When we first moved to Knoxville, I wasn't really a happy camper . . . we'd lived in Denver for several years . . . the first place that I felt like I'd actually put down roots. Don't get me wrong now . . . I missed being close to my family . . . missed my mom and dad like crazy! It was hard on them too . . . 1200 miles separated them from their granddaughters.
But from day 1, Denver felt like home to me.
My first year in Knoxville was hard. I resented the move. Your grandfather worked all of the time. I didn't want to expend the effort to really make friends because I had left some really great ones out west. Your mom and Auntie E had a hard time adjusting to this new world filled with bugs they'd never seen (that was really traumatic for them) . . . a sweltering heat they'd never really experienced . . . a neighborhood with few kids their ages . . . transition to a school full of children that "talked funny" . . .
Thankfully children are pretty resilient . . .
. . . the girls adapted pretty quickly once they started school.
Me? I was lost.
It wasn't like I lived in unfamiliar territory though; I lived just down the road from Knoxville back in the late 70's and early 80's . . . even went to a nearby college. Not much had changed here though . . . except for some of the roads. I got lost quite a bit those first few months.
But I was sad.
It took about a year to get my bearings, and I'd finally resigned myself to the fact that this would have to become "home" one way or another. I had to do something drastically different if I was going to survive!
So, I joined a gym.
Yeah, I know, that sounds a little weird, but exercise, if done consistently, releases endorphins in your brain and can make you happier. I was willing to try anything.
The first classes I participated in at the gym were Body Pump and Body Step . . . I'd never heard of them. Sure, I'd lifted weights in my younger years . . . even used some of those fancy machines. I'd even come to love the step classes I'd take at the YMCA . . . years earlier . . . in Indiana. But these classes were really cool. Fully choreographed workout programs set to specific music tracks. And they were fun!
Life was getting better.
Then, one day I showed up for a step class, but they'd changed the schedule one me. The class that replaced it was a kickboxing class.
As a youngster I had learned to throw punches and kicks . . . REAL fights with REAL people, but this was different. They weren't self-defense kickboxing classes though . . . just something to get the blood pumping . . .
. . . from the first class I was addicted!
There's something about spending an hour punching and kicking a boxing bag . . . releasing every ounce of aggression and sadness through my hands and feet . . . ending up sweat soaked and exhausted . . . euphoric even . . . certainly cathartic.
At first I felt really awkward, and I was a little apprehensive about actually wearing boxing gloves to do it. Those 14oz gloves may not seem heavy, but after an hour of throwing punches, they feel like lead!
17 years later . . . I can't imagine giving it up. At 54, I hurt a lot more, but I keep going . . . because it still makes me feel like a warrior . . . tough and battle ready. It erases the stress of the day. I've even jokingly told people it's the only thing that's kept me from punching people who make me angry . . . in reality those days ended with Clarence . . . a boy in the 8th grade that really made me mad.
But that's a story for another day.
I'll keep it up as long as I can physically do it. From the moment I wrap my hands and don my gloves until the last stretch, I get to spend an hour believing that I'm the biggest, baddest thing around . . . and that nothing . . . NOTHING can take me down.
I hope you live an active life. Maybe one day you'll take up kickboxing . . . or soccer . . . or weightlifting . . . or baseball. But do something that makes you move! We're built to move!
"Pain is weakness leaving the body."
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