slipping punches, keeping the head movement working.
Half way through the round he stepped it up, started landing grinding hits, pounding my ribs was his specialty, which hurt like hell. Towards the end of the round, Mike yelled.
“Now Chris, NOW!”
He went to town on me for the last 30 seconds, hitting me with everything. Upstairs to the head and down to the body, I countered throughout his barrage with little effect. The round was soon over thankfully, we touched gloves and he left the ring.
Next up, Peter. One of the smaller lads. Quite young, nimble, in his early twenties. Short, fluffy ginger hair. Not built big, but owned fast fists.
“Right come on, let's go. Round two!”
The minute break wasn’t long enough to settle my breathing back to normal. Peter was a raw brawler like the rest of the boxers here, but lacked size and difficult to hit because of light feet.
He might have lacked size, but didn’t lack heart. As I battled my way to land a combo of heavy punches to bounce his body from side to side, he absorbed it all and carried on. I liked guys like this, loads of heart. If you didn’t have heart you have nothing. Something Tommy Stevenson used to tell me. ‘You can hit hard, you can be fast, you can be big, but if you've no heart, you’re fucked.’
Three occasions during this round Mike shouted at Peter. I sensed a pattern.
“Now boy now, get on him!” Mike took pleasure in controlling what punishment I received.
I could see what was happening, Mike was testing me, pushing me, trying to find my limit.
Totally fucked by the end of the round, I needed more than a minute before taking on the next guy, but I kept repeating Tim’s words in my head, not to ‘upset’ Mike or Bull, get through it best I could. The same one-minute break would have to do.
The third round, with Danny, a well-rounded plump fighter, kept relentless pressure on me. Danny had a hanging beer-belly, but boy could he fight. Blessed with a gift and he knew how to use it.
Targeting the body, leaning over me and keeping on the inside. As I had less and less energy to move, he punished my stomach and kidneys. I didn’t like it. My energy drained, taking pounding thuds to my kidneys and rib-cage, not able to dodge the hits. My feet felt like they were dragging a ball and chain, heavy and weary.
The minute breather came in time, before I took a brush against the canvas.
Round four, they had seen the effect Danny had on me, keeping him in for this round, trying to take me down to another level, Mike pushing him to punish me, fast dancing legs combined with a huge belly, a combination not put together often, giving me the run-around.
Wasn’t sure if I would make it through the fourth. My heart and skull ready to explode with lack of time to draw breath and heat trapped in my head, ducking, backing onto the ropes, taking a hurl of punches to the head, immobilising my movement.
In the fifth, I had to really push myself and try to get my credibility back with Danny. I surprised myself, considering how knackered I was, putting him down, and fighting on pure instinct. I could hardly breathe, fatigued and struggled to keep my hands up.
Every punch thrown was telegraphed before it left my side, and when they landed, they brought no weight behind them. In the last minute and a half, I was getting thrashed, but couldn’t give up, not if I wanted to bring the readies home to May. That wasn’t an option for me.
The last guy into the ring, was the pocket dynamo, Toby. Knowing his skills, he could break me, the fastest and fittest here. By this time, the pain ran throughout my whole body, my lungs hardly able to function, legs weak, eyes and forehead ached, standing tall sent a stabbing pain into the ribs. I just had to suck it up, get on with it. Mike must have taken pity on me, giving me just over the minute’s break this time, but that wasn’t going to help.
I
Half way through the round he stepped it up, started landing grinding hits, pounding my ribs was his specialty, which hurt like hell. Towards the end of the round, Mike yelled.
“Now Chris, NOW!”
He went to town on me for the last 30 seconds, hitting me with everything. Upstairs to the head and down to the body, I countered throughout his barrage with little effect. The round was soon over thankfully, we touched gloves and he left the ring.
Next up, Peter. One of the smaller lads. Quite young, nimble, in his early twenties. Short, fluffy ginger hair. Not built big, but owned fast fists.
“Right come on, let's go. Round two!”
The minute break wasn’t long enough to settle my breathing back to normal. Peter was a raw brawler like the rest of the boxers here, but lacked size and difficult to hit because of light feet.
He might have lacked size, but didn’t lack heart. As I battled my way to land a combo of heavy punches to bounce his body from side to side, he absorbed it all and carried on. I liked guys like this, loads of heart. If you didn’t have heart you have nothing. Something Tommy Stevenson used to tell me. ‘You can hit hard, you can be fast, you can be big, but if you've no heart, you’re fucked.’
Three occasions during this round Mike shouted at Peter. I sensed a pattern.
“Now boy now, get on him!” Mike took pleasure in controlling what punishment I received.
I could see what was happening, Mike was testing me, pushing me, trying to find my limit.
Totally fucked by the end of the round, I needed more than a minute before taking on the next guy, but I kept repeating Tim’s words in my head, not to ‘upset’ Mike or Bull, get through it best I could. The same one-minute break would have to do.
The third round, with Danny, a well-rounded plump fighter, kept relentless pressure on me. Danny had a hanging beer-belly, but boy could he fight. Blessed with a gift and he knew how to use it.
Targeting the body, leaning over me and keeping on the inside. As I had less and less energy to move, he punished my stomach and kidneys. I didn’t like it. My energy drained, taking pounding thuds to my kidneys and rib-cage, not able to dodge the hits. My feet felt like they were dragging a ball and chain, heavy and weary.
The minute breather came in time, before I took a brush against the canvas.
Round four, they had seen the effect Danny had on me, keeping him in for this round, trying to take me down to another level, Mike pushing him to punish me, fast dancing legs combined with a huge belly, a combination not put together often, giving me the run-around.
Wasn’t sure if I would make it through the fourth. My heart and skull ready to explode with lack of time to draw breath and heat trapped in my head, ducking, backing onto the ropes, taking a hurl of punches to the head, immobilising my movement.
In the fifth, I had to really push myself and try to get my credibility back with Danny. I surprised myself, considering how knackered I was, putting him down, and fighting on pure instinct. I could hardly breathe, fatigued and struggled to keep my hands up.
Every punch thrown was telegraphed before it left my side, and when they landed, they brought no weight behind them. In the last minute and a half, I was getting thrashed, but couldn’t give up, not if I wanted to bring the readies home to May. That wasn’t an option for me.
The last guy into the ring, was the pocket dynamo, Toby. Knowing his skills, he could break me, the fastest and fittest here. By this time, the pain ran throughout my whole body, my lungs hardly able to function, legs weak, eyes and forehead ached, standing tall sent a stabbing pain into the ribs. I just had to suck it up, get on with it. Mike must have taken pity on me, giving me just over the minute’s break this time, but that wasn’t going to help.
I
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