Fitboxing Fun

Yesterday I struggled awake at 5.30 am, sat on the edge of my bed then thought, ‘Not today.’  Another run postponed due to heat and tiredness. 

Instead I walked the dogs to the shop, got the papers, did some scribbling, then, because I was feeling guilty, decided to go to the gym and do an aerobics session.  A quick check of my schedule revealed that at 9.30 am they were doing a Fitbox class.  Right on!

There were two blokes, me and some lad who looked superfit, among a class of women of varying ages.  Three of us were first timers.  We did some warm ups, learned a few basic positions then teamed up with a punching partner. 

I got Betty (yes, her name has been changed!)

Betty has been a keen participant of these classes, and it shows.  She has a mean right.  Real mean.  We take it in turns to punch, jab, and uppercut each other, glove to pad.  The counting thing is my downfall.  Thankfully Betty counts while she hammers the pads.   

At the halfway point, I’m in a lot of pain.  Every inch of my clothing is dripping with sweat, and my punches are definitely losing their ‘oomph’.  Speed is also not my thing by this stage.  Betty is not only fast, but still hitting with considerable impact. 

During a break, I apologise to the entire group for anything I may have inadvertently done, or said to them in the car park prior to the class.  I don’t want any of these people upset with me… ever. 

The other bloke in the class has had some boxing training in the past.  The loud smacks coming from his gloves reverberate around the room.  I try to match the sound, but can’t keep up the pace.  My arms are turning to custard, and I can’t seem to catch my breath. 

In spite of the pain, the fact that I can’t count, that I’m often leading with the wrong hand, and my left arm refuses to play the game on the uppercuts thanks to an old break, and that I’m being outpunched by a girl, I am actually surprised to find myself having a good time. 

Betty is encouraging me, and I crack jokes.  We push eachother a bit harder.  Then we swap with the rest of the group.  One woman is literally shaking, her arms are like jelly.  I sympathise and don’t hit her gloves too hard, and count faster than she is hitting.  We are both happy with this 🙂 

At the end of the class the Little Pocket Dynamo running the session laughs and says, “You won’t recognise your own handwriting for a while!”  She’s right.  My hands are shaking so much I think I’ve contracted galloping palsy. 

It’s the hardest workout I’ve done in a long time.  Apparently we burned more calories (approx 2300) in that session than an hour on the treadmill.  I’m hooked.  Well, hooked, uppercut, and jabbed.

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