The speedbag drummed out a steady rhythm under his fists, motor-like, unceasing.
I cast an admiring glance, then put in my headphones, and went to work on a punching bag. I don’t know what was in my coffee, but I felt like there was gasoline in my veins all day. Nothing seemed to be working. On the level of bugged, I’d peg my mood at “mega-snit.” Wham! Wham! Working the bag. Wham! I felt like garbage. But still, cutting through the German metal in my headphones and grump in my ears, I could hear that speedbag over the din. It was like a church bell in the fog, an unseen call to be better.
The bell ringer was still at it, and, bathed in sweat, hadn’t broken cadence once.
Finally, he stopped, and we got to talking. “Man, I can’t get the hang of that. What’s the trick?”
“You’ve gotta hit it down, and catch it before center. Look, I’ll show you.”
After a few minutes “Hey, that’s making sense!”
“You’re getting it! Relax…you’re jabbing at it. Relax. Loosen those shoulders.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a boxer.”
He kept talking about relaxing and the mental game. I hadn’t thought of that. My approach is that of a chihuahua I used to know. You’d make him see red, and he’d attack the offending water bottle with a yelp and ineffectual snarl of rage. It was hilarious. (Come to think of it, the punching bag usually laughs at me, too.)
“If I’m in the ring with you, I’d just wait for you to tire yourself out, then I’d finish you.” I had no doubt.
“It’s gotta start from in here” (pointing to his head.)
“What’s this mental training? Do you meditate or walk quietly or something?”
“It’s Christ, man.”
Never have I been face to face with anyone so deadly, calm, and joyfully radiant. As he spoke, a cool breeze of encouragement seemed to emanate from him in the stifling room. I leaned my overheated brain in close to listen as he quietly outlined his faith, how he meets challenges, how he trusts God, how he does his part and what he can do. “It’s just me in the ring - no team to lean on. I’ve got to put in the work, and I’ve also gotta trust. I can’t do everything myself. I leave that up to God.” His attitude was contagious. I knew he was exactly the person I needed to hear that evening, and I listened closely.
You’d think a boxer’s message would be one of “BASH LIFE IN THE FACE AGAIN AND AGAIN UNTIL YOU WIN”, but his was one of God, patience, trust, faith, humility, diplomacy, tact, discipline, perseverance, hard work, and a lived example.
Those can be harnessed in different ways. Sometimes it’s “stopping a guy” - finishing an undefeated fighter in the fifth round with body shots in NYC.
Tonight, he was teaching and lifting up. “I pray every morning that I can encourage someone.”
“You knocked that one out, man.”
What a worthy prayer. What a fine intention. What an excellent goal.
I’m going to try to pay it forward, and snag that one, too.
Ding ding!