𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

12

elliot carson

I extend my left arm out quickly jabbing the bag in front of me. I repeat this a couple more times, adjusting my position until it feels right.

Punching the bag with my left arm again, I follow it with my right one as I pull the other back, twisting my hips as I do to hit stronger. I repeat the combination again and again until I get the timing perfect.

I then build on it and add a left hook. Jabbing the bag sharply with my left, punching harder with my right and then following it up with a left hook. I go through the motions multiple times, making small changes to my footwork and hand placement as I go along.

My music blasts through my headphones but it isn't enough to distract me from my thoughts.

Boxing has always been an outlet for me, especially while I was growing up. When I was younger I was a wreck; always angry, always looking for a fight, an argument or any type of confrontation. It got bad, I was always suspended or had detention in school, I would argue my parents on anything and leave the house for hours at a time.

One time when I was around fifteen I left my house like usual and ended up walking the streets until late at night. I went into one of the only convenience store that was open to get some snacks, somewhere I went often, and saw a boxing match playing on the small tv. I paused to watch it, fascinated by the sport.

The man who owned the store noticed my interest and offered a ticket to a boxing match happening that weekend. I was skeptical but accepted it anyway.

The weekend came and I found myself stood in some basement under a bar, watching as two men fought each other brutally. It was aggressive don't get me wrong but there was so much respect between the two men, the way they touched gloves at the start of each round and joked with each other more and more as the match went on. It seemed as if they weren't agaisnt each other but instead pushing each other to fight the best they could.

After the match I stuck around for a while, hopping to see the fighters appear in the bar area. Luck must have been on my side that night because after ten minutes the winner of the match appeared at the bar beside me.

"Hey kid." The fighter greeted with a nod of his head. "You like boxing?" He questioned a beat later, turning his full attention to me.

I shrugged my shoulders. "You like fighting." He states, nodding to my bruised knuckles.

"What's the difference?" I asked, pulling my hands closer to my body.

"Fighting the way I'm guessing you do is reckless. Boxing is a very different game kid. You need just as much mental strength as physical. You don't box to hurt people, you fight to hurt people."

I didn't believe him back then.

"Look kid," The man continues "My brother owns a gym, I want you to go there tomorrow morning at six am." He hands me a piece of paper with an address written on it and walks away.

Yeah very cryptic and fucking weird right?

If I knew better I wouldn't have gone but going was the best decision I ever made and I've never been more thankful for not knowing better.

I arrived at this random gym at six o'clock in the fucking morning and met Donnie, the brother of the fighter I'd met the night before. From that day on I went to that gym every morning and most nights, pushing my mind and body.

Turns out the guy at the store who gave me the ticket had been keeping 'track' of me for a while, every time I came into his store after leaving home fuelled with anger. So he set me up to meet a friend of his, the fighter who's name I found out later to be Ross, to see my reaction to the sport and so that he could introduce me to his brother.