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

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

BLACK CAPRICORN DAYS

black capricorn days

Some days everything comes together. The stars align. A stranger offers his seat on the subway. The productivity meter hits 110% before noon. Things flow effortlessly when all is in balance. I hold pincha mayurasana with ease, or pound 10K of pavement in under an hour. After twenty rounds of aerobic exercise and strength training—sweat… Continue reading BLACK CAPRICORN DAYS

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)