds, maybe just a few minutes.

I had my nose broken for the first time this weekend. It hurt like hell and everything tasted like blood for about 18 hours. It will never truly 'heal' and is going to look wicked cool when the bandages come off.

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post #262
bio: blaine

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April - National Poetry Month 2008

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