Abstinence makes the heart grow stronger?

"I distrust camels, and anyone else who can go a week without a drink."

Joe E. Lewis

Getting more exercise, learning more technique, eating a better diet... one of the first things we were told when joining the WCB was that no matter how well we do in these three vital areas, it would all be futile if we were going out and getting boozed up every other night. I suppose technically alcohol consumption would come under the "better diet" label, but it's amazing how well drinkers can compartmentalise that particular activity!

This was me coming first in a race that
combined running with drinking.
Seriously.
NOT what I will be doing in training...

The immediate assumption is that stopping drinking should be very difficult for me, bearing in mind I manage a pub! After all, the Monday to Friday office crowd can choose not to go to a bar after work, and instead just go home, but I have to be in the thick of it, surrounded by booze (and boozers), with temptation quite literally there all the time. And there is some truth in this - especially on a quiet afternoon when one of the regulars wants to buy you a drink, or one of the suppliers comes down and wants to get a round in for your team. However, given the right mindset sobriety could also be seen as easier for me than others...

For one thing, I don't tend to drink at home, unless we have company. I have various bottles around the place, but years of drinking at work and then getting home at hours too ridiculous to warrant more alcohol have conditioned me to not even consider home-drinking. The office based crowd may be able to avoid the pub, but what temptation do they face at home - especially if no-one is there to see them!!

Secondly, even though I could drink at work, the fact that I am still at work tends to give me a bit of restraint with it. Having worked in a "normal" job before, I know how easy it is to get "on the lash" on a Friday night, but when you are overseeing everyone else's enjoyment in your pub you need a degree of clarity and detachment - don't get me wrong, I have a lot of fun and regularly party with our guests, but always with one eye on the job! To stop drinking altogether is just an extension of that restraint...

That said, I do need to be careful. One former White Collar Boxer advised me not to go all tee-total, as she had tried that and been doing rather well at it until a couple of weeks before the fight when she spectacularly imploded in a three-day bender. Her take is that this did her more harm than perhaps allowing herself one day a week for a couple of glasses of wine, and I get that. However, the downside of working in a pub is how easy it is for that "couple of glasses" to become a bottle, or that once a week to become once a day. No going "on the lash", no destroying my training in one fell swoop, but a gradual erosion of everything I am working towards... frankly, it's not worth the risk to me.

But I am still a realist. I manage Singapore's oldest Irish pub, and right in the middle of my training I will be faced with our biggest time of the year - St Patrick's Day. Four days of mayhem, with the road outside the pub closed for a Street Festival, great live music on stage, and lots and lots of Guinness... I have already set aside one day of that event as the day I will have a pint or two of the black stuff. Not too much, as the event is far to big to oversee whilst inebriated! But as the manager of a 21 year old Irish institution in Singapore, I can't NOT raise a glass to Paddy's Day!

Besides, I already know I don't actually need to drink, and the next day will be back to training, and back to reality!

"Reality is an illusion created by a lack of alcohol"

N.F. Simpson

Who am I kidding? I could murder a pint right now.

A Little Spar Treatment

Yesterday I was startled awake at a little after 6am by my three year old screaming blue murder about I don't know what. This kicked off my two month old, who is usually incredibly chilled out and sleeps well at night. So off went my wife to take the older lad back to his room and settle him down, whilst I paced up and down gently rocking the wee bairn back to sleep and silently cursing the early hour (my work is all late nights, so I don't normally see 6am unless I am on my way home from a particularly late finish). It was at some point whilst singing a lullaby that it dawned on me - I'm going to get hit today.

I honestly cannot remember the last time I got punched. I've had a few drunks try late at night when I am refusing them service, but their lack of accuracy and habit of telegraphing their swing has generally resulted in them falling flat on their faces. Worst I have actually had in recent memory was about seven years ago, when someone pinned me to the wall by my neck, but once I calmly pointed out to him all the CCTV cameras he was currently making a guest appearance on he didn't hang around to follow anything through.

I went through most of the day feeling ill at ease, although to be fair I was never quite sure if that feeling in my gut was butterflies or just the tail end of a stomach bug that had laid me up early in the week. The bug had definitely left me feeling weaker, which worried me a little. I had heard a lot of horror stories from past White Collar Boxers about the first day of sparring, and how it was too much for some even to the point of them quitting, and I did not want to become the first casualty.

Yep. This was me.

I always was a bit of a casualty-in-waiting at school. Low-income background, with a dad bouncing from job to dole to job to dole; a little scruffy looking, wearing hand-me-down clothes that were usually too big so I could "grow into them"; good grades at school and considered a bit of a swot; generally hopeless at anything sporty; played the violin. When it came to kids likely to be picked on, I was the whole package...

My day at work was one of those "grind" days, the ones where you achieve less than you set out to after seemingly much more effort. I spent the whole day unsettled, and I couldn't work out whether this was due to the lack of sleep, the way things were at work, or a sense of impending doom. Whatever it was, it had me in a pretty foul mood, and as I trudged over to Vanda that evening I once again questioned if I was ready for this.

I knew I was not alone when I felt the buzz of trepidation in the air at the gym. The chatter and banter seemed a bit more nervous and on edge than usual, with conversations that were a curious mix of bravado and self-deprecation. People were sizing each other up to see who they might be pit against, and "what weight are you?" was the question on everyone's lips.

Whilst I remember a few beatings from my childhood, I only really vividly recall one punch. When I was about twelve, another kid I vaguely knew was being picked on by a thuggish oaf I had always been careful to avoid. The bully had his back to me in a tightly packed room or 30-odd kids, and it occurred to me that if gave him a shove to distract him from his prey he would not actually know who it was - so I did. My supposition was correct - the other kid got away and the bully had no idea who had shoved him. Unfortunately he lashed out in fury anyway, and landed a right jab straight into the middle of my face, leaving me with a bloody nose and tears streaming down my cheeks. I never forgot that sting in my nose and the eventual numbness...

Before sparring, a bit of shadow boxing and bag work. My performance is lacklustre, my arms feel heavy, and for the first time since I started training my heart simply isn't in it. I watch a few of the others face off with each other, and then suddenly Coach is nodding in my direction. I walk into the ring to face an opponent I don't even recognise through the protective headgear - it certainly isn't anyone I had anticipated. We touch gloves and get underway...

Neither of us seems to want to throw the first punch, and for the first few seconds we circle each other, until we both crack at the same time and try a couple of jabs that bounce off each other. We both gain a bit of confidence from this and start to swing a little more, at first making very limited contact, until he finds his way past my shoddy defenses and lands one right on my nose. I clearly recall that familiar stinging feeling, but this time no tears - I won't become that casualty. Instead I launch myself right back at him, recklessly dropping my guard in the process and inviting a right hook that causes my legs to give way. I immediately try to regain my feet - "Stay down" shouts Coach.

No backing down!

"Stay down" was a familiar instruction as a kid, and one I was usually happy to comply with. It seemed like the safest option, as only a total psycho was likely to keep pummeling you whilst you were on the ground. I don't know exactly when in my life I stopped staying down, but one of the reasons I don't recall the last punch I received is that I refuse to allow myself to be intimidated in that way. In the end, standing my ground has been a far better defence than curling up into a ball.

Despite the jelly legs I ignored Coach and kept trying to stand. "Stay down", he again ordered, and sense eventually prevailed. That was when he explained the count, and the benefit of taking what little time you are afforded to recover from a knock-down blow. It's not weakness, or an admission of defeat. It's composure, strategy, and if anything, getting back up too quickly would be the indication that I was intimidated, panicky.

Upon the restart I quickly realised that speed was not on my side, so I restrained myself. Instead of going on the attack I waited to parry my opponent's shots, then punched on the counter. He was still maintaining the upper hand, but fewer of his punches were landing and more of mine were making their way through, and by the end I felt like I was holding my own... and, more importantly, I had regained my excitement and passion for what we were doing.

And like my opponent said to me afterwards... yes, getting punched can hurt, but it's still waaay better than doing burpees!

Making a Meal of Things...

A quick note: It has been suggested that my previous post was critical of our coaches, and I want to make it abundantly clear that this was not my intention at all, far from it. This blog will never criticise or put down any of my fellow boxers or the coaches, all of whom I respect massively. Whenever there is any criticism or ridicule on this site it will always be at my expense and mine alone... after all, I'm the muppet who is in way over his own head!

"I'm going to give you just one piece of advice", said my friend Adrian. "And that is, don't listen to anyone else's advice, except your Coach."

I was ready for a lot of things when I signed up for the White Collar Boxing. Ready for the piss-taking of incredulous mates and clients; ready for the dissuasion from concerned family and friends; even as ready as I could be for the physical strain of my new regime. What I wasn't ready for, however, was the sheer weight of advice I would receive, largely unsolicited, often contradictory.

That may come across as ungrateful, but I am not. The fact that people have taken an interest in what I am doing and how well I am doing it is, in itself, a huge support to me. It's just, I found myself very quickly confused about what would be best for me with so many options out there.

"Why are you cycling?" said Pete. "What good is that for you? You should be running! Boxers run! When did you ever see a boxer cycling?". The fact that the mutual friend of ours who had loaned me the bike was an ex-boxer who had represented Ireland at the Olympics was irrelevant. Pete knew best.

Actually, the training itself and the general exercise were never a huge issue (in my mind, at least) as I had taken Adrian's advice, shut out everyone else, and focused on what the Coach was teaching us. I do cycle, but I also run, and I try to recreate the circuit training we have been doing in the gym. I have experienced friends who want to train with me in extra sessions, but I waited to get established in the official training first so I could further apply that and build on it, rather than do anything that might contradict it. No, what training to do was never something I questioned. What to eat and drink, however... that was a whole different matter.

Two weeks before the training even started I committed myself to a change of diet. First thing to go was the booze (full disclosure: I occasionally have to taste alcohol at work for quality control or to try a potential new brand, but I have been very strict at limiting those to small tastes); then I started packing my own healthy dinners (in my line of work it's easy to get sucked into junk food for ease and speed); and I started using an app that helped me to balance my intake of calories, carbs, fat, protein, vitamins, etc., for a "healthier life". Of course, I soon discovered that when you are in training what you consume is not as simple as getting a balanced daily diet...

"You should eat a banana immediately before training"; "Well, I heard you should eat it AFTER training!"; "Protein shake, every morning"; "Raw eggs! Can't get enough of them!"; "No, just the whites, not the yolk"; "Build up on your carbs!"; "No, no... these days it's all about ditching the carbs and training the body to burn fats!"; "Ignore all those fancy sports drinks, just stick to H2O!";"This soluble powder I am giving you from a tub with no labelling is full of what you need!"

In this day and age we have so much knowledge at our fingertips, but unfortunately so much misinformation as well. Gone are the days when we consult an expert who has years of training in their field and accept what they say - these days we can just keep asking the general masses online until someone gives us the answer we wanted to hear all along. Which makes it very difficult when you are looking for info on something and are not already predisposed to a particular line of thinking.

We did take some time out in the second week of training for a quick talk with very broad guidelines of what foods to eat and when, but even amongst the coaches it seems like there are quite differing opinions. Despite this, every single one of them seems to make their version work for them... and so, I have cherry picked ideas from those people I feel I should be emulating more, based those ideas around the broad framework imparted to us during training, and used a bit of trial and error to make sure it works within the confines of my non-standard work day.

I think I am getting the hang of it, and am generally feeling nourished and satisfied - although all the crap in my fridge at home still looks very enticing at 4am after a long night at work!

Mmmmmm, bacon.....

Compliments of the Coach

Have you ever described a woman as having "a nice personality"? That should be a good thing, right? It is a compliment, after all, and a nice personality is something most men definitely look for in a woman. But it is a phrase often perceived as backhanded, more telling with what it doesn't say than what it does...

Everyone likes to be complimented. No matter how self-assured and confident you are, there is always room to be lifted a little more by a well-timed pat on the back or unexpected words of praise. Of course, too much reliance on other peoples compliments is never a good thing, and constantly looking for validation from your peers, your parents, or your boss (or your coach!) will only weaken you in the long run. But when you are attempting something that you have never tried before and you are unsure about, the smallest gestures can make all the difference.

A week into training, and I start to worry that none of the coaches are addressing me directly. I know we are a big group, and we are not there for one-on-one tuition, but I keep noticing others being singled out for comments with none coming my way. These comments are not strictly speaking "praise", I hasten to add, but corrections and advice, putting the individuals on the right track - all of which leads me to believe I must fall into one of two categories: 1) I am so super-awesome and perfect at everything asked of us that the coaches do not need to offer me advice; 2) I am so hopelessly appalling at everything asked of us that the coaches have all assumed I will drop out soon and can't be bothered to waste time imparting their valuable wisdom to me. At the time, I was leaning towards category 2...

It's surprising how much can be achieved from the smallest of compliments. On the first day we put on gloves we trained by punching into the gloved palm of a teammate. As I may have mentioned before, I have no experience of punching things, and wasn't very confident, but after a few weak jabs I landed a decent one dead on with a satisfying thump. "Good!", murmured my partner under his breath. Just that one simple word from someone I barely know and I was re-energised... there's hope for me yet!

Despite feeling like a bit of a nobody in those early sessions I had already hit a point where I was comfortable just turning up and getting the benefit of the training - I was enjoying myself, and it didn't really matter if anyone else took any notice of me. Then out of the blue one day the Coach turned to me at the end of the session and said "I just wanted to say, I really admire your attitude". It's not like I was in a place where I particularly "needed" that kind of comment, but I was stoked nonetheless and walked home feeling like there was a spring in my step (that might have been a limp, to be fair... I hate burpees!). And all the way back, instead of my thoughts being occupied as usual with what variation of chicken and vegetables I would be preparing for the next days meals, I was instead running through the various bits of advice Coach had been dishing out to everyone - as a group and as individuals - trying to commit it all to memory in order to make use of it in the next session.

It was only much later that night that I thought about the exact words that Coach said to me again... or more accurately, those he did not say. But by that point it really didn't matter to me that the phrase "I admire your attitude" is not so unlike "you have a nice personality"...

That Horrible, Horrible, First Day of Training

First session for the White Collar Boxing, and I open the glass door in trepidation. I’m a long way from the pub banter and bravado that got me here, and I am seriously trembling at what awaits. I look around at the other wannabe boxers, hoping to catch the eye of someone who is clearly as nervous as me, but to no avail. Everyone else is sure of themselves, or at least they are doing a damn fine job of appearing to be… and they all look like they could kick my sorry arse five ways from Friday!

So, confession time – I have never thrown a real punch in my life. Not one. Granted, I have taken a few (that might give me an advantage, right?), but I have always been the kind of lad that talks his way out of a situation, that calms people down… So what on earth am I doing signed up to fight in a boxing ring with just 12 weeks of preparation? I still don’t have an adequate answer to that question, but maybe that is the reason in it’s own right – I am doing it precisely because it is the last thing anyone, including myself, would expect me to do!

So, off we start with some jogging around the room. Okay, I can handle that. I used to run quite regularly before my first kid was born. I’m not even going to break into a sweat in this air conditioning! A couple of minutes of that and the next instruction is “Bear Crawl”. Well, that seems like a weird exercise to a gym newbie, but it’s pretty easy, just keep going around in the circle using hands and… wait… hold on… 30 seconds in, and this isn’t as easy as it seemed. My legs start aching really quickly, I’m slowing down, causing a bit of a jam with those behind me, and Coach is already telling me to speed up or move aside. We are only doing this for two minutes, but it feels like I have been going twenty and I am already questioning how long I will last.

I had a bit of an accident in my early twenties and did some damage to my lower back. I won’t bore you with all the details, but suffice to say it is one of those things that has regularly niggled me over the years, and with increasing regularity since I hit my forties. When I first told people about joining the WCB some were, understandably, very worried about how my back would hold up. But I did my research, spoke to various medical professionals, and weighed up the risks and the benefits. The medical guys were actually very supportive, pointing out how a proper disciplined training regime could actually help strengthen my core. But make no mistake, I would still have to be careful and let my own body tell me how much it could take…

How much can my body take!!?? After the Bear Crawl we moved onto a far easier sideways skip, but then we were back on all fours doing a Gorilla Walk! This is just not natural! We evolved from this, surely? So why am I devolving back? Every excuse I can think of to quit is flooding my mind right now, and I am cursing the friends who egged me on. It doesn’t help that when we do finally stop I look around the room and see a lot of faces that still look fresh, wearing shirts that are still not dripping with sweat. Are these guys even human!?

I have always considered myself fit-ish. My job involves long periods on my feet, I don’t drive so I do a lot of walking, and I generally have good stamina. Even so, I had seen what friends who had previously done the WCB had been through, and heard their horror stories. And maybe that is where the doubt had crept in. After all, these were all guys who played a lot of sport or had some other regular physical training, and if it had come close to breaking them how would I manage to keep going?

Somehow I managed to keep going. The rest of that first session was a sweat-drenched, pain-filled haze of exercises I don’t even remember. Somehow adreneline kicked in and I kept going – slowly, but surely – all the while telling myself that even if I didn’t come to any more sessions I was not going to embarrass myself by admitting defeat in front of everyone else. And all of a sudden we were almost at the end… that hour long session, that had seemed to drag so badly at the start, had actually flown by.

Last exercise of the day: burpees. I had never done one of these before, but they looked pretty simple. So, okay then… down I go, and… a sharp pain runs down my right leg and it crumples beneath me. I slowly bring myself back up to a standing position, but I can’t get back down again, and my session for the day is over. I am so angry with myself. For all the silent bitching and moaning and talk of quitting, I hated that I had not completed the session. Right there and then I swore I would be back at the next session, and I would last the distance.

 

It was on reflection later that night I realised at least one of my reasons for joining the squad. It wasn’t to be better than anyone else in that room (although, here’s hoping for the big night!!)… it was to be better tomorrow than I was yesterday.

Bring it on!