I. Love. Boxing. Not to watch but to do. Wish I’d known 40 or 50 years ago how much fun it is to safely smash things.
We have two teenage boys in our little class at the Y, and I’m trying not to slow their cage-fighting career progress. Last night (first class) I had my own shorter ladder on the floor for footwork warmup. The boys and the other two women used a much longer one and floated like much faster butterflies than I.
I don’t think I embarrassed myself. I can punch and for the second class, I may actually remember how to wrap my wrists (it’s easier than wrapping horses’ ankles, I know that already). My classmates all have their own gloves — I don’t think I’m going to buy any equipment until I have an actual ring date.
And, of course, I won’t which is part of the fun. It was a really good (meaning sweaty) workout, and my shoulders and wrists weren’t at all sore this morning. My lower back’s another story, thanks to “throwing” my hips into the punches. I’ve learned my left jab is my knockout punch, and next class I get to practice hooks and upper cuts.
I’ve got rid of 14 pounds in the last 7 weeks by following the Weight Watchers points system and going to a meeting every week. I like the meetings. I like the support and the good ideas that pop up regularly. (WW suggests losing no more than one to two pounds per week.)
“Welcome back to the Church of Eternal Redemption,” wrote my friend Eleanor when I posted about re-joining for the (how many?) time. I know I belonged when my older daughters were very young so that’s at least 40 years ago. “They’ll never judge and they’ll always welcome you back.” True.
I like the way the organization has changed with the times — realizing that there are all kinds of reasons why we eat, for instance. Encouraging us to exercise for another.
I’m trying to hit the Y five or six days a week. I’ve tripled my WW exercise requirement (Fit Points) one week, doubled them a few others. The week just past I did neither because my body was feeling tired. But I am asking myself every day: What’s my workout today? Not, oh, gee, I don’t feel like it.
“It doesn’t matter if you want to do it,” says our boxing coach, the inimitable Pearl, “What matters is that you do it.”
Luckily, even 14 pounds gone makes me feel stronger, less self-conscious. I want to tackle a spin class next but have this inordinate fear of being the first spinner to fall off her stationary bike.
My measurements aren’t drastically different (only one inch less everywhere), but when I found a beautiful Talbot sweater at Goodwill (unworn, one-sixth of the original price), I bought it even though it was a Large. Maybe because it was a Large and not an Extra Large.
I’ve been doing this so long that when I tried on that sweater, I thought, “I’m tired of this. I’m ready to push right on through to my goal (another 43 pounds).” If you pay for several months up front, that’s like earning a bachelor’s degree in four years, no extra money spent getting to your goal.
I really haven’t been hungry in these seven weeks, just wanting to eat for lack of a better hobby. All the exercise is helping with that. I’ve never had my big daylily bed cleaned out before they bloom. This year I will. And it will be entirely fed and mulched! On rainy days I plan to turn this laser focus to our basement.
Driving to Silver Sneakers this afternoon, I ate what was most likely a couple pints of fresh strawberries. Bare, naked berries. After more than two hours pulling weeds, they were so refreshing all by themselves. And it’s zero WW points. Win-win.
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