This whole hiatus thing is...strange. It's new. And strangely refreshing. But also kind of boring. And just not...right.
The past few weeks I've continued to do a whole lot of nothing as far as the ring is concerned. But in a strange, "normal" sort of way (normal meaning similar to how you odd, non-boxing types who don't like having your faces rearranged approach things - psh, weirdos) I've also been doing a whole lot.
With the additional, extensive work on my face and airways, I'm still not cleared to do anything full-contact. For various reasons, I've taken this one step further and stayed away from the boxing gym altogether, sticking exclusively to weights, plyos and road work. Some of these various reasons include:
- A vacation to the Virgin Islands
- A new job
- Being months away from competing again. With no goal in sight, I wouldn't lose motivation so much as be more prone to impatience and frustration for my situation.
- Missing the Golden Gloves
- Watching the shmuck I pounded on in my 12/11/09 fight televised on NESN make it all the way to the Golden Gloves regional finals. While in a way this is something to hang my hat on (hey, the proof is on the tape) it's also something I'm shaking my head at since I missed a prestigious tourney I clearly could've made some noise in.
- The obvious point that 9 years of pugilism messed my face up. And while even the best sometimes have to get cleaned up before climbing back to the top (hey, Vanderlai Silva just had surgery on his nose to fix his breathing too) recovery is a nuisance and I can't help but fear that it'll subconsciously affect my fight style - sort of like a pitcher who gets beaned by a line-drive comebacker and "is never the same again" even though his health and form all appear to be back in full, top-notch shape.
Yes, I can buy more protective headgear and and tweak my sparring formats and schedule and just trust (know) that I won't be boxing 9 more years and accumulate as much damage...but gah, I'm not a defensive wunderkid like Pernell Whitaker - I'm aggressive and offensive-minded and am in my own head and driving myself crazy with restlessness. And it's silly, but it's enough to keep me at this relaxed pace and in a sort of holding pattern before I break out of my recovery.
After running the Boston Marathon in 2005, a friend told me "don't think about your next marathon until you forget about your last." I've never had to do the same with boxing, but am on the tail-end of exactly this right now.
And to make sure it's clear: I'm not out indefinitely. I never have and never will be scared of eating a little leather - it's the nature of the beast. But right now I'm just not in any rush and in a nice groove everywhere but the ring - as much as it pains me to say. It's kind of nice focusing on the new job and beach muscles and multiple "rest days" with nothing resembling physical activity and taking a vacation to the Virgin Islands and disregarding what the scale says and just chilling... just seeing how the other 99.99% of 24 year-old professionals live. It's invigorating and it's bound to pay off in the long-term boxing-wise.
Some of y'all always have great insights - I'd be interested to hear what do's/don'ts you've run into if you've ever had an injury or prolonged break from your "passion."
Sometimes before you climb back up the mountain, it's nice to enjoy the scenery for awhile before breaking a sweat. And right now, the view's fine.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Along the Road to Recovery
First off: I'd like to thank you all for reading this blog and your well-wishes before my surgery. I do a miserable job responding to your comments and it looks like there are a lot more of y'all who started reading this right as I go from a "peak to a valley," but I truly appreciate your support and readership.
I feel like I could begin and end this post simply by writing "surgery sucks," but, well that obviously doesn't paint much of a picture. Nor does it convey how much I'm missing the ring.
Then again, a one-sentence summary probably would read more along the lines of "it's not the surgery that sucks - it's the 6-week recovery after that sucks."
Despite my pre-anesthesia jitters, surgery went well. And by well, of course, I mean that I didn't die, didn't have to stay overnight, and was only mildly miserable when I got wheeled out of the hospital that afternoon.
By the time I went to bed, I had graduated from jello and pudding to cheese and painkillers. The next morning, I had a doctor's appointment to remove the packing and clean my stitches - at which time I also was informed that my nose "was awful...absolutely horrible once we got in there" and that the damage was far more extensive than they had originally diagnosed. My doctor informed me that he had to do two additional procedures that involved grafting cartilage to the front and bridge of my nose to keep it from collapsing in the future, whether I got popped again or not. Essentially, there was so much wreckage in there that on top of fixing my deviated septum, the doctor felt it was necessary to re-build my nose from the inside out. This obviously made the procedure far more extensive and invasive than originally planned, but was done in order to give me the proper care as the doctor saw fit, and I'm glad he decided to do it while I was already opened up.
As he explained how I'd need to care for all the extra, unexpected stitching, he removed my packing. I am by no means squeamish, but this was far and away the most horrifyingly disgusting, gruesome thing I've ever experienced. I wouldn't doubt that there are still imprints on the armrest from my death grip as he pulled out all the...bleh. Just, bleh. The things that came out of my nose...
Once you get inside it, the human body is gross...
My surgical drainage lasted a few days, but the pain subsided quickly. For the next few days, I was more uncomfortable and inconvenienced rather than swollen or in pain, which was encouraging. By the end of the week I still had significant internal swelling, but I already felt like I was breathing easier than I had been before the procedure.
My 2-week check-up and cleaning went well. My stitches have already begun to dissolve on their own, my wounds are clean and healing nicely, and I've been green-lighted to resume workouts and gentle nose blowing. (NEVER take it for granted that you can blow your nose - especially in the gnarly New England winters when it runs every time you step outside.)
I've eased my way back into "full," strenuous workouts and am feeling good. I think I played my cards perfectly wearing myself out pre-surgery and making sure I was "due" for a few days rest anyway. If you squint at the half-full glass, I kind of only really missed one week of training. It was worth it though - through all the discomfort, I wanted first and foremost to do this right and be done with it, and thus far everything's healing beautifully.
And, more importantly, I can breathe again. Easily and fully breathe. Which is a remarkable feeling once you've gone so long and forgotten what it's like to fill your lungs with air and scents and all sorts of nasal goodness.
Since my surgery, I have not been to my boxing gym, nor have I even gloved up to work the heavy bag at my "normal" gym. This has been done intentionally. Not only do I miss the ring terribly, but, well, I'm just not ready to go back. I don't have headgear with a face guard for regular sparring, I'm out of boxing shape, I don't have a "plan" in place to get back to competing and, frankly, I want to enjoy a few weeks off where I'm fully healthy before I dive back in.
If you're going to go, go all out. I'm not a defensive fighter, so I want to make sure I'm comfortable and at peace with my "new face" before squaring off again. I won't be effective if all I'm thinking about is how to not have my nose get grazed by a glove. Similarly, I'm not a wannabe competitor, so I don't want to rush back and aimlessly plod through half-ass workouts. Like my recovery, when I get back to boxing I want to get back at it "right."
And right now I'm still technically recovering. Just biding my time along the long road to recovery...
I feel like I could begin and end this post simply by writing "surgery sucks," but, well that obviously doesn't paint much of a picture. Nor does it convey how much I'm missing the ring.
Then again, a one-sentence summary probably would read more along the lines of "it's not the surgery that sucks - it's the 6-week recovery after that sucks."
Despite my pre-anesthesia jitters, surgery went well. And by well, of course, I mean that I didn't die, didn't have to stay overnight, and was only mildly miserable when I got wheeled out of the hospital that afternoon.
By the time I went to bed, I had graduated from jello and pudding to cheese and painkillers. The next morning, I had a doctor's appointment to remove the packing and clean my stitches - at which time I also was informed that my nose "was awful...absolutely horrible once we got in there" and that the damage was far more extensive than they had originally diagnosed. My doctor informed me that he had to do two additional procedures that involved grafting cartilage to the front and bridge of my nose to keep it from collapsing in the future, whether I got popped again or not. Essentially, there was so much wreckage in there that on top of fixing my deviated septum, the doctor felt it was necessary to re-build my nose from the inside out. This obviously made the procedure far more extensive and invasive than originally planned, but was done in order to give me the proper care as the doctor saw fit, and I'm glad he decided to do it while I was already opened up.
As he explained how I'd need to care for all the extra, unexpected stitching, he removed my packing. I am by no means squeamish, but this was far and away the most horrifyingly disgusting, gruesome thing I've ever experienced. I wouldn't doubt that there are still imprints on the armrest from my death grip as he pulled out all the...bleh. Just, bleh. The things that came out of my nose...
Once you get inside it, the human body is gross...
My surgical drainage lasted a few days, but the pain subsided quickly. For the next few days, I was more uncomfortable and inconvenienced rather than swollen or in pain, which was encouraging. By the end of the week I still had significant internal swelling, but I already felt like I was breathing easier than I had been before the procedure.
My 2-week check-up and cleaning went well. My stitches have already begun to dissolve on their own, my wounds are clean and healing nicely, and I've been green-lighted to resume workouts and gentle nose blowing. (NEVER take it for granted that you can blow your nose - especially in the gnarly New England winters when it runs every time you step outside.)
I've eased my way back into "full," strenuous workouts and am feeling good. I think I played my cards perfectly wearing myself out pre-surgery and making sure I was "due" for a few days rest anyway. If you squint at the half-full glass, I kind of only really missed one week of training. It was worth it though - through all the discomfort, I wanted first and foremost to do this right and be done with it, and thus far everything's healing beautifully.
And, more importantly, I can breathe again. Easily and fully breathe. Which is a remarkable feeling once you've gone so long and forgotten what it's like to fill your lungs with air and scents and all sorts of nasal goodness.
Since my surgery, I have not been to my boxing gym, nor have I even gloved up to work the heavy bag at my "normal" gym. This has been done intentionally. Not only do I miss the ring terribly, but, well, I'm just not ready to go back. I don't have headgear with a face guard for regular sparring, I'm out of boxing shape, I don't have a "plan" in place to get back to competing and, frankly, I want to enjoy a few weeks off where I'm fully healthy before I dive back in.
If you're going to go, go all out. I'm not a defensive fighter, so I want to make sure I'm comfortable and at peace with my "new face" before squaring off again. I won't be effective if all I'm thinking about is how to not have my nose get grazed by a glove. Similarly, I'm not a wannabe competitor, so I don't want to rush back and aimlessly plod through half-ass workouts. Like my recovery, when I get back to boxing I want to get back at it "right."
And right now I'm still technically recovering. Just biding my time along the long road to recovery...
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Pre-Surgery Musings
Before I begin with this short little post, I want to remind you all to (if you haven't already) check out my previous entry. It was a more-than-appropriate "final" event before my upcoming competitive hiatus - a sort of peak before I plateau for a bit.
In a few hours, I'll check-in to have surgery to have a deviated septum and some mangled bones and cartilage in my nose fixed. As I've noted here before, I've been virtually unable to breathe through my nose for a few months. (And before that, I was getting sinus infections way too often, and before that my nose would bleed when someone blew in my general direction from down the block - point being, who knows how long this has been getting more and more messed up.) With a slight lull in the upcoming bout schedule, no airplane flights scheduled for over a month and the holidays behind me, I figured now was as good of a time as any to get it fixed.
Recovery time seems to vary. I'm supposed to go 2 weeks (I'm going to use business weeks) without "working out," including not lifting anything over 25 lbs. or bending over at the waist. I'm supposed to stay out of the cold, dry air as much as possible too.
I foresee two "problems." First, no one is saying "absolutely do nothing physical." They're saying "you'll risk a nosebleed" or "well, if you're going to run, I'd recommend you do it inside." I'm all about doing this the right way and healing without any complications, but at the same time, well, I'm a workout-aholic. I think everything will be more clear based on how I'm feeling early next week - then I'll decide whether I want to start small on the exercise bike or with 5 lb. dumbbells or something to keep my heart rate and blood pressure low (and most importantly, my aching nose happy.) But no matter what, I need to make sure I absolutely don't do too much too soon and have any setbacks.
The other problem is that this is resulting in an indefinite absence from the competitive side of boxing. I'm by no means hanging up my gloves - it's only 2 weeks before I'll be starting to work back up to full speed again. The problem is that it will likely be, well, who knows how long before I feel comfortable enough to put the headgear on and step back into the ring. Even though I'm going to order one of those models of headgear that have the bar across your nose/mouth that the pros use when sparring in training camp, I don't ever want to have to battle a mental block fearing that my nose could again gradually be getting messed up over time. Besides, you can't do anything extra to truly protect your face in a sanctioned bout.
The bottom line: I am not finished boxing - not even this month. But I do not want to (and God willing will not have to) have surgery again.
I had considered drafting some prose here that outlined all the things I'll miss about the ring. But then I realized that not only is that a bit melodramatic and even cliche...but unnecessary. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be back, and perhaps much sooner rather than later.
The road to recovery starts tomorrow. And in the context of all the other challenges I've had to overcome during my amateur boxing career, this road doesn't seem so bad.
Keep swingin'. Talk to y'all in a few days.
In a few hours, I'll check-in to have surgery to have a deviated septum and some mangled bones and cartilage in my nose fixed. As I've noted here before, I've been virtually unable to breathe through my nose for a few months. (And before that, I was getting sinus infections way too often, and before that my nose would bleed when someone blew in my general direction from down the block - point being, who knows how long this has been getting more and more messed up.) With a slight lull in the upcoming bout schedule, no airplane flights scheduled for over a month and the holidays behind me, I figured now was as good of a time as any to get it fixed.
Recovery time seems to vary. I'm supposed to go 2 weeks (I'm going to use business weeks) without "working out," including not lifting anything over 25 lbs. or bending over at the waist. I'm supposed to stay out of the cold, dry air as much as possible too.
I foresee two "problems." First, no one is saying "absolutely do nothing physical." They're saying "you'll risk a nosebleed" or "well, if you're going to run, I'd recommend you do it inside." I'm all about doing this the right way and healing without any complications, but at the same time, well, I'm a workout-aholic. I think everything will be more clear based on how I'm feeling early next week - then I'll decide whether I want to start small on the exercise bike or with 5 lb. dumbbells or something to keep my heart rate and blood pressure low (and most importantly, my aching nose happy.) But no matter what, I need to make sure I absolutely don't do too much too soon and have any setbacks.
The other problem is that this is resulting in an indefinite absence from the competitive side of boxing. I'm by no means hanging up my gloves - it's only 2 weeks before I'll be starting to work back up to full speed again. The problem is that it will likely be, well, who knows how long before I feel comfortable enough to put the headgear on and step back into the ring. Even though I'm going to order one of those models of headgear that have the bar across your nose/mouth that the pros use when sparring in training camp, I don't ever want to have to battle a mental block fearing that my nose could again gradually be getting messed up over time. Besides, you can't do anything extra to truly protect your face in a sanctioned bout.
The bottom line: I am not finished boxing - not even this month. But I do not want to (and God willing will not have to) have surgery again.
I had considered drafting some prose here that outlined all the things I'll miss about the ring. But then I realized that not only is that a bit melodramatic and even cliche...but unnecessary. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be back, and perhaps much sooner rather than later.
The road to recovery starts tomorrow. And in the context of all the other challenges I've had to overcome during my amateur boxing career, this road doesn't seem so bad.
Keep swingin'. Talk to y'all in a few days.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
NESN Fight Night Finale
With a only a week to prepare between my sanctioned bout in Billerica and the exhibition being recorded as the season finale for the reality show on NESN, I had to strike an impromptu balance between resting, maintaining and training. I had peaked the previous Saturday (as planned) but was definitely a little tired and sore the days after - but per usual, there was no rest for the weary and the televised bout at week's end was arguably bigger than the sanctioned one that had just passed.
Come Monday when I started thinking about the ring again, my biggest concern was an achy jaw. In my 8+ years of boxing, my jaw honestly has never hurt, but a few stiff uppercuts had changed that and made it pretty creaky. Some light sparring later in the week did nothing to aggravate it, but even the lightest contact confirmed that it was sensitive.
The week passed with me surrounding a rigorous workout and some sparring around two lighter, non-contact sessions. With the fight at a catch weight, I was able to sleep, eat and hydrate as much as I wanted, which definitely helped with recovery.
With the bout on a Friday - which, as I've whined about a lot on here, is my least favorite day to fight given the whole 8-6 work thing - I spent the hours leading up to the fight, well, doing the 8-6 work thing. I walked over to the gym after work "per usual," treating the fight night like just another night working out in my 2nd office.
With the knowledge that amateur events never start on time and televised events run even later, I made myself comfortable in the locker room. 15 minutes past the original start time turned to 30 and eventually an hour passed without a new ETA. As a NESN camera started asking me generic questions about whether or not I was ready, a fight sheet was finally posted...and my trainer informed me I was up 2nd. And the 1st fight was beginning immediately.
Like the Billerica fight, I didn't have any time to waste revving my engines - I needed to get loose in a hurry and my hands weren't even wrapped. In retrospect, the fire-drill warm-up might have had its perks, such as keeping me relaxed and limiting my time to meander around and wear myself out by "over-warming up." At the time though, it was a bit stressful multi-tasking (wrapping my hands while I stretched my hammies, fumbling with my headgear as I worked the kinks out of my back) and making it to my corner before the opening bell.
But alas, as always, things fell into place and I was able to get a (sorry excuse for a) sweat worked up before the bell rang, and had a piece of advice to boot. As with most of my bouts, I hadn't ever fought my opponent before, but a training partner had faced him before. And the scouting report? "He's a lefty...throws a lot of left hands...just stay away from his left hand and you'll be fine."
So, well, there was that insight...
The cameras didn't really add to any different feel or nervousness, both internally as well as the larger gym atmosphere. I was on my home turf and feeling good as I touched gloves with my opponent. True to the scouting report, he started off throwing lots of individual punches, with the majority of them being straight lefts. He was a strong kid but was at noticeable disadvantages in the speed and work-rate departments. Aside from an early straight left that clipped my jaw and reminded me that it had been hurting all week, my opponent really didn't do much in the first round besides eat my jabs and straight rights as I felt him out and gained confidence (and momentum) with each passing second. As the bell rang, I saw no reason why I couldn't keep feeding him the same, steady diet of lead rights between his hands for the remaining 2/3 of the bout and coast.
The 2nd round began with my opponent bull rushing me, yet (oddly) continuing to throw punches at a slow rate, with most of them now directed to my body. The vast majority of his body shots didn't land, and I was able to use some good angles to land some crisp counter hooks over his lowered hands. In close and low - but not throwing punches - neutralized my right hand, but resulted in my opponent spending the majority of the round bent over at the waist or in an awkward squat, crowding himself below my waist and slowing his punch output to a crawl.
But while his punch output slowed as he ducked/bent/squatted into me from all angles, he upped his pushing and cheap-shot activities. Perhaps frustrated at his ineffectiveness (both in the 1st round as well as his bumbling 2nd round adjustments) or just tired of getting hit so cleanly so often, my opponent apparently seemed to have no choice but to start fighting dirty.
And not dirty in a "thumb your eye, sneak an elbow in, hit you low, wear you out and rough you up" sort of way. No, this was dirty in the "I'm a punk with Daddy issues that's going to wrestle/push/hip-toss my way out of clinches, throw punches after the ref steps in for a break, and flagrantly hit you low...because I'm helpless to do anything else to you" sort of way.
The kind of dirty that got the crowd fired up, groaning and cheering even louder for me.
The kind of dirty that didn't make me angry, but confident - or rather, cocky.
I had never been so sure of anything in my life than that the kid had nothing on me. And after 2 rounds, he knew it too. He knew it and was helpless to do anything but get even more frustrated, spiraling into a (frankly) pathetic, desperate fit in the ring.
So as I came out of my corner for Round 3...I smiled. I winked. I added a little "eff-you" to my jabs, pounced inside behind my lead rights and flurried, and made sure to give the kid an earful whenever we were in close to tell him who's boss.
I'm all about sportsmanship - but I'm also about putting someone in their place in my ring.
Through it all, my opponent continued to wait to land one, single big punch at a time (and he's still waiting) and kept routinely keeling his upper-body below my waist, awkwardly clinching low and then shoving his way out.
In the waning seconds of the bout, I had him on the ropes and was calmly working over his body - chin-tucked, shoulder rolled, methodically landing the body-body-body-bodies you throw 100000's of every week - when he quit struggling and lifted his arms above his hands, encouraging me to keep hitting his body.
Ah, the ultimate concession: "you're hitting me so much that all I can do is take it and convince you they don't hurt."
Which was fine by me.
So after a few pitter-patter body shots, I did the only decent thing: I came upstairs and hit him right between his raised arms.
I don't care whether you're boxing, brawling or showboating - if you stick your chin out, I'm going to hit it.
And while I didn't knock him down (ah, if only it was circa Toney/Jones Jr.) the ref stepped in - whether because he saw he was hurt or simply wanted to tell him again to knock off his shenanigans.
Upon hearing cries of "10 seconds left" from my corner, I was more than happy to pounce on the kid again, landing a number of punches in a flurry and - just before the final bell - knocking his headgear clean off his (fat) head with an uppercut.
The bell rang and the ref stepped in...just in time for my opponent to hit me after the bell one, final time - his nose bloodies and headgear on the canvas. I couldn't help but just laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, shake my head and walk to my corner, completely satisfied by just how far I had risen above his awkward, bush-league tactics. It was a boxing 101 seminar. And on TV, no less.
My opponent didn't even stick around for the obligatory hand-raise in the middle of the ring - he just bee-lined it back to the locker room (or whatever sad, sorry hole he crawled out of).
After the fight, my gymmates gave me fist pounds and nods of approval, while some of my friends squawked and were more fired up than me, re-emphasizing just how cheap and sorry my opponent was. Fortunately, I was able to just laugh and tell them to shrug it off too - I couldn't have done anything more to beat the kid pillar to post.
Or rather, box him pillar to post. And that's what it was, and that's what's most satisfying; not the lights or the crowd or the machismo, but having your hard work pay-off and being in "that fight," being that guy who had everyone talking about what a clinic a boxer over a brawler can be.
'Tis a beautiful thing, the sweet science.
And if you don't believe me (or the crowd, or my friends, or my opponent's blood that I had to wash off my arms and trunks) you can see it on the "Boston Boxing" season finale on NESN.
Or better yet, check out the Allston-Brighton Tab's coverage of the event (namely picture 6):
For those of you who didn't click through, the newspaper's caption reads: "John Moreland of Boston Boxing connects with a right uppercut to the face of his outclassed opponent Joe Parina of Quincy PAL during the filming of a new reality TV show on NESN at the Boston Boxing gym in Allston on Friday."
Ah, to be a famous amateur boxer... albeit have your name misspelled.
Lessons learned:
- You should always strive to dominate your opponent enough that even the newspaper says you outclassed him. That way there's no questions or doubts in your mind - or the crowd's, your opponent's, the public's, or most importantly, the judges' minds either.
- Patience, smarts and savvy trump dirty boxing 99 times out of 100.
- If you're fighting a southpaw, lead rights down the shoot are your best friend.
- Wear a cup.
- Respect your opponent, but most importantly, respect the sport. Boxing has a funny way of weeding out (or at the very least, making examples of) those who enter the ring for the wrong reasons.
And that friends, was my 2009 boxing highlight. And I can't wait to record it and keep re-living it.
Come Monday when I started thinking about the ring again, my biggest concern was an achy jaw. In my 8+ years of boxing, my jaw honestly has never hurt, but a few stiff uppercuts had changed that and made it pretty creaky. Some light sparring later in the week did nothing to aggravate it, but even the lightest contact confirmed that it was sensitive.
The week passed with me surrounding a rigorous workout and some sparring around two lighter, non-contact sessions. With the fight at a catch weight, I was able to sleep, eat and hydrate as much as I wanted, which definitely helped with recovery.
With the bout on a Friday - which, as I've whined about a lot on here, is my least favorite day to fight given the whole 8-6 work thing - I spent the hours leading up to the fight, well, doing the 8-6 work thing. I walked over to the gym after work "per usual," treating the fight night like just another night working out in my 2nd office.
With the knowledge that amateur events never start on time and televised events run even later, I made myself comfortable in the locker room. 15 minutes past the original start time turned to 30 and eventually an hour passed without a new ETA. As a NESN camera started asking me generic questions about whether or not I was ready, a fight sheet was finally posted...and my trainer informed me I was up 2nd. And the 1st fight was beginning immediately.
Like the Billerica fight, I didn't have any time to waste revving my engines - I needed to get loose in a hurry and my hands weren't even wrapped. In retrospect, the fire-drill warm-up might have had its perks, such as keeping me relaxed and limiting my time to meander around and wear myself out by "over-warming up." At the time though, it was a bit stressful multi-tasking (wrapping my hands while I stretched my hammies, fumbling with my headgear as I worked the kinks out of my back) and making it to my corner before the opening bell.
But alas, as always, things fell into place and I was able to get a (sorry excuse for a) sweat worked up before the bell rang, and had a piece of advice to boot. As with most of my bouts, I hadn't ever fought my opponent before, but a training partner had faced him before. And the scouting report? "He's a lefty...throws a lot of left hands...just stay away from his left hand and you'll be fine."
So, well, there was that insight...
The cameras didn't really add to any different feel or nervousness, both internally as well as the larger gym atmosphere. I was on my home turf and feeling good as I touched gloves with my opponent. True to the scouting report, he started off throwing lots of individual punches, with the majority of them being straight lefts. He was a strong kid but was at noticeable disadvantages in the speed and work-rate departments. Aside from an early straight left that clipped my jaw and reminded me that it had been hurting all week, my opponent really didn't do much in the first round besides eat my jabs and straight rights as I felt him out and gained confidence (and momentum) with each passing second. As the bell rang, I saw no reason why I couldn't keep feeding him the same, steady diet of lead rights between his hands for the remaining 2/3 of the bout and coast.
The 2nd round began with my opponent bull rushing me, yet (oddly) continuing to throw punches at a slow rate, with most of them now directed to my body. The vast majority of his body shots didn't land, and I was able to use some good angles to land some crisp counter hooks over his lowered hands. In close and low - but not throwing punches - neutralized my right hand, but resulted in my opponent spending the majority of the round bent over at the waist or in an awkward squat, crowding himself below my waist and slowing his punch output to a crawl.
But while his punch output slowed as he ducked/bent/squatted into me from all angles, he upped his pushing and cheap-shot activities. Perhaps frustrated at his ineffectiveness (both in the 1st round as well as his bumbling 2nd round adjustments) or just tired of getting hit so cleanly so often, my opponent apparently seemed to have no choice but to start fighting dirty.
And not dirty in a "thumb your eye, sneak an elbow in, hit you low, wear you out and rough you up" sort of way. No, this was dirty in the "I'm a punk with Daddy issues that's going to wrestle/push/hip-toss my way out of clinches, throw punches after the ref steps in for a break, and flagrantly hit you low...because I'm helpless to do anything else to you" sort of way.
The kind of dirty that got the crowd fired up, groaning and cheering even louder for me.
The kind of dirty that didn't make me angry, but confident - or rather, cocky.
I had never been so sure of anything in my life than that the kid had nothing on me. And after 2 rounds, he knew it too. He knew it and was helpless to do anything but get even more frustrated, spiraling into a (frankly) pathetic, desperate fit in the ring.
So as I came out of my corner for Round 3...I smiled. I winked. I added a little "eff-you" to my jabs, pounced inside behind my lead rights and flurried, and made sure to give the kid an earful whenever we were in close to tell him who's boss.
I'm all about sportsmanship - but I'm also about putting someone in their place in my ring.
Through it all, my opponent continued to wait to land one, single big punch at a time (and he's still waiting) and kept routinely keeling his upper-body below my waist, awkwardly clinching low and then shoving his way out.
In the waning seconds of the bout, I had him on the ropes and was calmly working over his body - chin-tucked, shoulder rolled, methodically landing the body-body-body-bodies you throw 100000's of every week - when he quit struggling and lifted his arms above his hands, encouraging me to keep hitting his body.
Ah, the ultimate concession: "you're hitting me so much that all I can do is take it and convince you they don't hurt."
Which was fine by me.
So after a few pitter-patter body shots, I did the only decent thing: I came upstairs and hit him right between his raised arms.
I don't care whether you're boxing, brawling or showboating - if you stick your chin out, I'm going to hit it.
And while I didn't knock him down (ah, if only it was circa Toney/Jones Jr.) the ref stepped in - whether because he saw he was hurt or simply wanted to tell him again to knock off his shenanigans.
Upon hearing cries of "10 seconds left" from my corner, I was more than happy to pounce on the kid again, landing a number of punches in a flurry and - just before the final bell - knocking his headgear clean off his (fat) head with an uppercut.
The bell rang and the ref stepped in...just in time for my opponent to hit me after the bell one, final time - his nose bloodies and headgear on the canvas. I couldn't help but just laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, shake my head and walk to my corner, completely satisfied by just how far I had risen above his awkward, bush-league tactics. It was a boxing 101 seminar. And on TV, no less.
My opponent didn't even stick around for the obligatory hand-raise in the middle of the ring - he just bee-lined it back to the locker room (or whatever sad, sorry hole he crawled out of).
After the fight, my gymmates gave me fist pounds and nods of approval, while some of my friends squawked and were more fired up than me, re-emphasizing just how cheap and sorry my opponent was. Fortunately, I was able to just laugh and tell them to shrug it off too - I couldn't have done anything more to beat the kid pillar to post.
Or rather, box him pillar to post. And that's what it was, and that's what's most satisfying; not the lights or the crowd or the machismo, but having your hard work pay-off and being in "that fight," being that guy who had everyone talking about what a clinic a boxer over a brawler can be.
'Tis a beautiful thing, the sweet science.
And if you don't believe me (or the crowd, or my friends, or my opponent's blood that I had to wash off my arms and trunks) you can see it on the "Boston Boxing" season finale on NESN.
Or better yet, check out the Allston-Brighton Tab's coverage of the event (namely picture 6):
For those of you who didn't click through, the newspaper's caption reads: "John Moreland of Boston Boxing connects with a right uppercut to the face of his outclassed opponent Joe Parina of Quincy PAL during the filming of a new reality TV show on NESN at the Boston Boxing gym in Allston on Friday."
Ah, to be a famous amateur boxer... albeit have your name misspelled.
Lessons learned:
- You should always strive to dominate your opponent enough that even the newspaper says you outclassed him. That way there's no questions or doubts in your mind - or the crowd's, your opponent's, the public's, or most importantly, the judges' minds either.
- Patience, smarts and savvy trump dirty boxing 99 times out of 100.
- If you're fighting a southpaw, lead rights down the shoot are your best friend.
- Wear a cup.
- Respect your opponent, but most importantly, respect the sport. Boxing has a funny way of weeding out (or at the very least, making examples of) those who enter the ring for the wrong reasons.
And that friends, was my 2009 boxing highlight. And I can't wait to record it and keep re-living it.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Billerica Elks
Man, bad timing to get uber-busy and neglect updating this - especially since these past two weeks have had a lot going on in the squared circle. Funny how that works...
So to backtrack to my last post... I fought a sanctioned bout at the Billerica Elks Lodge (don't laugh! It was a legit venue with a solid crowd) a few Saturdays ago. Per usual since my move up to 152 lbs., I made weight with ease, stepping off the scale at 148. Mind you, up to the 5 p.m. weigh-in the only food/water I had up to that point was a Powerbar and banana for breakfast, but like all same day weigh-ins, I'm adamant about clearing the weight limit with ease so I can spend the hours leading up to the fight re-hydrating rather than further de-hydrating and wasting energy cutting the last few pounds.
As I was munching on some wheat pasta, my trainer informed me that my opponent was pulling out because I was "too old." (He was 18, I'm 24.) When I asked if it was a mismatch by record or weight (how amateur fights are made) my trainer said no - it was solely about the age difference. As he confirmed and re-confirmed with the USA Boxing officials that I wasn't fighting, we debated the idiocy of my "opponent's" decision to show but not fight (from the drive out to the boonies in a blizzard, to the question of "if this was a tournament would this clown bow out of that because of age too?") and came to the conclusion...that no matter how you looked at it, this was lame.
Just as I had come to peace with the fact that I wasn't fighting that night and started to cool my heels, my trainer came back and said they found a fight...and I was up second.
Mentally I went from a slow ramp-up to slamming on the brakes to revving the engine again within the same hour - you can't underestimate the mental disadvantage that can put you at.
Regardless, when it's go-time you go, and I was rearing and ready for the opening bell.
My opponent was a strong, block-shaped (in an endearing way) kid from Lowell that seemed to throw nothing but jabs and uppercuts - quite effectively at first - and had a tendency to hold. A lot. Unfortunately, I didn't find any of this out until about 2/3 of the way through the 1st round. It was already a fairly ugly fight, but I knew I had the speed, strength and strategy advantage, so I made sure to out-ugly him and ended the round up on points.
At this point, I forget exactly what my trainer said between the 1st and 2nd rounds, but I know the gist of it was to quit fighting ugly and make the kid box me in the center of the ring, where I was doing nothing short of schooling him.
But alas, the 2nd round was the same as the 1st, where just as I found my range and landed some flush shots, the kid got on his horse and backpedaled, I chased, and we ended up being tied up on the ropes until the ref broke us up. While my opponent did land a few strong uppercuts in close quarters, I really started pulling away on points by staying busy as he backpedaled, throwing pitter-patter shots at a high rate. While I know all of my shots weren't hurting him, I knew I was scoring points in bunches. And that's really all that matters.
You had to have seen it - it was so ugly, it was beautiful.
Seriously.
Between rounds, my trainer again yelled at me for getting in so close all the time and letting him 'rassle around with me, but said that when I did get tied up to keep doing what I was doing - which was stay busy, keep throwing and score points regardless of distance/arm angle/anything worth writing home about.
In the 3rd round my opponent came out of his corner completely flat. I don't know how he gassed so badly, but I'm glad he did and I'm happy to take credit for it. Tired, his jab slowed and uppercuts widened, which allowed me to beat him to the punch, parry and consistently land some flush jabs and hooks. This also resulted in him skipping the whole in-fighting thing and go straight for tie-ups whenever possible...as well as throw an errant body shot that landed low.
Now for those of you who have never been hit low in the ring, I gotta tell ya, it's a..."unique" experience, to say the least. Yes, we've all been hit low before, and yes, hurts like hell, and yes, I was wearing a cup. And while it sucks something awful, I must admit that I underestimated the numbing power of adrenaline, as well as the surreal sensation you get when you realize that you're the subject of a few hundred people's groans and cringes.
After the low blow, the ref led me to a neutral corner and sheepishly told me "I didn't see it, but take your time." Bent over with a glove awkwardly on my crotch, I looked up and exclaimed "didn't see it?! Did you hear the crowd?! They saw it..." He laughed and said "Yeah, I heard 'em, that's why I'm giving it to you."
Nice guy, that ref.
As I kneeled there waiting for the electricity in my trunks to subside, I looked across the ring and saw my opponent sucking wind. And it was at that point that I knew I needed to suck it up and finish the fight that instant - every second I spent recovering was wasted, as my opponent somehow was needing the time more than me.
We touched gloves, my opponent nodded apologetically, and I went back to work. I finished the fight strong, working my way in with an increasingly effective jab and pouncing with flurries, sticking to my strategy of shortening my arms and just landing short, "torquey" punches in bunches. Think the Calzaghe/Manfredo stoppage.
The bell rang, we congratulated one another and our respective corners, my trainer pointed out how "if you lose this decision, I'm going to be really pissed," and I went to the middle of the ring...to have "Jonathan Moreland" called over the PA and my hand raised.
But the best part? The ref handed me this bad boy:
And they ended up sticking this on my gym's homepage (why, oh why does no one get my name right?)
So the lessons learned:
- if you want to fight at a certain distance, keep it at all times - your opponent might easily not let you "get out" and keep re-establishing that distance naturally (without a tie-up and the ref breaking and restarting the action first)
- there is a time and place to stop what you're doing and let your nuts quit hurting - when your opponent is gassed in the final round of a fight is not one of them
- if your opponent is going to fight ugly, make sure you have the composure to "out-ugly" him
- it's all about the points, baby. And the W.
- it's more fun to when you get hardware and an online shout out
So while the celebration was on, I only had a few days to rest, recover and (re-) prepare for my next bout, which was that upcoming Friday for the filming of the season finale of my gym's NESN reality TV series.
No rest for the weary...
So to backtrack to my last post... I fought a sanctioned bout at the Billerica Elks Lodge (don't laugh! It was a legit venue with a solid crowd) a few Saturdays ago. Per usual since my move up to 152 lbs., I made weight with ease, stepping off the scale at 148. Mind you, up to the 5 p.m. weigh-in the only food/water I had up to that point was a Powerbar and banana for breakfast, but like all same day weigh-ins, I'm adamant about clearing the weight limit with ease so I can spend the hours leading up to the fight re-hydrating rather than further de-hydrating and wasting energy cutting the last few pounds.
As I was munching on some wheat pasta, my trainer informed me that my opponent was pulling out because I was "too old." (He was 18, I'm 24.) When I asked if it was a mismatch by record or weight (how amateur fights are made) my trainer said no - it was solely about the age difference. As he confirmed and re-confirmed with the USA Boxing officials that I wasn't fighting, we debated the idiocy of my "opponent's" decision to show but not fight (from the drive out to the boonies in a blizzard, to the question of "if this was a tournament would this clown bow out of that because of age too?") and came to the conclusion...that no matter how you looked at it, this was lame.
Just as I had come to peace with the fact that I wasn't fighting that night and started to cool my heels, my trainer came back and said they found a fight...and I was up second.
Mentally I went from a slow ramp-up to slamming on the brakes to revving the engine again within the same hour - you can't underestimate the mental disadvantage that can put you at.
Regardless, when it's go-time you go, and I was rearing and ready for the opening bell.
My opponent was a strong, block-shaped (in an endearing way) kid from Lowell that seemed to throw nothing but jabs and uppercuts - quite effectively at first - and had a tendency to hold. A lot. Unfortunately, I didn't find any of this out until about 2/3 of the way through the 1st round. It was already a fairly ugly fight, but I knew I had the speed, strength and strategy advantage, so I made sure to out-ugly him and ended the round up on points.
At this point, I forget exactly what my trainer said between the 1st and 2nd rounds, but I know the gist of it was to quit fighting ugly and make the kid box me in the center of the ring, where I was doing nothing short of schooling him.
But alas, the 2nd round was the same as the 1st, where just as I found my range and landed some flush shots, the kid got on his horse and backpedaled, I chased, and we ended up being tied up on the ropes until the ref broke us up. While my opponent did land a few strong uppercuts in close quarters, I really started pulling away on points by staying busy as he backpedaled, throwing pitter-patter shots at a high rate. While I know all of my shots weren't hurting him, I knew I was scoring points in bunches. And that's really all that matters.
You had to have seen it - it was so ugly, it was beautiful.
Seriously.
Between rounds, my trainer again yelled at me for getting in so close all the time and letting him 'rassle around with me, but said that when I did get tied up to keep doing what I was doing - which was stay busy, keep throwing and score points regardless of distance/arm angle/anything worth writing home about.
In the 3rd round my opponent came out of his corner completely flat. I don't know how he gassed so badly, but I'm glad he did and I'm happy to take credit for it. Tired, his jab slowed and uppercuts widened, which allowed me to beat him to the punch, parry and consistently land some flush jabs and hooks. This also resulted in him skipping the whole in-fighting thing and go straight for tie-ups whenever possible...as well as throw an errant body shot that landed low.
Now for those of you who have never been hit low in the ring, I gotta tell ya, it's a..."unique" experience, to say the least. Yes, we've all been hit low before, and yes, hurts like hell, and yes, I was wearing a cup. And while it sucks something awful, I must admit that I underestimated the numbing power of adrenaline, as well as the surreal sensation you get when you realize that you're the subject of a few hundred people's groans and cringes.
After the low blow, the ref led me to a neutral corner and sheepishly told me "I didn't see it, but take your time." Bent over with a glove awkwardly on my crotch, I looked up and exclaimed "didn't see it?! Did you hear the crowd?! They saw it..." He laughed and said "Yeah, I heard 'em, that's why I'm giving it to you."
Nice guy, that ref.
As I kneeled there waiting for the electricity in my trunks to subside, I looked across the ring and saw my opponent sucking wind. And it was at that point that I knew I needed to suck it up and finish the fight that instant - every second I spent recovering was wasted, as my opponent somehow was needing the time more than me.
We touched gloves, my opponent nodded apologetically, and I went back to work. I finished the fight strong, working my way in with an increasingly effective jab and pouncing with flurries, sticking to my strategy of shortening my arms and just landing short, "torquey" punches in bunches. Think the Calzaghe/Manfredo stoppage.
The bell rang, we congratulated one another and our respective corners, my trainer pointed out how "if you lose this decision, I'm going to be really pissed," and I went to the middle of the ring...to have "Jonathan Moreland" called over the PA and my hand raised.
But the best part? The ref handed me this bad boy:
And they ended up sticking this on my gym's homepage (why, oh why does no one get my name right?)
So the lessons learned:
- if you want to fight at a certain distance, keep it at all times - your opponent might easily not let you "get out" and keep re-establishing that distance naturally (without a tie-up and the ref breaking and restarting the action first)
- there is a time and place to stop what you're doing and let your nuts quit hurting - when your opponent is gassed in the final round of a fight is not one of them
- if your opponent is going to fight ugly, make sure you have the composure to "out-ugly" him
- it's all about the points, baby. And the W.
- it's more fun to when you get hardware and an online shout out
So while the celebration was on, I only had a few days to rest, recover and (re-) prepare for my next bout, which was that upcoming Friday for the filming of the season finale of my gym's NESN reality TV series.
No rest for the weary...
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Pre-fight Bullets
Some random thoughts as I cool my heels before my bout tonight:
- My least favorite time to fight is Saturday night. This might seem a bit counter-intuitive since Saturday evening events usually are much more high-profile and have bigger draws, but it's miserable sitting around waiting to weigh-in, let alone keep my (hungry, dehydrated) self occupied in my apartment. Regardless, I love boxing and competing on a big, amateur stage. Just in the meanwhile, I'm a little uncomfortable and restless.
By the way, the alternative "good" times are Friday nights (leave straight from the office where I've been busy and had my mind elsewhere all day) or Saturday afternoons, when I can end my fasting immediately after a mid-day weigh-in.
A Powerbar, ziplock of wheat pasta and banana (my bounty after tonight's weigh-in) never looked so good...
- I tried the Roberto Duran approach and ate a huge steak last night. Usually I'm much more of a chicken or tuna type of person for my pre-fight meal, but the old school greats stuck with cow, so I figured I'd give it a whirl. Anyone know the pros/cons of different proteins before a fight? Meat's meat to me, and I always eat it with whole grains, veggies and all sorts of good complex carbs, so as far as I'm concerned I'm still getting the nutrients I need.
- There's no worse feeling than taking work home from the office on a weekend - namely due to having a scheduled day off on a Friday. So between counting every calorie or drop of liquid that enters my body, I've also had to spend a bit more time than I'd like on my laptop on said staycation/long weekend. But such is life...and the nature of this blog.
New nickname idea: the punching PR pro. It's only fitting, since life's been more than equal parts lately.
- I'm disappointed I'm going to miss the Williams/Martinez fight tonight, but hopefully can avoid spoilers by browsing online carefully until Monday. It should be a great fight. Anyone watching? Well you shouldn't, the big fight tonight is in Billerica, MA...
- My least favorite time to fight is Saturday night. This might seem a bit counter-intuitive since Saturday evening events usually are much more high-profile and have bigger draws, but it's miserable sitting around waiting to weigh-in, let alone keep my (hungry, dehydrated) self occupied in my apartment. Regardless, I love boxing and competing on a big, amateur stage. Just in the meanwhile, I'm a little uncomfortable and restless.
By the way, the alternative "good" times are Friday nights (leave straight from the office where I've been busy and had my mind elsewhere all day) or Saturday afternoons, when I can end my fasting immediately after a mid-day weigh-in.
A Powerbar, ziplock of wheat pasta and banana (my bounty after tonight's weigh-in) never looked so good...
- I tried the Roberto Duran approach and ate a huge steak last night. Usually I'm much more of a chicken or tuna type of person for my pre-fight meal, but the old school greats stuck with cow, so I figured I'd give it a whirl. Anyone know the pros/cons of different proteins before a fight? Meat's meat to me, and I always eat it with whole grains, veggies and all sorts of good complex carbs, so as far as I'm concerned I'm still getting the nutrients I need.
- There's no worse feeling than taking work home from the office on a weekend - namely due to having a scheduled day off on a Friday. So between counting every calorie or drop of liquid that enters my body, I've also had to spend a bit more time than I'd like on my laptop on said staycation/long weekend. But such is life...and the nature of this blog.
New nickname idea: the punching PR pro. It's only fitting, since life's been more than equal parts lately.
- I'm disappointed I'm going to miss the Williams/Martinez fight tonight, but hopefully can avoid spoilers by browsing online carefully until Monday. It should be a great fight. Anyone watching? Well you shouldn't, the big fight tonight is in Billerica, MA...
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Trying to keep up - pt 2 of 2
Aside from consistency, the major thing missing from my training regimen the past few months has been getting different looks sparring. There are quite a few bodies in my gym, but too many of them are cut from the same mold, whether it be size, style or a lack of experience (or just flat out skill - let’s be honest.)
Now while this can be easily remedied by, say, going to a different gym to spar for a day, increasing rounds but slowing the pace with a “newbie” to fine-tune technique and try new stuff, or making sure you’ve mastered an attack plan for a particular style through repetition, there are some molds/types/styles that you just can’t get used to unless you see it early and often.
Southpaws often need “approached” like this. There aren’t a ton of them out there and they give lots of people problems in the ring from, well, squaring up “backwards.” If you don’t have a lot of experience with them, they’re bound to give you problems or - best case - take you out of your element and force you to fight differently than you would against an orthodox fighter, even if it’s an adjustment as simple as the direction you circle.
Having said that, over time I’ve learned not to completely hate lefties. Rounds and rounds of sparring and countless (thudding) left hands have made me quit thinking “oops, I need to quit doing that” after the fact and be able to step into the ring knowing how to best counter and attack a lefty.
Where’s this leading? Well it ties into last post’s question about tall, rangy fighters.
Because last week I learned that I haven’t spent nearly enough rounds with taller fighters lately.
And I still am not even close to figuring them out.
Tall fighters are not tough automatically because of their height - they're tough when they use that height and create an advantage. And this isn't just purely by reach, but also defensively through shoulder rolls, slips, leans and just good all-around, defensive upper body movement.
My recent experience was with a super slick, lanky 152-lber from another gym who came in for some work. While I had some early success getting inside, neutralizing his height and banging with him, he moved well enough and fired off enough jabs that I (stupidly, out of frustration) tried to start jabbing with him and fighting at a distance.
Which is not smart when you're facing a finesse fighter with a 4-5" height advantage.
In the end, we moved around 4 rounds, with me kicking his tail on the inside for the first 60 seconds...and then him picking me apart for the last 120 of each round.
Lesson learned. Get inside early and get comfy there - his arms don't seem so long close-up.
This sparring, of course, was part of my training for my sanctioned bout this Saturday, 12/5, which is still confirmed. While I don't feel like (rather, I know I'm not) in the immaculate condition I was before my hiatus in October, I've upped my sparring and drills (4-punch drills/exchanges, jab drills, the partner stuff I'm not usually a regular with) and have done what I can with the time and energy allotted. Aside from some big-time trouble breathing because of my crooked shnozz, I think the only think needed now is to keep ramping up my mental preparation and sharpening the chip on my shoulder. And even then, with mental prep comes confidence and relaxation, which will only help my energy and stamina in the ring.
It's all connected, it's all catching up, and it'll all come together beautifully Saturday. It will. Like it always does. For serious.
So long as my opponent's not tall.
Now while this can be easily remedied by, say, going to a different gym to spar for a day, increasing rounds but slowing the pace with a “newbie” to fine-tune technique and try new stuff, or making sure you’ve mastered an attack plan for a particular style through repetition, there are some molds/types/styles that you just can’t get used to unless you see it early and often.
Southpaws often need “approached” like this. There aren’t a ton of them out there and they give lots of people problems in the ring from, well, squaring up “backwards.” If you don’t have a lot of experience with them, they’re bound to give you problems or - best case - take you out of your element and force you to fight differently than you would against an orthodox fighter, even if it’s an adjustment as simple as the direction you circle.
Having said that, over time I’ve learned not to completely hate lefties. Rounds and rounds of sparring and countless (thudding) left hands have made me quit thinking “oops, I need to quit doing that” after the fact and be able to step into the ring knowing how to best counter and attack a lefty.
Where’s this leading? Well it ties into last post’s question about tall, rangy fighters.
Because last week I learned that I haven’t spent nearly enough rounds with taller fighters lately.
And I still am not even close to figuring them out.
Tall fighters are not tough automatically because of their height - they're tough when they use that height and create an advantage. And this isn't just purely by reach, but also defensively through shoulder rolls, slips, leans and just good all-around, defensive upper body movement.
My recent experience was with a super slick, lanky 152-lber from another gym who came in for some work. While I had some early success getting inside, neutralizing his height and banging with him, he moved well enough and fired off enough jabs that I (stupidly, out of frustration) tried to start jabbing with him and fighting at a distance.
Which is not smart when you're facing a finesse fighter with a 4-5" height advantage.
In the end, we moved around 4 rounds, with me kicking his tail on the inside for the first 60 seconds...and then him picking me apart for the last 120 of each round.
Lesson learned. Get inside early and get comfy there - his arms don't seem so long close-up.
This sparring, of course, was part of my training for my sanctioned bout this Saturday, 12/5, which is still confirmed. While I don't feel like (rather, I know I'm not) in the immaculate condition I was before my hiatus in October, I've upped my sparring and drills (4-punch drills/exchanges, jab drills, the partner stuff I'm not usually a regular with) and have done what I can with the time and energy allotted. Aside from some big-time trouble breathing because of my crooked shnozz, I think the only think needed now is to keep ramping up my mental preparation and sharpening the chip on my shoulder. And even then, with mental prep comes confidence and relaxation, which will only help my energy and stamina in the ring.
It's all connected, it's all catching up, and it'll all come together beautifully Saturday. It will. Like it always does. For serious.
So long as my opponent's not tall.
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