My body failed me today.
It’s been a rough first week of my boxing bootcamp, since I am more out of shape going in for this round than I was back in January. At the same time, I have decided to supplement the awesome cardio action with some weight lifting later in the day. The idea is that I’ll be a little leaner and a little stronger when the moment of truth comes. My fundamentals are decent if not spectacular. My footwork is passable and timing not totally ridiculous. Still, I’ve noticed I have some trouble delivering punching power. I suspect it has something to do with the comical shortness of my arms and the fact that I get tired so quickly, but I want to hear that killer thump and watch my opponent wince a little bit when the punch drives home. Hence the lifting…
The downside is that my muscles are in full revolt having grown used to the sloth-like leisure they had previously enjoyed. The bootcamp workouts haven’t even reached their full pitch of intensity yet. We are still in what the coaches lovingly refer to as “Pussy Week.” And yet, today my body failed me. I’ve been getting along through the calisthenics, and the boxing drills haven’t made too much of a dent.
But the running is killing me. I am not made to be a runner. I have neither the ability nor the inclination. Roadwork is a part of the game, though and I have to pay my dues. I would say that I am genetically predispositioned to be a poor runner, but my brother was a cross country superstar who ran four miles to warm up. Madness! Sprints I can deal with, but distance? Forget it.
Today, we were running down by the San Francisco Bay and it seemed like it would never end. At a certain point my legs just stopped responding. I could run no more. There is a difference between being too tired to run anymore or being too sore to run anymore and what I experienced today. I was willing my legs to move and they refused. My body has turned against me. I had to walk back to the gym.
It happened again at the corner store. After I was done buying my post-workout bottle of water, I dropped my wallet in the parking lot. When I bent down to pick it up, I was unable to stand. I wasn’t in pain, per se, yet I knew that the act of rising to my feet would send shock-waves of pain throughout my legs. My thighs were already groaning. It took me a full three minutes of kneeling in the parking lot before I was able summon the strength and courage to return to a standing position.
Five days down, Twenty-Five to go…