I know I've written about boxing before, but cut me some fucking slack, man - its not like I have a ton going on here in Vermont. It's basically boxing, ill advised hiking, exploring, bad art, reading romance novels and talking myself out of self-cutting bangs in the bathroom every night due to boredom. Which, by the way, is a real problem. Right after I quit my last job, I bleached my hair white. Like, Khalessi white. It was intense and awesome and I will not be doing that again. In Atlanta after quitting my job, I took kitchen shears to my hair and lobbed off about four inches. It wasn't Brittney Spears-level, but it was enough for people to ask if I needed to up my meds. What I'm saying is, that in and of itself, is a full time job. It's not much of life, but the employment opportunities here, much like the dating, are capital G R I M. Anywhoodle, thats my life, baby. And, despite my best efforts, the closest friend I have here is the nameless dude wearing a Gronk jersey at the local Duncan Donuts drive-thru. He serves me a large coffee daily and never remembers me or my order. I'd like to think he has one of those "50 First Date" head injuries, but I'm pretty sure I'm just one of the crowd. So let me have this. Let me have my boxing lessons. And what lessons they are!

I'm at the point in my boxing training that we're trying to up my skill-level. I've been boxing for a year and a half and have been hitting five days a week for the last seven months. I've done it long enough that my coaches are now working on "finesse". When I'm sparring against my coaches, I'm great. I'm quick on my feet and hit hard and scare them a little. I can be a bit intense and I do NOT give up. I'm also decent on the heavy bags and water bags and even the speed-bag , but I struggle with the tower. The tower is something that was new to me until coming to my current gym - it looks like a contraption that Coach Taylor would make the offense of the Dillion Panthers train with during two-a-days. Sadly, there's no Tim Riggins to work the tower with me - its just me against me, throwing punches at numbered pads.

So the whole point of the towers are to work on combos - to hone your skills and to become more precise. I find it incredibly tricky, which is insane, because its a stationary numbered pad system and I have no issue with remembering the combos. At all. What happens to me is that I have a hard time finding the right stance, and then my hits don't land the way I want them to feel. Because you can feel when you land a good hit and when you don't. I occasionally whiff the pad. I've hit so hard my glove has ricocheted back into my face and I've hit myself. My jab oddly turns up instead of down. I start doing all this weird shit that I don't do any other time. Its weird. And my coach, who isn't the type of person who fills you up with inspirational quotes or motivational speeches, turned to me the other day and just casually said over his shoulder, "You suck at anticipating your own punches. You get in your own way".

Y'all. Y'ALL.

My jaw fell open and I just stared at him. I've spent years in therapy trying to get that breakthrough, and instead it comes from a dude who really doesn't enjoy training me all that much, despite my financial contributions to his place. And I get said break through while Marky Mark and The Funky Bunch's "Good Vibrations" is blasting on the PA system. It's so dumb and so simple and so true.

I've always known I was my own worst enemy. Doubling down when I should just cash in my chips. Refusing to give up, even when I hate someone or something. I'm stubborn and a hard worker and its caused me to become bitter in my old age. And then this gangly motherfucker points out the obvious...Of course I'm my own worst enemy. We're all our own worst enemies. What the issue is that I don't dodge my own hits - even the ones I see coming. Instead of understanding my weaknesses and being prepared to have to work on behavior patterns or talk myself out of certain choices, I act blindsided. I act confused. HOW CAN I BE CONFUSED WHEN I'M THE ONE THROWING THE PUNCH? And yet. AND YET. Here we are. We're all just out here living our lives and needing to dodge our own punches. Some are successful and some, like me, get in our own way. We whiff the pads. We lose our footing. We second guess ourselves. And in turn, we end up punching ourselves in the fucking face.

Look, like anything, realization doesn't equal immediate, or even any sort of, change. As witnessed by me realizing that I'm codependent and financially helping out the trainer who doesn't dig me. Or keeping in contact with exes who are emotional fuckwits and deserve to figure shit out without my help. I'm everything Kenny Rogers says NOT to do in The Gambler. But I have that thing, that thing, that makes me crave helping others. But now that I *know* my patterns, while I don't always stop myself, I am AWARE of what I'm doing. And the shame and bitterness I have due to my own actions, is enough that it makes me at least think. And then when you think, you're less likely to be totally reactionary. And hopefully, eventually, you'll start changing behavior patterns. And thats what I'm praying happens with this - realizing that I'm punching myself in the fucking face should be enough to get me to change my ways. But it won't, at least not overnight, so I have to punch myself a few more times, maybe harder than I need, to shake me out of my rut.

Until then, I'm going to keep training and punching and working on finessing my style. And I'm going to shadowbox. Because its the worst. Truly shadowboxing is mortifying and awful and it makes you want to cry. You have to stand in front of a mirror, and in my case with light weights, punch at yourself. I hate mirrors. I, to be honest, don't really like myself right now. The past few years have a taken a toll on not just my personality but also my body that is hard for me to really talk about. Needless to say, I look like a different person. And when I stare into the mirror, what I see staring back, is not something I love. I truly hate my reflection. And thats what comes from years of bitterness and lack of a life, and having people tell you you're less than constantly, and even though you're smart and sassy and don't take shit, it starts to take its toll. So you gain weight and lose hair and don't sleep. And eventually you move to Vermont to get your shit together. But you still hate that reflection because it reminds you of EVERYTHING that lead you to THIS point. And with shadowboxing, you can't fake it. Trust me, I've tried. I've tried not looking at myself and doing a weird thing where I stare to the right of my reflection. Aside from not being helpful, at all, its also really unnerving and creepy. Don't do that. Trust me. You look like a blind person and you're not and it just raises a lot of questions at the gym. What you have to do, is fucking look directly at your reflection and aim punches at yourself. And you have to do it over and over and over and over again. And then you practice slipping away from punches your reflection is throwing at you. Its a long and boring process and it requires you spending a lot of time critiquing yourself. Something I'm really having a hard time with these days. But fuck it, this is what you have to do in order to, not only get more skilled in your combos, but to also be better at anticipating the hits coming towards you. What a fucking adventure, man.

So if anything's come from my time here in Vermont, and I'm hoping a few things have, its that I've figured out all the things I do wrong. The bad patterns. The dumb, reactionary decisions. And while, thats not the sort of thing that leads to "Eat Pray Love" romance or adventures, I think, or hope, it's the type of shit that will, eventually lead me to not working for shitty people. Or dating shitty people. Or saying yes when every fiber of my being is screaming no. Or doing things for others in the hopes that, somehow they change their DNA, and want to do the same back for me. That one day, all this staring at myself and trying to dodge my own punches will, hopefully, lead me to believing in my own self worth and demanding that life give me what I fucking deserve. And one day, I'll realize, out of the blue, that I don't hate the person staring back at me anymore. Isn't that a happy thought.