The reason why I posted the greatest Survivor song of all time in prose form earlier this week is this. I have recently signed up for a boxing bootcamp, and am rising way earlier than a normal person should to train for an hour-and-a-half before work. My body is adjusting to the shock of exercise. I haven’t really exerted myself since relocating to the West Coast, and a serious workout is long over due. The time has come for me to cast off the oh-so-comfortable lethargy of the last few months and once again become a pugilist. Sedentary no more! Despite my fighting career, I am a horrible striker and know very little about the sweet science. As a grappler, my strategy was usually to get punched in the face repeatedly until I could take down my opponent and ground and pound. It worked, but tended to mar my movie-star good looks for a few days.
This bootcamp is ideal for me, because it assumes a very basic level of boxing knowledge and focuses more on fundamentals and fitness. The workouts are good, but not too intense. I’m no Jack Dempsey, but I’m getting better. If only I could find a way to lengthen my arms and improve my reach, I would be unstoppable. As it is, I’ve been compared to everything from a Tyranasaurus Rex to a bulldog. Fierce and mighty creatures, to be sure, but hampered by a lack of arm length. Imagine the sheer lethal carnage that a T-Rex with long arms could cause. But I digress.
I admit the running is the hardest part for me. Even in the best of shape, I was a horrible runner. Slow and labored. And now when I do I can’t get “Eye of the Tiger” out of my head.
Dun. Dun Dun Dun. Dun Dun Dun. Dun Dun DUN…