"The Belt"

I have finally done it.  I won a World Championship belt.  Major bling.  Okay, it's for the Master's division, 108lb female. And okay, there was no one old enough or small enough for me to fight so I won by "walkover."  As a competitive person, there is a huge part of me that thinks because I didn't fight in that tournament, I didn't actually win the belt.  However, I am trying to see it differently...

I trained for two months at Wildcard for the Desert Showdown.  Wildcard is a real "boxer's" gym.   I trained alongside professionals, world champions, and amateur champions.  It's motivating to hit the speed bag and try to match the rythm of the pro hitting it next to me.  Sparring in front of Freddie Roach is daunting.  I once glanced over when the start bell rang and I saw him looking rather amused, in a good way.  I imagined he liked my swag.

This past training camp was difficult in that I sparred tougher girls than usual.  We went harder than I had been going in a long time and I had to step it up or give up.   I had to drive all the way to Hollywood from the West side four to five times a week.  I had more self doubt than usual.  I expected more from myself because this was going to be my 8th fight so if I didn't get the results right away, I would become extremely frustrated.  I have been a student of boxing for 7 years and learned a lot of different styles.  Some of them suit me and some don't, but I do them anyway for the challenge.

Superman, my coach, upped my game, made me hit harder, sit on my punches, had me spar girls who were way bigger than me as well as two nationally ranked 16 year old amateurs.  You think 16 year old girls can't get their fight on?  Try sparring Julie Ladisa or Krysten Juarez, the 106lb and 110lbs national champions.  Little tanks that don't run out of gas vs. my motorbike that putts in bits and spurts and once in a while, pops a wheelie.  The gas tank has gotten smaller with age, but the will is still strong.  At 47, I have been boxing on and off for 7 years.  At 16, they have both been boxing longer and more consistently than I have.  The footwork, shoulder rotations and defensive movements are built into their little bodies.  I still have to tell myself not to hold my breath when punching.

There is a humility that comes with being smaller, older, less athletic, and less talented than a lot of my sparring partners.  I know I have to work harder to get middle of the road results.  To get "great" results, I have to really commit myself and lose myself in the sport.  As a woman who owns her own business, produces corporate videos, is a wife, a mother of two doggies,  manages an MMA fighter, and is marketing a film that is just coming out, I can't lose myself for too long.  I also know that my "great" most likely won't match up with those top girls, but for short bursts of time, I do love having that kind of focus and commitment to the sport.  I get better, stronger and last longer in the ring.  The moments when I execute a move I was working on with my coach are the most rewarding and probably one of the reasons I still do it.

The last two weeks before the tournament, I was driving myself intensely, sparring hard, running, and convincing myself that I could beat any other woman my age, my size in an amateur tournament.  This is not easy to do, when you are clearly not dominating most sparring sessions!

Making weight was tougher this time because I got my period that week.  Hello, three extra pounds I usually don't have to cut.  The morning of the tournament, I had to wake up at 5am, drive two and a half hours, weigh in, and wait to see if I got a fight. Walking past the other boxers on my way to weigh in, I got a lot of looks.

"You're fighting?" a young boxer asked me.

"Yup," I said.

I don't know if people do a double take because I am a woman, I am old, or I am very small.  Maybe all three, but it just makes me walk stronger.  Like I belong there.

After weighing in and waiting around for a while, we discover that the only other "Master" boxer (i.e. older) is 132lbs.  Too big for me to fight.  They only allow an 8lb difference.  I would spend the rest of the day cheering on my teammates and watching the three ring circus that is amateur boxing.  Literally three rings with fights all happening at the same time.

What I really enjoyed seeing was all the little girls putting it out there.  They were as young as 8 years old.  Many of them had ponytails, big pink gloves and skinny little legs.  Each one of them fought with all their might, never backing down and giving it their all.  I kept thinking how this experience will help them later in life with their self esteem.

At the end of the day, Superman talked to the promotor and the officials, told them I won by "walkover" and they gave me a belt.  I was slightly embarrassed and tried to hide it, which is difficult because it is bigger than I am.  Three of my other teammates also won belts.  One also won by walkover but he didn't seem embarrassed at all.  He was proud.  After all, the winning is done by the hours you spend in the gym training and we did that.  I decided to wear the belt more proudly.
I decided my belt represents persistence, hard work, overcoming obstacles, not being afraid to get into the ring with pros or amateur champions.  It's for 7 years of training, the fights I won, the fights I lost, the fights I was robbed, and the sparring with other boxers to prepare them for their fights.

Hell, it's for actually finishing an independent film about the women I admire most; the women who participate in a sport that is unforgiving, not financially rewarding, and does not give due credit to their accomplishments the way  men receive in the same sport.

I'll take that belt and I will wear it proudly.

To Fatigue

We made it through our first few festivals and even got some great reviews and write-ups.  More importantly, people seem to be inspired by the women's stories and I have met more women and girls who, after watching, "Fight Like A Girl" want to try boxing!  I intend to start up some clinics again soon.

Even when you finish a film, the next phase is daunting - how do you get it out there?  Which is the right distributor?  Should I sell DVDs right away?  How can I get more screenings?  More good press?  How can I sell this to television?  What more should I be doing to get it out there? Oh, and....Do I really want people seeing this and judging me?

I don't think it's a coincidence that I have stepped up my boxing training .  Decided to train at Wildcard twice a week and spar three times a week.  Work on my weaknesses as a boxer and as a person.  I suppose other sports do that, but for me, boxing is so concrete.  Because it is just you vs. ....you. Yes, that other person is in the ring with you, and may even be more athletic, in better shape, more talented, etc, but how you deal with it is what creates the fighter within you.  I am always reminded of this whenever I decide to up my training and mix it up in the ring.  I am forced to be patient with myself even if I am getting hit with shots I don't think I should be getting hit with.  It's just more room for improvement.  Developing that kind of mentality is difficult but a must for anyone who wants to be good at anything where they put themselves out there.   Every time you start over, you have to be humble, take your lumps and as you go, build your skill and confidence.

Boxing, acting, singing, being a comedian, a dancer, an artist, a writer or a filmmaker means that you are going to put yourself out there for judgement by expressing yourself in the art that you choose.  How much can you listen and get better and how much is it that the critic just doesn't understand your voice or your style?  How much does it even matter?

As I am actually starting to take a liking to yoga (shocker), I did a very gentle class last night and marveled at how foreign it was to me.  We used blocks if we weren't flexible enough to reach poses and were told not to push ourselves too hard.  Be gentle with ourselves.  Such a foreign concept for someone like me.  I was just pushing myself hard in the morning sparring because I want to be able to go more rounds without gassing out.  When we build muscle and in cardio, we work ourselves to fatigue.  That is the only way to get better.  But, that's not always the thing our body or mind needs.  I am reminded of that as I am gently stretching my hip flexers and letting go of the thought that it's just not enough.  Other people are more flexible.  Other people's poses look better.  It doesn't matter anymore because I am practicing being gentle with myself and improving at my own pace.

If only we could learn to do that until fatigue.

Coming Out

"I'm coming out.  I want the world to know.  Want to let it show..."

FINALLY- "Fight Like A Girl" got into some festivals.  They may not be the ones I dreamed of, but they are the ones it is meant to screen in.  It has been 7 years since I started making this film and  shitloads have happened during that time:

* I overcame severe PTSD symptoms I had during sparring
* I bond with pretty much every woman who fights who isn't closed off
*My business is growing stronger and I am getting more confident in asking what I am worth
* Even when I am not in "fight shape," I am in good shape.  Sick shape for a woman of my years (hate adding that, but it's the damn truth!)
* My confidence as a person has grown - I know I can take a beating and keep going.
* My skill level has improved 100% from when I first started.  I don't have to take that beating I used to!  In fact, I am completely embarrassed by the way I box in the film and sad in a way that people will probably think that that is the way I box.  But, the movie is not about my ego.  It's about helping others who have been through things.  Hopefully, helping them find their strength through their own struggles.

The idea of people seeing this film terrifies me.  I reveal so much of myself.  Things that I am not exactly proud of...to say the least.  Okay, things I absolutely hate about myself.

I also reveal the vulnerabilities of the women who trusted me to be in this film.  I pray they like how they are portrayed.  Their faith in me was unconditional and I want to honor them.

I also tell some truths that I am afraid may have personal repercussions.  But they are my truths and if I didn't tell them, I would be holding back - lying, in a way.

I am afraid people will say the film is self-indulgent, I am a pussy, I suck at boxing, I am fat and ugly, I am old, my shooting sucks and that I am a sucky filmmaker.  There, I said it before you did.

Those thoughts and feelings kept me from truly wanting to get this film out into the world, but the film is not about me.  I knew this when I made it.  I know I am not the only one who feels the way I do even  when I am in my darkest times.  I know other female fighters who have suffered terrible abuse; way worse than I did.  There are women and men who suffer terribly from depression and other mental illnesses that are just now being acknowledged as illnesses that deserve treatment instead of judgement.  As much as each as us has been through and as much punishment each of us has taken, we have found a way to continue on, even if it's one second at a time.  Fuck one day at a time.  One second at a time.

Once, a friend brought to my attention the real reason I was making "Fight Like A Girl," the original intention, I was able to have a breakthrough.   Yes, I do want this out in the world.  And at the end of the day, I don't care what you think of me.  After all, my favorite public people have tweeters viscerally spewing hate into their feeds.  It's just going to happen.

 The fact is, in private screenings, I have seen the film inspire people.  I have seen people cry.  It is not a perfect film and I won't make excuses for it.  But, I won't apologize for it either.  It's just something I had to do.

I am looking forward to hearing what like-minded people have to say as well as some who just won't get it at all.

I'm letting it go.  I'm coming out.

Emerging....Again

Depression is life's most formidable foe. It doesn't matter how well you counter punch or can tell a feint from a real punch. It doesn't matter how well you bob and weave, or how good your footwork is. Depression is inside you, and it's there for as many rounds as you are.   --- B

Emerging....Again

Coming out of an overwhelming depression is like swimming up from the
deep end of the pool with heavy weights attached to your body.  You
aren’t sure if you will make it all the way up or survive the journey
at all.  You tell yourself, “This too shall pass,” while your
Depression says, “Yes, but I will come again.  And again and again.
I’m an addiction you cannot beat.” You consider this fact and wonder
if you can keep surviving these spells or if you want to keep fighting
this continuous battle.  Each time, it gets a little worse.  You are a
little older and a little less likely to beat it.  That’s what
Depression tells you.

You wonder how long it will take for your dogs, family and friends to
get over your passing and start fantasizing a new happy blonde wife
for your husband. “Make sure she doesn’t have depression,” I tell
Gary.

The crazy thing is you know things aren’t that bad in your life.  You
are just having some kind of chemical pressure in your brain.  It’s
pressing on your will to live.  It exhausts you, drains you and tries
to coax you into ending it all, like a cartoon devil on your shoulder.

I am emerging from another bout.  I don’t feel victorious yet, but the
fact that I’m still here means I won.

To Be Real

On my last trip to New York City, I was fortunate enough to be in town for the 30th Anniversary of the House of Xtravaganza.  For those of you who don't know of this iconic entity, it is a huge drag "organization" that participates in "balls" where fabulous fem queens, transexuals, and butch queens walk the runway in an attempt to achieve "realness" in several categories which include, Trans Butch Amazon Warrior as well as Butch Queen Sex Siren.  The balls started out as a voguing contest in the 80's between different "houses" (sort of like gangs - but much more fabulous).  They were made famous in the 1990 documentary, "Paris is Burning," Madonna's song, "Vogue," and have been a beacon of light in the culture of the NYC club scene.  I have high reverence for these men and women who walk the runway, believing that in that moment, they are The Most Real Trans Butch Amazon Warrior that ever walked the stage.  When they believe it, we believe it too.

Perhaps I love them and relate to them so much because I often feel like at any given moment, I am trying to achieve realness as a filmmaker, a woman, or a boxer.  There are some moments when I feel thoroughly real and others when I think I am a joke.  That people watching me, or reading my words, or in my company aren't buying it.  I do have depression, which makes my mind think terrible things about myself and I have had to develop the skill of letting those thoughts go.  Sometimes that skill isn't as strong as I would like and I really believe the negative.  I am fortunate to have solid people around to remind me and to have the resolve to keep fighting that depression.

My fight is two and a half weeks away.  My training was thrown offtrack by a three day film shoot, a family reunion in New Jersey, and a trip to New York with my husband.  Follow that up with catching a cold from getting up too early, plane rides, burning the candle on both ends, and a debilitating period.  Five years ago, I would be a wreck at this point.  But, I have had the quiet resolve to keep training my mind when my body wasn't well, and to jolt my body back into sparring/fighting shape.  I rest when I need to and don't overtrain because I know that will just make me suffer in sparring.  The most important thing I have been doing is letting go of the negative thoughts: the thoughts that tell me I am too old, too tired, or that my nerves are too fried from PTSD to keep doing this.  I try to look at them and smile, put on my headgear, mouthpiece and go in for another round.

Yesterday, I went to Knuckleheadz Gym in Ventura to spar with Maureen Shea, a world champion, and an amazingly compassionate person, despite her ability to fucking obliterate girls in the ring.  My coach wanted me to do real rounds in a real ring with a real boxer and Moe was kind enough to oblige.  Coming off the cold and the period, I was nervous that I wasnt' going to be able to do the number of rounds she would need.  I would probably need a round off.  If we went hard or were super busy, I was afraid I would gas in the second.  I figured her sparring partner, Matt, would give her the real work, but he didn't show up so it was just me.

The energy at Knuckleheadz is casual and friendly, unlike most boxing gyms.  When you walk in, people smile and introduce themselves to you.  My coach, Rich, brought his 6 year old son, who was welcome to hit the bags and shadowbox in the ring while we got ready.   Hoss, Moe's kind-eyed mohawked coach, stepped out to get something to eat while we were wrapping up. What I especially like about Knuckleheadz, is that once we were wrapped up, the headgear was on, mouthpieces were in and about to go, it went from casual sweet atmosphere to business.  This is the office.

Maureen is a powerful woman and I always sense this whether I am standing next to her or across the ring from her.  It's not just that her body is strong, she has an intensity and a lot of knowledge.  She is very tactical, scientific and savvy.  For those who think that women who box just "brawl", please take a look at some of Moe's fights.  Power and skill.

My training has mostly been in gyms, on mats, and outside on the grass.  There aren't many rings I have access to anymore so when I get in the ring, I do feel like I'm doing this "for real."  I feel the pressure to perform, but also know that I need to be really loose and relaxed in order for all the training I have been doing to work. This is a battle for me, especially when things get intense and I really start feeling the pressure of the other person.  This feeling probably happens for everyone, but I have the additional little gift of PTSD that I have to breathe through and force myself to be present.

FACTS: I am a 46 year old woman who started boxing at age 40.  I weigh about 110lbs. I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  I have 6 amateur fights, half of which I won, and half of which I lost.  I also run a small business and am only able to train hard on and off.

Maureen is a world class professional boxer with an 18 and 2 record.  11 knockouts. 16 years younger and a bit heavier, MUCH stronger than me.  She also suffered from PTSD and has been through the wringer in life, but has worked through her struggles in the ring. 

The facts are like the evil thoughts I have to let go of, and not give power to. 

This is where "realness" comes in.  I am learning through Maureen, my coach and "the doing" of boxing how to be a real boxer.  The moments when I am in the "zone of realness", my movements are good, they make sense, I can throw sharp combos and counter like a smart boxer, make her miss from time to time and absorb shots without freaking the fuck out.  When the realness eludes me, I start thinking that everyone in the room is humoring me, that I'm embarrassing myself, and stiffen up.  So, I let that thought go and again, try to be real.

After four rounds, I was breathing hard and we took a round off.  I could feel that the breathing was from nerves, more than poor cardio, but it's still tough to control.  Most fighters will tell you that the mental piece is the hardest part.

We did another three rounds.   When Rich told me to go back in there for the last round, I looked at him like this was REALLY the last one.  Maureen intuitively knows how much to challenge me, how hard she can hit me, and when to back off.  I was super tired in the last round, but made it my business to fight back.  Because I trust Maureen so much, when she does unload on me, I am actually flattered!  She knows I can handle this, so I must be able to.  As faded and weak as I felt, I just used my will to keep fighting, defending, moving.  The sound of that final bell ringing flooded me with relief.  I got through seven rounds!  I didn't make a complete ass of myself and I was able to incorporate some things I had just learned in sparring.  My coach was happy with what I did and I could accept it as growth.  Maureen also complimented me, telling me that the physical is there.  I just have to believe it.  I just have to have the confidence to own it.  To be real.

Fear of Blogging

I really liked my last blog. A lot. I mean, I really really did. So I revised it and revised it and made it better and better until it was in a place where I could perform it. It was the first time I had been up in front of people performing in 13 years and it actually went pretty well. Some good laughs, connections to the audience, and finding my stage character as I wove my tale of being a snarky boxer trying to open up to the concept of yoga, but being confronted with girls wearing no panties under their tights, people talking about their spirit guides in public, and rancid broccoli farts.

Whenever I do something good, I always fear following it up. Which delays the next good thing. Yes, even a blog. It occurred to me that I haven't written in a couple of months and yes, while I have been busy with finishing technical aspects of the film, producing and editing a huge corporate job, traveling, etc, I usually find some time to do an entry. But, I didn't want to follow up my last blog with anything less than stellar. So, I just didn't write anything.

Then, I remembered, the whole purpose of blogging is to express myself without too much self criticism or judgement. Yes, I want people to enjoy reading it, but everything doesn't have to be a "gem." -something to perform or to submit to a short story collection. It's a freaking way to get your thoughts out of your head and maybe relate to someone who might be feeling the same way. It's a damn blog, for crissakes!

In boxing, you can land the best shot ever, but you have to keep going with the hope that you will top that, follow it up with more, keep improving. Sure, you miss, receive some hard blows, or throw some duds, but eventually you get back on top. Or you don't. But you keep going. The whole point of doing anything you love is in the "doing." You just have to love that. The results go your way sometimes and sometimes they don't.

I am keeping this in mind as I train for what might be my last fight. Last, because there is basically no one else as small or as old as me to fight in the Masters (this will be my third time fighting the same girl) and the thought of doing a pro fight, makes me want to lay down, eat a jar of Nutella and a box of petifores.

Getting my conditioning up has been tough and I am extremely hard on myself. Yes, I have been back and forth to New York two times in the last two months and have had a crazy schedule, but I want my body to snap back into fighting shape. Unfortunately, I have been getting tired after two three minute rounds or three two minute rounds!!! Way to go, boxer! I have to silence the negative thoughts that play like a recording in my head. Let them float away. I won't even mention them here because I don't want to give them any more power. Fuckers.

Instead of beating myself up over it, I have to let it be. Keep going. Breathe through it. Have faith. What are ways I can be more relaxed when I'm sparring? Am I taking enough vitamins? Eating enough? Do I love the "doing" of it to keep doing it even when I am unhappy with my performance?

If I am being honest with myself, the answer is still yes. I do see improvements after working with a new coach. I'm incorporating the new combinations and movement into my sparring. Despite the fact that I gas out so quickly, I seem to be getting off more shots and getting out of the way more on angles. Am I Joe Pro? Muhammad Ali? Floyd Fucking Mayweather? Far from it, but for me, I'm getting better.

I won my last fight against this girl. She won the first one. I think I know how to beat her now, but this also depends on the judges and where I am mentally and physically on fight night. So, I hope to get the W this time using all my newfound knowledge. I still have two months to get my conditioning up, relax more, breathe better, build confidence.

And then I remember that each time I fight, I prove something to myself - that after all I have been through in my lifetime, all the self doubt that swirls in my consciousness, that I can overcome it, win or lose, by fighting my heart out.

I just want to make it look pretty.

Yoga and Me

By Jill Morley

GROUPON – 20 classes for $20

Might as well try it again.

Yoga Class #1

"Is anyone here new to yoga?" my lovely crunchy granola meets LuLu Lemon yoga instructor asks. I can smell a hint of Tofurkey on her breath so I know she’s legit.

A few hands raise.

"Brand spanking new?"

My hand creeps up. As usual, I am terrified to speak in front of a group of people I don't know, especially one in which I feel like an outsider. In boxing gyms, I feel right at home. It's a safehouse for ragtags. I know it's strange to feel more comfortable in a place that is predominantly male, where we pound the crap out of bags and each other, but it's familiar and has become Home.

I sputter, "I've tried it a few times and um,...I keep trying to like it."

Some people in the class laugh, a few won't even look at me and I am pretty sure I see an eye roll on a corner mat.

The instructor, Lola, brings over two "bricks" and a blanket. At first, I think that just from looking at me, she can tell I am special. That I can do all sorts of amazing things that the others most likely, cannot. After all, I am a boxer. I learn that the brick and blanket are to help extremely tight people get into poses. Shove a brick under a thigh that cannot reach the ground on its own, or a blanket under your butt if you cannot sit up straight. I later decide to call them the "brick and blanket of shame" and know that they will be with me for a long time.

I have flirted with yoga at different times throughout my life but while I long to love it, it's only resulted in one night stands. I usually found it boring, painful and bourgeois with a hint of spiritual arrogance. I remember a yoga teacher saying that he would never eat an apple that was sitting on a weight machine because it would have absorbed all the aggressive energy of the kind of people who lift weights. You know, "those people." Judge others much?

The people who take such pride in doing their extreme standing splits while I am in pain just trying to straighten one leg would also enrage me. I know from doing other sports that you have to start at a very humble place and be patient. You cannot expect results right away. You are not going to be Muhammad Ali after a week or two of boxing... or most likely ever, but you can become a force to be reckoned with if you work at it diligently over time. In Taekwondo, I remember being a white belt watching a black belt test and thoroughly doubting I could ever learn all those kicks, defensive moves, and especially that many katas. Four years later, I passed my own black belt test and resolved to always remember to not get overwhelmed by where I want to be when I am first starting something new. Ego is a bitch.

Yoga is supposed to be about "the journey." It's not a competition, but my competitive spirit has always gotten in the way of enjoying it. How can that skinny bitch jump her legs straight through her arms like an Olympic gymnast when I would most likely break my toes or become mangled in my own arms? As I get older, I am learning the value of letting myself be where I am and not judging it. Let her do her practice and let me do mine. “Stay on your own mat,” a wise yoga practitioner once told me. And it’s true. There is no trophy. No medal. No purse. It's just “practice.” I say knowing that this very evolved way of being eludes me often and I have to practice keeping my mind in this place. Yes, another thing to practice.

I'm probably trying too hard to do the poses right because I know how important technique is and my mind has a tendency to think random thoughts. What do these people do in their real lives? Are they in a cult? Why are there cushions on one side of the room with faux fur pillows? Do they have orgies here where they wear animal masks? Why can't I just concentrate and not think these things?

It doesn't help that the girl in front of me has on see through tights and is wearing no underwear. I am too jealous of her body to get any kind of thrill out of it. Damn me for being straight, but even so, my eyes keep wanting to look over as she downward dogs.

In boxing, when you get a combination wrong on the mitts or start to hurt from a strength exercise, it's not completely out of place to utter, "Fuck! Mother Fucker!" I can't say it's not frowned upon, but if it happens, it's not a big deal. However, in the candlelit room reeking of lavendar oil, a few whispery MFers escaped my lips when trying to straighten out a tight hamstring. I caught a dirty look from the woman on the left. I folded my lips in an effort to lock them closed and tried not to do it again. In my world, when I get super frustrated MF happens. Not yogi right. Yogi wrong.

"Everyone step forward, or if you want to challenge yourself, jump your legs through your arms," says Lola as she effortlessly hops through, her wavy hair bouncing like a Tresseme commercial. I chortle, "Yeah, right," and slowly step through. But the girls in front of me, next to me, and one of the guys up front jumps right through. I take comfort knowing I could beat the crap out of every one of them. White belt, I think to myself, and continue on.

"Plank position," Lola gently commands. Oh, it's like a push up position. I can do that.

"Into Chaturanga," Lola says as she lowers herself to the ground, but doesn't touch it. Her chin and elbows are near the floor, her back is flat and her toes and triceps are basically holding her up. Having done twenty million pushups and punches over the last few years, I do this with her. She sees how easily I execute, gets up and stands next to me.

"Plank," she says. I effortlessly push back up, pleased that she can see that I don't totally suck.

"Chaturanga," she says, watching. I lower myself back down slowly, almost in defiance. We do this a few times. The last time she says "Plank" I burst up with the loud grunt of a power lifter. Yogi wrong and for that matter, not very feminine. My arms start to shake and I look around to see if other people are planking. Some are in a "child's pose" (resting) and others have their knees to the ground, modifying the movement. I become embarrassed that to them, I am like the skinny bitch showing off by jumping through her yoga arms and slowly go into child's pose.

At the end of class, I am sweating and even though I haven't been pounding on bags, jumping rope or sparring, I feel invigorated. It's a different kind of invigoration. Perhaps because it's selectively strenuous and focuses on your breath with your movement. That, and you aren’t getting punched in the face.

At the end, there is always some sort of silent meditation and when you leave the room, you feel more centered, focused and charitable. After class, Lola tells me I am super strong and asks what kind of athlete I am, which makes me like her even more. I tell her I am a boxer. She hugs me and tells me to come back. Things will get easier. There is tea and water in the waiting area. I help myself to some tea and watch an older dorky guy get shot down by a very pretty 21 year old blonde.

"These chairs are really comfortable right?" he says.

“Your jeans?” She asks.

“No,” he says, “The chairs.”

She nods and goes back to texting.

I realize the older guy is probably my age and sigh. I smile at the other people in the studio as I leave. I peacefully go to the parking garage get in my car, take a breath and turn the key in the ignition. How long can I enjoy this contentment? There is a long line out the garage and I can already feeling my real world New York impatience waking up, cracking her knuckles and asking me what the hell is going on? Why is it taking so long to get out of here? Are these people in the booths mentally challenged? I remind myself, that I am not in a rush and let the traffic take its course. At home, I marvel at what a different culture this yoga thing is.

As strange as it is, I want to do it again.

YOGA CLASS #2

Inspired by the girl from my first class, to avoid unsightly panty lines, I decide to go to the second class commando. Unlike the girl from my first class class, my tights are opaque. I am open to new things and experiences, but this felt a little too "Free Wilma." Very difficult to be “mindful” when your petunia is not cradled by a piece of cloth. Next time, thong. Another bad wandering thought. Yogi wrong. I also decide to wear one of my favorite T-Shirts that says, "I Eat Lightning and Crap Thunder." Not sure if I'm doing it to be contrary or ironic.

The classes are always primarily women, which for some reason, makes me a little uncomfortable. I know at the boxing gym the guys aren’t looking at what label sweats I’m wearing or if my nails are properly manicured, but I know women pay attention to these things and become a little self conscious. Some things that go unnoticed in a boxing gym, might not fly here. For example, I might smell.

“Everyone sit up straight on the edge of your mat,” Lola purrs. “If you can’t sit up straight, put a blanket under your sitz bones. (ie. ass) That’s easy enough. I sit up straight sans blanket and see her staring at me. She starts walking over.

What’s the problem? I think to myself. She comes over and places a blanket under my butt.

“I’m fucking sitting up straight!” I want to yell at her. Perhaps my years of being hunched over a computer and shoulders rolled forward in a fighting stance has forced my body out of whack. I have to be open to that possibility. We sit like that for a while and I notice the girl next to me has on a Stella Artois T-Shirt and also cannot sit up straight without a blanket. I immediately know my people when I see them.

Even though it’s my second class, it’s already easier to go into downward dog. A space in my back has opened. My body needs this. I try to straighten my calves.

“Motherfucker!” escapes my lips in a whisper. The girl in the Stella Artois T-Shirt smiles at me and nods. An alliance has been formed. I am proud to announce that this Turrets like behaviour only happened once this class.

I think I am getting better.