STRANGER THINGS (WELCOME TO THE UPSIDE-DOWN)

deep thoughts

It doesn't matter who you are or where you're from, in the run-up to any big event you will entertain all sorts of weird and wild thoughts. Random chatter will zip through your head. You'll ride an emotional roller coaster, fluctuating between excitement and anxiety, or being amped up and strung out. One minute you… Continue reading STRANGER THINGS (WELCOME TO THE UPSIDE-DOWN)

TOO MUCH/NOT ENOUGH

too much not enough

I worked at Champs Sports during high school, when being 'too much' or 'not enough' was a thing. When we, as young people, tested learned ideas on each other. We gleefully recycled socialized fallacies about men and women. Notions that were outdated, ignorant, and cutting. Volleyball was my religion at the time. I also ran track and… Continue reading TOO MUCH/NOT ENOUGH

SITTING RINGSIDE, AN INTRODUCTION

sitting ringside

Invisible and silent armies, legions of women are kicking, punching, lifting, elbowing, grappling, and sweating their way across the mat, in the ring, or around the gym. From all backgrounds, ethnicities, and economic classes, we come from every corner of the world. We are made of fire and heavy metals—broken glass, magnetic storms, and grit.… Continue reading SITTING RINGSIDE, AN INTRODUCTION

WE ARE NOT MADE OF GLASS

we are not made of glass

Aside from the dick-pic debacle, I took on boxing to compliment my running game and yoga practice. But another reason involved a riotous 2016 where I fractured into a thousand little pieces. After a year of existing as a glistening storm of jagged and brittle fragments, I longed to put myself back together. I am made… Continue reading WE ARE NOT MADE OF GLASS

ABOUT BEING PRETTY

bicep day

**Trigger warning: narrative contains mention of assault and harassment.** I don't think about being pretty when I enter the gym. Too busy applying a peppermint oil underneath my nostrils, I'm more concerned with blocking out overlapping smells of wet towels, damp canvas, and still-moist gloves that might have three strains of fungus growing inside of… Continue reading ABOUT BEING PRETTY

REALITY CHECK AT SEVEN WEEKS

Final countdown

Reality sets in when you hit week seven. The number is an uncomfortable reminder of how rapidly the days meld into one another. By this point, you liken yourself to a feckless deer at the edge of a clearing—minding your business, looking for cover. But if you are a deer then time is a huntsman.… Continue reading REALITY CHECK AT SEVEN WEEKS

HONEY WHITE (FOR THE LOVE OF EPSOM SALT)

epsom salt

When I was young my father relied on a few staples whenever we fell sick. He claimed these makeshift meds could cure almost anything. They were the ultimate elixirs and potions under the category of 'do-it-yourself' remedies. His primary go-to was bitters, Angostura to be exact. The caramel liquid from the motherland had all kinds of… Continue reading HONEY WHITE (FOR THE LOVE OF EPSOM SALT)

BABY’S FIRST HEADGEAR

headgear women boxing

SIX WEEKS EARLIER  It is dawn when you decide to get in the ring and spar. There is no logic behind your decision. The urge arises as the beep of your alarm fades. You swing your feet over the edge of the bed and reach your arms overhead, trying to offset the soreness caused by too… Continue reading BABY’S FIRST HEADGEAR

ON SATURDAYS WE IMPROVISE

travel snacks

As an expat, a self-designated nomad, I'm on the move a lot. Sometimes I jet-set for work. A couple times a year I head in the direction of True North (strong and free) for a homecoming. On occasion, I'll try to squash the travel bug within by taking off for somewhere I've never been. But… Continue reading ON SATURDAYS WE IMPROVISE

THREE MINUTES (IN THE SEVENTH CIRCLE OF HELL)

church street boxing

Time gets slippery about a minute and a half in. The seconds drunkenly drift into each other until the only moment that matters is the continuous present. All background noise, the music and the grunting, the thudding and the yelling, decreases. It turns into a faint buzz that sits in the middle of my ear,… Continue reading THREE MINUTES (IN THE SEVENTH CIRCLE OF HELL)