The Art of Punching (Something)

My eight week exploration of whether I can find time to crowbar a visit to the gym into my life every other day seems to be going better than expected. I’ve been seeing a personal trainer for most of my visits, which is a fairly huge extravagance for me – but about the only personal one that I can think of at present.

In going to see a trainer, I’ve given myself up completely to the process and therefore find my gym-time varying between pilates at one extreme and bare-foot kickboxing at another. So, in the last few weeks I’ve rediscovered what it feels like to punch something (and actually discovered what it feels like to kick/knee/elbow something), which is most odd. Aside from one mid-twenties incident which resulted in a broken knuckle through a bad tempered altercation with a wall, the last time that I threw a punch was in my early teens – and frankly I don’t think that really counts.

Today, for example, I was offered the opportunity to spend thirty of my sixty minutes throwing combinations at my trainer, albeit with pads on. Last week however, it was without pads – presumably my best attempts being so feeble that they posed no actual threat to him, which was both concerning and irritating. It being so alien to me, I suspect that he knew there was no way I’d be able to transfer belting a bag/his pads to actually trying to land punches on his person, despite his best efforts to goad me into it. Having overcome my initial reticence though, I pretty quickly took to the whole idea with passion and enthusiasm, despite thinking of myself as a fairly gentle soul most of the time.

At least he felt the need to keep the pads on today, so something must be improving. It might just be my self-esteem.