Posted by: theboyfromsmallville | April 14, 2007

Because I’m such a glutton for punishment

I’ve stepped up my boxing regimen lately. It coincided with a change in trainers. My former trainer, three-time Olympian Romeo Brin, had to return to barracks for military training in Tarlac.

I’m now training under Roel Velasco, Barcelona Olympics bronze medalist in the flyweight division, two-time Southeast Asian Games participant and also known hereabouts as brother of Atlanta Olympics silver medalist Onyok Velasco.

We’ve had two sessions so far, all designed to focus on adding a little zing to the punches that I throw. In short, he’s given up on my footwork because I have the natural ability to get my legs tangled up without the slightest provocation.

He’s also mapped out a diet program. Hah! I’m giving the program a two-week shelf life.

On the second training session, he added a new dimension to training: The medicine ball.

This is the medicine ball:

It’s about the size of the volleyball, it’s coated in rubber and it weighs three kilos. That’s roughly 6.61387 pounds (yes, smartass, I do have a calculator by my side). That’s about a pound and a half short of a bowling ball.

Now imagine you standing like this: (Model is my training teammate Tin Moncada).

And then imagine the trainer standing about four feet away from you. He has the medicine ball—a bowling ball equivalent—in his hands and throws a chest pass right at your abdomen.

Yes, a chest pass. In basketball, that is the snappiest form of a short pass. Here’s the godawful catch (pardon the lameness of the intended pun): You are not supposed to catch the ball. You are supposed to let the friggin’ ball hit your friggin’ abdomen and catch it on its way down.

Like this:

And, yes, oh yes. You’re supposed to hand the stupid ball back to the trainer who you want to give the finger to if not for the fact that he’s floored several opponents with a single punch many times before. So he can THROW IT BACK AT YOU AGAIN.

For three minutes. At five seconds per throw, that means you’re going to stand there and let a bowling ball cannonball into your tummy 36 times.

The last of which leaves you like this:

Of course, that’s Tin. Girls usually have that type of reaction when they get hit by a roughly seven-pound ball in the abs.

Me? My reaction was kinda different. I doubled up, hit the floor on my knees and forehead at the same time and screamed the name of all my dead relatives in a pitch so high it made Regine Velasquez sound like Sago frontman Lourd de Veyra. And it made all the dogs in the neighborhood go crazy.

After which, I started gasping for air and providing my trainer a little entertainment by flaunting my face’s ability to turn into different shades of blue.

So, why am I actually paying the guy to do this to me?

Simple. My trainer has plans for me in October. Something that requires me to make a certain weight by July. What it is, I’ll tell you once it comes to fruition. Just so I wouldn’t jinx the whole thing.

 

I leave you with this smart quote from Roel Velasco, who was telling me not to force power into my punches because snapping it freely actually produces harder hits:

Wag manggigil. Babae lang ang pinaggigigilan natin.”

I so love my new trainer. Medicine ball, notwithstanding.

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Responses

  1. hahaha torture ito! you can get even by barfing on him =p

  2. “Wag manggigil. Babae lang ang pinaggigigilan natin.”

    rar.

  3. Napipicture ko yung reaction mo. HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAA

  4. Nice blog!

  5. Cy: Good idea! I’m seriously giving that my consideration

    Kate: Rar’s the word, dude

    Rissa: The real reaction was really much worse

    Livette: Thanks for the drop-by! Hope you visit Smallville more often…


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