Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Hitting The Heavy Bag...

ipod song: Rocky Theme song


Jab, jab, right hook, jab, uppercut, uppercut.

Jab, jab, right hook, jab, uppercut, uppercut.

The rhythm was intoxicating.

My hands almost moved on their own after so many years as a kid having my dad chant the cadence for me.

Jab, Jab, right, Jab, Jab, right hook.

I'm not sure if it was a punishment, or a way of instilling something in my brother and me. It always felt like punishment to me. He would take us out to the garage, put on the heavy gloves and have us do combination's over and over again.

Our shoulders would hurt, our hands would feel like sand bags, and snot would run freely from our noses. As kids we grew up watching "Rocky" with our dad and we would cheer for Stallone and we would want to hit the gloves.

Jab, Jab, right, Jab, Jab, right hook.

"Rocky" was the everyman, the any man, a hero for my dad and two snotty kids. I knew Stallone was just an actor but it gave me a reason to get up and go running as I got older. In high school I would get up early and run up to the corner and back. I'd think of those running scenes in the second movie with the kids following behind the star up the steps of the capital building. In the Army it motivated me to run as far as i could and then do it again.

So there I was, some years later, on the other side of the world exploring another gym on yet another military camp in Iraq and what did I see in the corner; a heavy bag.

I walked over to the desk and was rewarded with a pair of gloves and walked back to the bag. Like an old friend it seemed to be calling me, 'hit me.'

Jab, Jab, right hook, jab, jab.

Taking off my watch I took out my ipod and found my 'Rocky' sound track. It was cheesy, but it helped. I hit the play button and I was a kid again, listening to the famous orchestral soundtrack of my youth.

Jab, Jab, right hook, jab.

I could hear my dad's voice in my ear and I started to pounded the bag.

Jab, Jab, right, jab, jab, right hook!

I'd found one of these bags before, and I'd beat it until my hands ached. I had a lot of my mind then, but now I just played with this bag. I moved left, I moved right, I got in close, I worked on my combination's.

Jab, Jab, right hook!

When my dad died I picked up a lot of odds and ends from his stuff. The one thing I knew I wanted was his gloves. Those gloves. The gloves that as a kid I remembered wearing, loading down my hands, draining my shoulders, making me sweat. The ones he wore.

Jab, Jab, right, jab, jab, right!

I let my dad's cadence drive me.

Jab, Jab, right, jab, jab, right!

I can still hear him.

Jab, Jab, right hook, jab, jab, right hook...

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