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Opinion
Ormond Beach Observer Friday, Jun. 17, 2016 2 years ago

I got bloody knuckles five minutes into boxing class

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Okay, maybe “bloody" is exaggerating, but I definitely have a battle wound on my pinky.
by: Emily Blackwood News Editor

It might not surprise you that I don’t think of myself as a very intimidating person. Maybe it’s my cartoon-y voice or small stature, but I'm 100% sure I’d runaway from a fight against a small child. 

But after my first boxing class at Evolution Health Club, that might have all changed. Well, maybe not now, but maybe with a few (50) more classes. 

As always, I went into this experience with some very high expectations, mainly that I’d look really cool and professional while doing it. And as always, — thanks to the room’s surrounding mirrors — those expectations were quickly shot down. 

The first thing that surprised me was that the room smells like sweaty feet. Sure, after about five minutes of intense punching, you forget about the stink, but initially it can be very overpowering and make you rethink all your choices. 

Secondly, I was not prepared for the part of boxing class that wasn’t actually boxing. Our instructor had us doing this awfully painful thing called “circuit training” before we even put on our gloves. It last exactly 15 minutes, and I think I died four times. 

So thanks to that “warm up,” I was already exhausted before the punching even began. Actually, I don’t even feel right saying the word “punch,” because at that point my swings were more like light high fives. 

We went crazy on the bag for what felt like hours and stopped for what I thought was going to be a break. Wrong. Instead of sitting and breathing like normal people do, we did laps around the building, which happens to be two stories. 

The woman in front of me, who’s name I didn’t get to ask due to my lack of breath, had been taking the class for awhile and was fully prepared to run. She older than me and super fast. So fast in fact that one gym patron noticed the growing distance between us and shouted “You gonna let that old lady beat you?!”

Low self-esteem: 1; Emily: 0.  

We did this killer (literally, killer) routine about two more times, plus some crazy ab exercises on the floor, before the longest hour of my life was finally over.

As I removed my right glove, I felt a slight sting and realized my pinky finger had a cut on it. Nothing crazy enough to faint over, but enough to make me feel like — even despite my lazy punching — I gave it all I had. 

And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little intimidating. 

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