Insert Rocky Theme Music
Dear Reader:
I never thought I'd say this, but I regret all those chocolate cream donuts I ate over the Summer. I regret the bowls of cheese grits. And those cups of choco-mocha-whatevers. I even regret the Sausage McMuffins too, but just not as much. With all of this gentlemanly self reflection I've been doing, I had to have an outlet and just as a steadfast friend there was food glorious food. What can I say? I eat my feelings. With all of this working on the inside, I've been letting the outside use his season pass to the Fast Food Farm all too often. So just as the trees shed their Summer leaves for the Fall, I'm determined to shed a few Half Pint Gentleman lbs. as well.
So with this new found motivation I did what every red blooded American man would do, I procrastinated for a while. And then after got my gentlemanly arse off the settee and joined a boxing gym. I've always secretly wanted to be a boxer. In his younger days, my father was a golden gloves boxer and it is one of the many things I admire about him. As a child, I used to sneak into the basement and clumsily attempt to jump my father's rope then finish my routine wearing his famed gloves floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee all around the house. It wasn't a graceful athletic site, but in my heart of hearts I was Rocky for a few minutes.
So with the inspiration of my father planted in my mind, I attended my first class. My dear reader, I hate to be overly dramatic but I felt as if I had a religious experience. The gloves. The drills. The sweat. It was as if I had suddenly found a cure for my latebloomeritis. All the wasted and unsuccessful pigskin football practices of my youth. My sad attempt to learn karate. The embarrassing baseball incident. And not to mention, all of the slow moving cross country meets in high school. I've always assumed that I wasn't athletic, but I had just been missing what was staring me right in the eye: I don't like teams. I thrive with ultimate personal challenges. I need someone screaming at me. And above all else, I need to beat the stuffing out of a bag on a regular basis. And perhaps, eventually a person.
It has taken approximately 5 days for me and my fat arse to recover from that glorious hour which makes me realize that I have a long journey ahead of me if I ever want to become competent in the art of boxing. And I do. I really do. Perhaps for my father. Perhaps for all my bench warming buddies from grade school. But mostly for me because becoming a gentleman means growing as a man and trying new things, even when you might be defeated. As the boxing legend Jack Dempsey once said, "A true champion is someone who gets up even when he can't." Mr. Dempsey, I couldn't have said it better myself.
Now give me a right jab.
Best,
HPG
Jack Dempsey, the ultimate boxing legend.
I never thought I'd say this, but I regret all those chocolate cream donuts I ate over the Summer. I regret the bowls of cheese grits. And those cups of choco-mocha-whatevers. I even regret the Sausage McMuffins too, but just not as much. With all of this gentlemanly self reflection I've been doing, I had to have an outlet and just as a steadfast friend there was food glorious food. What can I say? I eat my feelings. With all of this working on the inside, I've been letting the outside use his season pass to the Fast Food Farm all too often. So just as the trees shed their Summer leaves for the Fall, I'm determined to shed a few Half Pint Gentleman lbs. as well.
So with this new found motivation I did what every red blooded American man would do, I procrastinated for a while. And then after got my gentlemanly arse off the settee and joined a boxing gym. I've always secretly wanted to be a boxer. In his younger days, my father was a golden gloves boxer and it is one of the many things I admire about him. As a child, I used to sneak into the basement and clumsily attempt to jump my father's rope then finish my routine wearing his famed gloves floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee all around the house. It wasn't a graceful athletic site, but in my heart of hearts I was Rocky for a few minutes.
So with the inspiration of my father planted in my mind, I attended my first class. My dear reader, I hate to be overly dramatic but I felt as if I had a religious experience. The gloves. The drills. The sweat. It was as if I had suddenly found a cure for my latebloomeritis. All the wasted and unsuccessful pigskin football practices of my youth. My sad attempt to learn karate. The embarrassing baseball incident. And not to mention, all of the slow moving cross country meets in high school. I've always assumed that I wasn't athletic, but I had just been missing what was staring me right in the eye: I don't like teams. I thrive with ultimate personal challenges. I need someone screaming at me. And above all else, I need to beat the stuffing out of a bag on a regular basis. And perhaps, eventually a person.
It has taken approximately 5 days for me and my fat arse to recover from that glorious hour which makes me realize that I have a long journey ahead of me if I ever want to become competent in the art of boxing. And I do. I really do. Perhaps for my father. Perhaps for all my bench warming buddies from grade school. But mostly for me because becoming a gentleman means growing as a man and trying new things, even when you might be defeated. As the boxing legend Jack Dempsey once said, "A true champion is someone who gets up even when he can't." Mr. Dempsey, I couldn't have said it better myself.
Now give me a right jab.
Best,
HPG
Jack Dempsey, the ultimate boxing legend.
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