Say hello to my little friend…

You want to play rough? OK – say hello to my little friend.

The gym got re-fitted in January of last year. Lots of new toys. So many new toys I destroyed the cartilage in my left knee. Took ages and an operation to mend. But a couple of months after everything else had been installed there came one last toy.

A heavy bag. I saw guys, not many, whack it. Some looked good, like they knew what they were doing. Others poked at it. Mostly the bag hung there, unused. One afternoon I was on a spinning bike just across from it, watching a skinny young dude beat the shit out of that bag, but skilfully. Punches I couldn’t name, speed, power, great footwork. Yip. Why not? I’d ask him for advice. Then he took off his woolly hat and I saw he was a woman.

And she gave me about two minutes of good stuff. Use the body, don’t swing the hand. Power comes from the hips. Have sessions of rapid and hard punches. Twenty seconds at full rip. And move. Don’t stand like a tree stump. And keep the knuckles on top, level with the ground. And that was it.

I hit it with a left jab, or what I thought might be a left jab. Stuck in a right. Jesus, it felt good. So good. It felt like the thing I’d been waiting for all my life. I still had little idea what I was doing, but I loved it. I was also exhausted after about four or five punches. I’d get better. I was keen. I was a natural. I could ah bin a contender.

Every day I go to the gym I use that heavy bag. My new friend. I use it without gloves for four or five minutes. Then ten, fifteen with light gloves. Then move on. And when I move on I want to go back. There are ads that say: get this blender, it will change your life. Friends who tell you: do yoga, it will change your life. Well, beating the shit out of a heavy bag for fifteen minutes every day has changed mine.

I’ve haven’t hit anyone in years. I was never any good in a fight. Not at school, not later. I’d walk away, feeling bad, thinking I’ve never thrown even one real punch. I wouldn’t know where to begin. But I’ve thrown punches now all right. Thousands of them. Hard ones, soft ones, fast fast fast ones, slower big power punches, jabs, hooks, straight lefts and rights, combinations. Started to duck and dive, do the head work. Spent time on the footwork, got lighter, more nimble. Slipping and dipping. More turning, more core work. Power from the hips, like she said.

I’ve still no idea what I’m doing really. A tough guy could knock my block off easily. The bag’s a bit complacent: it doesn’t hit back. I’ve got confidence, but it just might be a little misplaced.

But – what’s that? You got something to say? Yeah, I’m talking to you. Got some point you want to make, and you’re going to make me listen? You don’t like something I did and you want to do something about it? Really? Really sure? You want to play rough? OK. Well, say hello to my little friend.