Butterflies and Bees

I have lived in Oakleigh for about six years.  Each time I drive to the shopping centre, which would be going on a million times or so now, I see a huge sign over a bridge that says “Boxing Circuit”.   For at least five of those six years I’ve muttered to myself “I should do that…”

That mutter is as far as the idea went…  Until this week.

I finally dragged the Squeeze there to have a look at it.  It was fantastic.  We are talking ‘Million Dollar Baby’ kind of fantastic.  We walked in and were greeted by old style dusty floorboards; bags hanging from the ceiling, some still gently rocking with tell-tale drops of sweat staining the floor boards. 

There was a ring at the back and bells ringing between the thump of fists and the grunts.  Highlight windows poured light over the room, show casing those finely tuned, boxer bodies.

I should have run then.

Why didn’t I?  Well firstly, the organiser was a lovely old gentleman in his seventies who told us his life story on the first “look through” (and repeated it on the second visit) but more than the ‘old school’ million dollar baby vibe, was the fact that there was not one stitch of lycra in sight.  Not one.  It was a thing of beauty.

This week we threw on our training clothes (they were straining at the seams and I suspect I looked like a polish sausage with a string tied around the middle) and off we went.   I was so excited to actually start, even though neither of us had a clue about how to even begin, let alone start training. 

All I knew was that there was no way that I was going to shove my hands into some scungy looking boxing gloves that God knew who had been wearing, sweating and bleeding in – not a snowballs chance in hell!  So first up was the purchasing of the gloves.  It’s a weird feeling, owning your own boxing gloves.  I have them hanging over a chair, visible from the minute you open the front door.  It’s not as glamorous as the vase of lilies one is greeted with, but its way cooler.

And we are not too damned bad.  I’ll admit that I don’t believe I have ever sweated as much in my life and after training session one, it took about twenty six hours for my arm to stop shaking, but I could pack a punch and remember the hits being shouted at me.

When I got home, I put a message on facebook that said “the Squeeze and I are going to be lethal weapons!!!!  Boxing is fantastic!!!”  My sister left a comment to say “why are you letting him box?  He might be able to defend himself now!”

My reply:  “Doubt it.  I’m pretty certain it would be Me=Fight, Squeeze=Flight”.

He doesn’t like the idea of sparring.  

Me…?  I can’t wait until we climb through the ropes and I get to do my first Tyson like KO on him.