My First Fight

by paul, on 02.19.2012

Update: Here is a Link to watch my fight

Surely, on the night before my first fight, I got the best night of sleep any amateur boxer has ever gotten, as I was sure it was cancelled. My first amateur bout was supposed to be on Saturday, February eighteenth. When I got into bed on friday, after months of preparation, my bout had been cancelled. My opponent had signed up to fight at 165 pounds, but had called 2 days before the fight to say he weighed 182. Even in our Master's division, for fighters 35 years or older, where there is no national level competition and the rules are a bit more relaxed, my opponent was way too heavy. Them's the rules: Master's boxers must be no more than 8 pounds apart in weight, and no more than 10 years apart in age. So, disappointed as I was, I slept easy the night before.

When I got the call from Gleason's saturday afternoon to say a last minute match had been made, that they had a 36 year old fighter with a 0/1 record who needed an opponent, I had just finished lunch with my wife. I had gone down to the gym in the morning to do my bag work, as is my saturday morning ritual, and Sarah and I were out wandering around manhattan. I immediately called my trainer, Dorrius, to see if he could make it on short notice, and after a few hours of uncertainty, the fight was on. Weigh in at 4pm, the fights start at 6pm. I called a few friends who had wanted to come and told them it was back on, we went home and I packed up all my boxing gear and headed down to weigh in.

In amateur boxing, you weigh in on the day of the fight, then you see a doctor who makes sure you're able to compete. Weigh in is quick and to the point, you strip down, step on the scale, and your official weight is recorded in your amateur book. Your book is the passport of boxing, both your license to fight and a record of your wins and losses. Even after all that fried chicken for lunch, I weighed in at 163 pounds, two under the limit. The doctor declared me fit to box, and the waiting game began. I would not meet or even see my opponent until we stepped into the ring.

The next step was to get dressed to box, wrap my hands, and warm up. Sarah got me silk blue boxing trunks for valentine's day, and I would fight in those, a Ramones t-shirt, and the standard amateur protective gear: Headgear, Mouthpiece, Cup and Kidney protector. Meanwhile, the bouts have begun. I am bout number 8, and in amateur shows they come one right after another. At this point I start to get nervous again, and Rondell, a longtime sparring partner, friend and coach, reminds me to Breathe. Just Breathe.

Dorrius wrapped my hands with the long, cotton wraps that fighters use to protect our hands. and we went over last minute rules and strategy. Keep hands up at all times after the bell, even when the referee separates us. Make sure to use my jab and stay out of the corners and off the ropes; I am tall for my weight and I need to keep the fight in the center of the ring to take advantage of my reach. If I hurt the guy and there's a count, it won't begin until I get to a neutral corner. Dorrius and I work a little on defense, and I put my gloves, headgear and mouthpiece on. I feel like I have a lump in the pit of my stomach, and wonder to myself what I am doing. Am I really ready for this? The ref comes over and tells me I can't fight in my t-shirt, I need one with no sleeves. This heightens my nervousness, they are on bout 5 already! We need to cut the sleeves off my short. Rondell sets off to find a pair of scissors, while I contemplate the horrifying prospect of a sleeved shirt preventing my first fight. Fortunately, Rondell comes, scissors in hand, and we cut the sleeves off my beloved Ramones t-shirt. I head over to the ring as soon as bout 6 is over, to watch bout 7 before it's my turn in the ring.

As soon as I get over to the ring, the referee announces that bout 7 is scratched, and we are moving directly to bout 8! It feels slightly surreal as the announcer introduces us, I am fighting out of the red corner, my opponent the blue. Dorrius and Rondell are in my corner, a few last words from them, then the referee has us touch gloves, and before I can even think, the bell rings.

The Fight

Round one. I start out jabbing and my opponent keeps his distance. He's shorter than me, and moves quick. He moves in and out, comes in with a straight right hand, an extremely hard puncher. I parry the first of many punches, and fire back with my own left cross. He's not throwing a lot of punches and definitely keeping his distance, someone from outside the ring yells that he needs to throw more punches. When he does come at me, he comes in for the kill, he's clearly trying to knock me out with a well placed shot. He's able to land a few shots, but doesn't have good defense, and I was able to counter effectively. One shot which leaves him particularly exposed gives me an opportunity to nail him with a left cross, my best punch. It was a clean shot, landed strong and hard. Unlike everyone else I have ever sparred with, a shot like this didn't faze him at all, and he kept coming at me. We move around the ring, he drops his hands and I land a flurry of jabs. The bell rings and we're back in the corner.

I am tired, and breathing heavy. After a single 2 minute round of sparring. I am in very good physical condition and it's not uncomon for me to spar 20 rounds on a sunday, I should not be tired. I am not breathing. The lights, the moment, and most of all the tension and nervousness in me, is wearing me down in record time. Dorrius and Rondell give me water, and remind me to jab. It was a good round for me; were amatuer boxing scored on a per-round basis, I probably would have won that one. But man, does this guy punch hard.

Round two. I come out jabbing again, my opponent comes straight at me. No more staying back and in and out for him, he's just coming at me. He lands a flurry of punches and I counter and land some strong shots also, but they don't seem to faze him, he just keeps coming. I forget to breathe. Halfway through the round he lands a body shot that almost knocks the wind out of me, I am moving back and he is coming forward and we are really going at it, trading hard shots. Problem is, trading hard shots is not what I need to be doing against this guy. I need to box, out-think him, throw him for a loop. I am not thinking. I am not breathing. He lands a good jab cross uppercut combination and the ref separates us, I get an eight count. We continue. It doesn't get better for me. Again the bell.

In the corner, I am exhausted, my usually boundless energy is gone. Normally, I can spar 20 rounds on a sunday, and after only four minutes, I am out of breath. Dorrius is telling me I need to win the third round, Rondell is telling me I need to jab. They are both right. I am telling myself I just need to get through the third round. Fight, survive. It's an old boxing saying that the only thing that stops a guy from punching, is punches coming back at him; I need to punch. And Breathe. I am breathing now, but heavy, which makes me more tense. Why am I so tired, when I have sparred so much longer than this? Then the bell, again.

Round three. My opponent keeps the same strategy from round two, coming straight at me, punching hard. He doesn't much care if he gets hit back, and he does, because he's getting the better of the exchanges. I drop my hands after an exchange, a cardinal sin of boxing technique. The corner, and a standing eight count for me. Back in action, it's more of the same. He's been doing the same thing for the whole fight, and I am responding to it worse and worse as the fight goes on. Boxing, like jazz, is all about interaction and adaptation; you have to adjust and respond in the moment. More punches, more going on the rops, and a second standing eight count for me, and all of a sudden, it's over, one minute and eighteen seconds into the 3rd round.

My goal was to box 3 good rounds. I don't mind that the fight was stopped in the 3rd round, I was taking a lot of shots and I'm sure it was the right call by the referee. I made a lot of mistakes I shouldn't have, backing up instead of slipping, not jabbing enough and controlling the fight to the center, all kinds of things. But, I have to keep perspective. I have only boxed 2 years. I have played music for more than 20, and still make mistakes. Life does go on, and I think having a fight like that changed the way I think about boxing. Before last night, I never knew what it was like to be in the ring with someone and go all out, both of us doing whatever we can to score, or knock the other guy out. I think I will take something from that experience with me for the rest of my life, and experiences like that don't come along every day.

After the fight I was surrounded by my wife, and friends who had come out to show support. I can't think of a better way to celebrate having gotten in the ring and put up my hands, than with such great people. Special thanks to Sarah, Dan, Asta, Will, Alec, Deb, Sameer, Kurt, Steve, Chris, Jess, Dharma, Moe and Mathieu for coming to watch some crazy 35 year old guy who writes code for a living, get in the ring and box. I will never forget it. Had a pretty good night's sleep, too.

Categories: Fitness