Out & About #608 | On Boxing Day, We Box.

At 7:15 AM, Morning Flower sprawled itself out within the compact crate that was my room. Catching a groggy glimpse of the undisturbed darkness outside, I began to prepare for a day filled with activity. Odd to think that I'd be rising sooner than the sun on a statutory sleep-in day.

A lover of stars and pigs followed up on her end of the deal, revealing herself on my doorstep just after 8 AM, pan and eggs in tow. A rushed baking operation then commenced.

​The stovetop portion of the recipe concluded just as the next item on the itinerary begged our attention. Swiftly, and, admittedly, a little aggressively, we zipped along the 403 towards HUF.

Upon arrival, we were handed waivers. Mid-signing, I informed one of the staff members that we had called in advance to secure an orientation ("beginners class") with one of the trainers with the intention of joining the 12 pm class. The man began to deny my thrice-confirmed appointment with utmost certainty.

"We don't have any classes for today. We tried to tell you, but you hung up and we didn't have your number."
His voice boomed, overbearing with the intention of instilling fear, but the contents escaping his mouth couldn't have been further from the truth. This was especially so considering that the girl who had answered my call had noted down our names in addition to providing the name of the personal trainer who would be assisting us for the beginner session.
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As I was about to argue the inconsistency in information, a man walked through the doors and was immediately greeted by the counter staff. Undeterred, I began to press further, but was then immediately interrupted. The pompous one retracted his statement and then, towards the new occupant of the space, expressed relief towards his appearance. "We are short-staffed, but Dan is here now."

​"Dan" was delegated with the task of familiarizing us with the gym. Had he not appeared though, our trip would have likely been in vain, forcing us to return in absence of perspiration. The programme materialized as planned afterwards, though I can't help but be extremely bothered by the arrogant actions of the other member of staff. Shifting the blame of a business towards the customer is not an unseen tactic to remove liability, however the twisting of truth is unforgivable and further displays a lack of credibility.

​Changerooms were clean and colourful: individual washrooms and shower stalls occupied one portion, while lockers were positioned by the entrance. Weight-lifting apparatus were observed throughout the facility; past the counter in a separate room were boxing rings, a more expansive selection of exercise equipment, free weights, and sport-specific training tools.

The trainer began the session by inquiring about our existing activity levels, and whether weightlifting and/or other athletic pasttimes played a part. We were slowly eased into footwork fundamentals - otherwise known as our "box" - then the names of various punches. Maintaining one's centre of gravity was of utmost significance, as was protecting the "crown jewel" of our "house". As with any combat sport, defeating one's opponent is the ultimately end goal, and, supposedly, the chin was the body part capable of causing instant collapse upon impact. Consequently, chins were tucked and hands were raised into fists by the jawbone.

We were taught a total of four punches:

1. Jab - left straight, pivot the hip
2. Cross - right straight, pivot the hip
3. Hook - left/right angled punch, where the arm is raised to shoulder-level for maximum power

Beeps were heard throughout the gym, each signifying the passing of thirty-second intervals. For nearly five minutes, these punches were drilled into us, to the point where muscle memory began to come into play. 

After some time, we were led into one of the four boxing rings. It was time to practice the boxing stance.
The leg corresponding to our dominant hand was positioned at the back for balance, while the front foot guided movement. Similar to climbing, one did not want to "barn door" with too-wide or too-narrow stances. "Close the box." came the gentle reminder as we practiced offensive and defensive approaches.

​"Wrist, Finger, Wrist, Palm"
Gearing up for class, we were guided through the process of hand-wrapping. Seams down, we followed the WRWP sequence, then reversed direction and repeated. Glove rentals were  ̶p̶a̶i̶d̶  waived, hand wrap duos were purchased at twenty dollars a pack, and into the class we went.

It was a somewhat intermediate session led by the overbearing creature who had initially denied me entry. The class appeared to consist of regulars - of all ages and skill levels for that matter. Varying combinations of hooks and jabs were called out, then executed by participants over 30-second intervals. Between sets were punching bag shifts. This helped to keep boxers engaged, since the floor boasted Aqua Bags (filled with water) in addition to several traditional cylindrical ones - which, might I add, were clearly well-loved based on their casing of duct tape.
The session concluded with a brief segment of core exercises, namely planks, bicycles, and toe touches.

Dan the Man had been kind enough to assist us throughout the entire class, and continued this display of generosity afterwards.
For the first times in our lives, we were in contact with the infamous teardrop bag. Then we dodged oncoming Aqua Balls. Then learned new punches ("5" and "6" aka Uppercut) and breathing techniques. Finally, we took a few photos around the gym. (Ok, maybe more than a few.)

​It would be an understatement to say that Dan had made our experiences incredibly exciting. Because, while sore, it had been a thoroughly engaging and informative. Moreover, agility and hand-eye coordination are two attributes that one can always work towards sharpening. I am positive that I wouldn't be recapping the three-hour stay as such had he not emerged at our time of need. (Bonus points for the brownie-esque crinkle cookies offered to us at our time of departure.)

​​By 2:10 PM, I was famished - ravenous to the point of irritation.

​At Katsuya, a Menchi Original Katsu and Red Carbonara were  ̶i̶n̶h̶a̶l̶e̶d̶ ̶- er ingested.

Back home after a much-needed stretch, the Houjicha Crêpe Cake was assembled.

​​Late dinner took place in the form of deep-dish pizza at the renovated Two Guys from Italy (formerly Enzo's).

The menu, along with the interior furnishings, has since been updated. Booth tables still remain too high for my liking, though I was quite happy to see the presence of disposable paper towels (in place of rolled reusable white fabric) in the bathroom.

​The health-conscious beings from within yearned for salad, so a Garden was requested. Needless to say, dressing was placed on the side for my sanity.

​We polished off half of the pepperoni-, bacon-, and mushroom-topped 8-Slice Deep Dish before admitting defeat.

​Pokémon Stadium marked our final venture of the evening.

Gifts of Thai tea (the green kind!!), Sloane's Heavenly Cream, location-exclusive munchies, and Italian bottles adorned the skirt of my otherwise naked tree with my boxing partner's departure.