I have a hypothesis on hobbies: if you lie about what you do, you will finally feel pretty guilty to transform these lies into realities.
Boxing was one of the two hobbies that I had not yet started, so I thought I could put myself in the aforementioned sticky situation by creating a feeling of external pressure. I hung up two worn artifacts in my dormitory to see if my roommates would notice it: one, a tapestry of Mike Tyson and its Tiger Kenya for pets, and two, a pair inherited from dusty red boxing gloves, already marked with the alias “Tom Roberts” in Sharpie. I may have lived a lie, but I was ready to take her inheritance for me.
UC San Diego Recreation had to have heard of my Top Sectoring experience because they started to offer free boxing lessons to the Gym Main a few weeks after my initial configuration. Losing my old name in favor of “Honest Abe”, I immediately signed up for four weeks of lessons and I was standing when I introduced myself to the people with whom I box. In honor of the truth, I gave the details of my experience when our coach asked us why we signed up. My answer on the implementation of a “vintage decor” to be used definitively raised eyebrows in the room.
I wrapped Tom’s gloves with me every Tuesday and Thursday. They exploded my bag with a maximum capacity, and I penetrated like a student-athlete, less the blue backpack. The coach took us seriously too, speaking a whole lifestyle around boxing. He gave conferences on pre- and post-meters, so I always had a peeled banana and a packaged chicken. He conditioned us with rounds of burpe-boxing-burpee
Sandwiches, so you know that we have worked a good sweat. He also combined us for imaginary combat cycles, which revealed my too much breath reaction time.
Eight sessions later, I can visualize where I was wrong. My defective reaction time was because of my game of legs less than ideal, which I will add to my list of problems caused by the weakest ankles in the world. But I left with a great tool of life: my left hook. If someone tries to come to me, you would better hope that they read this article before launching the first punch. I have a left hand formed of four weeks, and he likes to do his thing. After a few weeks of bananas, chicken and burpee-burpee burpee-boxing sandwiches? Ka-Pow! Even I don’t want to know what this left hook would look like by then.
The out of season blues are knocking now, and I know that I am going for a long time for this boxing stupid forever. The smell – similar to a PE shirt in forgotten college in a locker during the weekend – was not happy to hang on the back, but it appeared in our gloves and made its way in our dreams. The stench was not the only thing
to linger either. Although I started boxing to make my own lie, the class left me an increasing itch to come back to the ring. After all, I always have my game of legs to repair and my left hook to strengthen.
All this to say, my hypothesis is now graduated from a theory, given this overwhelming success. I can publish this experience, now that boxing has become a hobby that has crossed the line, from lie to the truth. This transition forced me to go beyond my CO
Mffot Zone, but it feels freer here, on the side of truth.
Now I just need to learn how to play the guitar. I will start by printing musical sheets to dive my new roommates next year. Don’t look at me like that – I told you, I have already lied in the name of science. By the way, if you want to co-author of this experience, make a list of things you already do and things you want to do, and just tell people you do everything. Then slowly collect artifacts to amplify credibility. Start every time And believe that you will become the person you want to be. Tom Roberts, outside.