I Like to Punch. I am a Bro.

So far this blog has been the thoughts and words of the three remarkable women with whom I happen to share this adventure. The posts have been about trees and seasons, walks and pies.

I live with my beautiful wife, and two of the most upstanding women I have had the pleasure of knowing. Sarah and Annie live upstairs and Kathleen and I live downstairs. It is a wonderful alternative to the lottery-style rooming situation that off-campus housing generally requires. We love it. And although I certainly enjoy the benefit of living with women who love to cook and put up flowers and bring fresh apples home, I am not going to write about these things. Or about the costumed, period-piece dramas they watch.

I am a Bro. And as a duly-elected representative of 25% of the population of the residents of Pilgrims, I want to talk about boy stuff.

And boys like to punch things.

I am a proud, card-carrying member(we don't have cards...) of the Kent Boxing Club. Can't you see the manliness in my typing? I have been training three days a week for the past three weeks, and I love it.

There are about forty of us and we are trained by a bulldog-faced Cockney. I don't know his name--I call him "coach." He yells quaint, coach-like things at us. "If you don lyke runnin, try the chess club. I fink dey might take you." Or "It'sa simpless fing in the world. 'It dem wif ou' gettin 'it. Simple."

Now believe it or not, despite the obvious wave of overpowering masculinity that you may experience upon seeing me, I am a relative newcomer to organized sports. I played little league. I was on the "we never cut anyone" types of teams. I played Madden video games. That's it. My athletically-minded best friend moved away the year I started high school, and with him moved my chance for a Stanley Cup belt.

I mention this because I am expecting a good-sized reaction when I say that I am a fairly good boxer, for a novice. I am one of the biggest guys in the club, if not the biggest, and I am strong. After getting kicked off a church basketball team(this is a lie), I finally turned to weight-lifting as a solo sport and I have been doing that for five or six years(this is true). And I made a lot of progress. I started at 125 lbs. Now I weigh 185 lbs, and I have a lot of power in my right, even if I get winded faster than I should. Weightlifting has prepared me decently, and I felt really confident in my progress within the boxing club.

Then the club President asked me if I wanted to spar with one of the more seasoned guys.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit hesitant. I mean, after all, what if I was awful? What if I decided that it was impossible to get better, which I've used as an excuse before, and quit? What if I hit a guy and his whole head came off?

It could happen.

After a really long half-second, I said sure and ran over to the ring.

Out of the many things I was nervous about getting into the ring, the biggest was this--I didn't want to be gun-shy. I didn't want to be the kid that drops everything he has learned and covers his head, or is afraid to get anywhere near the other guy. My fears, it turns out, were not needed. I found out that I'm the kind of guy that drops everything he's learned and tries to kill the other guy. After three weeks of learning to defend myself, first and foremost, I forget everything when I see his head in front of me, and I try and hit him into the ground like a whack-a-mole.

Unfortunately, Manos, the Greek gentleman I was sparring with, had really long arms. That meant that every time I tried to get near him he whacked me in the head three times before I could hit him once.

Now I did hit him, really well a couple of times, but he definitely got me many more times. I didn't really notice at the time, due to my primal, destroy-gene activation. But right now I am typing with a black eye, slightly swollen nose, and bruises all over my right arm from some wild right hooks Manos was very efficient at blocking.

Needless to say, I have a lot to learn about boxing before I can properly remove someone's head. But I love boxing.

It's for boys.