How I Realized Boxing Wasn't for Me

Ten years old. The boys from the neighborhood wanted to be more than just the little punks kicking a ball around in the street. Someone brought up boxing. Everyone signed up, and I went with them. There were five of us — kind of like a little gang. We trained for a month, barely learned anything, but already thought we were tough.

Then the coach said we were going to a tournament. A freaking month, Carl! And they were already throwing us in the ring. I ended up in the finals right away. Sounds cool, right? Ha. Finals! My opponent? Some dude who had been boxing for three years. Medals, tournaments, all that crap. This guy lived and breathed boxing. And me? I had just learned how to keep my gloves up so I wouldn’t get knocked out instantly.

The fight started. I tried to do something, but it was like punching a brick wall. He moved like a ghost. I couldn’t land a single punch. Meanwhile, he was hitting me however he wanted. A couple of minutes in, I was staggering around like I’d had one too many cheap beers. And the worst part? The crowd was laughing. The whole damn crowd. They came to watch a fight, but they got a circus instead.

I guess the coach wanted to see who would break, who was worth anything. Old-school stuff, you know? Tough it out or go home. But we all broke.

The ref took one look at me and decided this comedy was over. He raised my opponent’s hand like it was preordained by the boxing gods. That was it. Finals over. I stood there feeling like a complete fool, like I’d been humiliated in front of everyone.

That’s when I quit boxing. Not everyone’s built for it. Sometimes life, man, it just flips you off, and all you can do is take it. I didn’t become a boxer, but maybe that’s when I realized the real fights aren’t in the ring.

The image was created by the author in the Canva app