Personal Narrative On Boxing

When I was about 6 years old my father introduced me to boxing. rather than explain to me what boxing was, he took me to a boxing match. The room we were in was filled with hundreds of people, and in the center of it all was a square ring. Although I could barely see from where I was, I could see what appeared to be two grown men fighting each other. Growing up, fighting was nothing that I wasn’t use to, for I did so with my brother. However, how these men fought was nothing compared to how my brother and I did. These men did not hate each other, somehow, I could tell. so why did these men fight? Believing that he would know the answer , I asked my father a former professional boxer. With a sincere yet serious look in his face he told me,

I didn’t know what to expect, let alone know what boxing was. What I did know, however, was that I wasn’t going to be looked down upon. So , I walked into the gym like I was the greatest: I had my head held high and my chest puffed like a bird. seeing that an unfamiliar face walked in, the coach hesitantly asked if I boxed before. Letting my ego get the best of me, I said of course. Words were not enough, however, for the twigs that were my arms began mimicking the fight I had once seen. Unfortunately, all too well, for I had also mimicked the boxer’s reaction to a punch on the jaw (Fortunately for me, I was around the age where that kind of stuff was “cute”). Ultimately, I convinced the coach that I knew how to box. Although my pride was satisfied in the end I didn’t know how to box, so I began to teach myself. Every day, I would observe the boxers’ stances and moves. Then I would face a mirror and perfect my

Partly because I wanted clear my mind, and partly because I wanted to impress my father. During this time the rigor of my training significantly increased. I remember getting home every day not being able to take a proper shower, for my hands were too sore to open. I remember waking up during the middle of the night because my body was in pain. I remember I thought I broke my leg because each step I took was excruciating. Although it was a difficult time for me mentally and physically, something told me to keep pushing. Inevitably, the coach asked me if I wanted to fight. Of course, I said yes, for this was the perfect opportunity to impress my father, I thought. One of the first things I noticed when I began to spar was that boxing was incredibly exhausting. From the perspective of an observer, standing in the ring with another person for one round (3 minutes) is the equivalence of reading this essay - no problem. However, in the perspective of the fighter time does not exist. What does exist is three bells: starting, 30 second, and ending bell; Within these bells the boxer must know: how to approach his/her opponent, when to block, when to breathe, where to move, and most importantly when to