Heard some talk recently, something about ‘boxing foster robbed’. Rings a bell, not the specifics, but the feeling. Life throws punches, sometimes below the belt, you know? Makes me think back to a time I was trying to get my footing, quite literally.
Getting Back on My Feet
There was this period, maybe ten years back now, things got rough. Lost my job, savings were dwindling fast. Felt like the rug got pulled out from under me. You feel kinda exposed, vulnerable. Like anyone could just walk over you. Needed something to, well, toughen me up a bit, mentally more than anything.
So, I started looking around. Found this old boxing gym downtown. Not fancy, smelled like sweat and old leather. Seemed real, you know? Decided to give it a shot. Didn’t have much else going on, figured why not. Paid the fee, got some cheap wraps and gloves.
First Few Weeks
- Showed up, felt totally out of place.
- Learned the basics: stance, jab, moving my feet. Felt clumsy as hell.
- Got winded super fast. Realized how out of shape I’d gotten.
- The routine helped though. Having somewhere to be, something to focus on.
It wasn’t really about fighting anyone. It was more about discipline. Showing up. Pushing through when you’re tired. Taking a hit (metaphorically, mostly) and staying on your feet. The coach, old fella named Sal, he didn’t say much but you could tell he saw everything. He’d just nod sometimes, or grunt ‘keep your hands up’. Simple stuff.
Spent about six months there, three times a week. Didn’t become a world-beater or anything close. But I got fitter, felt a bit more solid, you know? Like I could handle things better. Found a new job eventually, a different line of work altogether, actually. Moved on from the gym too, life got busy again.
Looking Back
Never forgot that feeling though. The smell of the gym, the rhythm of the bags. The simple act of showing up and doing the work. It didn’t magically solve my problems, but it gave me a way to channel the frustration, the feeling of being knocked down.
So when I hear stuff like ‘boxing foster robbed’, yeah, it makes you think. Boxing teaches you to protect yourself, be aware. But life’s messy. Sometimes bad stuff just happens, doesn’t matter how tough you are or how high you keep your guard. You can do everything right, train hard, be disciplined, and still get robbed, literally or figuratively. Guess you just gotta keep getting back up. That’s the real fight, isn’t it?
