I am not a violent person, and I’m not really interested in women’s fighting, but something about boxing speaks to me. Is it weird that I have an inner 200 pound man that wants to break someone’s jaw with his bare hand?
I started boxing more than 15 years ago mainly because I really wanted to hit someone, a specific someone. I still don’t know, if the opportunity arose, that I could do it. But it feels good to imagine. I’ve never trained every day and sometimes a year goes by when I don’t do it at all, but even now, from time to time, I imagine that person’s face as I’m hitting the bag. Boom.
Call me crazy.
The first gym I went to in Philadelphia I was the only white person and the only girl, but no one ever made fun of me; although the trainer there, an old guy named Bobby, did laugh at the size of my wrists. "Look at that!" He circled his thumb and first finger around it with room to spare. He could have crushed my wrist like a used paper cup. Before he taped my hands, before I jumped rope or did any sit-ups, he gave me a name: The Destroyer. If I had made it up myself, it would have been ridiculous, but he made it sound like it was a possibility.
Float like a butterfly, Sting like a bee.
That quote has kind of lost it’s meaning from overuse, but if you really think about it, it's a good motto to live by.
If you're from Philly, you kind of have to have a fighting name.