When I was injury free and working out, I always saw the same trainer in my compound – and, as expected, he is in incredible shape. Sometimes when I see him coming to the same gym to train his regular clients, I wonder to myself, “he made a commitment a long time ago and is living out that choice.”
Let me explain: one day, in his mid 20s maybe, he said to himself, “I like working out. I like being in good shape. And I can do this for a living, helping others to do the same.” Since then, he probably spends more time than 99% of the population dedicated to lifting heavy weights. That decision leads to his subsequent reality – being in the gym, training, and being in other gyms, instructing other people to train. One important decision has led to the manifestation of what became his working adult life.
That is the power of choice.
Free will is a powerful idea. This idea, that, despite everything, you can make a choice, and that will make all the difference. And these seemingly simple decisions, are what in my opinion, separates the optimists and the nihilists. Talents are out of your control. But choosing what to do despite the lack of talent, is an individual responsibility. It’s like the scrawny kid who says to himself, I might be naturally skinny, but I will make it a point to get big – it’s the story of Rocky, the average working-class man who must take on the heavyweight champion of the world. The decision to get up early and work. The decision to go the extra mile. The decision to never give up. These are virtues that override talents.
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The first time I stepped foot into a boxing gym was back in high school. It was with three other classmates, one of whom was a regular at this gym back then. Our instructor was this Croatian no bs kinda guy who was ex-military. About an hour in, it was clear that all three of us were gassed – and were nowhere near the shape we needed to be in. Towards the end of the session, he asked me to partner up with someone and play this game where we had to snatch flags out of each other’s body. None of this is really relevant except for this part: I vividly remember him saying to me with this broken English, “Ali, I believe in you. You can do it.” And by some miracle, I managed to pull my exhausted body and snatch the flag out of my opponent’s waist. It was then when a seed was planted – this random trainer, who I don’t even know, said to me, “Yes. Good job Ali. You see, some people, they have that fire, but they just need to be told they can do it. You need that desire to be a good boxer. Even if you don’t know it’s there yourself.”
I always remembered that gym and that training session.
The second time I ever stepped foot into a boxing gym was more than 5 years later, in a completely different city (in Hong Kong). I searched and chosen a random gym that I figured looked fine and was close to where I worked. I remember stepping into this gym for the first time and looking completely lost. I had to ask for wraps and gloves and had to walk on the mats with my bare feet because I had no boxing shoes. Someone else had to wrap my hands for me and I sat quietly in front of two other people, waiting for the session to start. A few minutes later, a Thai guy who was in his mid 50s walked by and introduced himself. And by introducing himself I meant him just repeating the few phrases he knew how to say in English, “Boxing? Okay okay…here…Phaniang.” That was the first time I met Phaniang – this exotic ex national team trainer who always liked to chew gum and is always chatting up young ladies who show up to the gym. This mfer can’t understand me when I’m trying to learn how to throw a jab, but he somehow knows how to say, “Hey, you girl, you pretty ha.”
But make no mistake, Phaniang knows boxing. By the time our first very first session ended, he came up to me and said, “You – you boxing good.” That was all I needed. Those words reminded me the same motivational words that I received many years ago – I felt, that in a long time, I got some credit – perhaps even undeserved credit. I finally picked up something that I always wanted to start. And I intended to pursue this in the best way that I can. For the next few months, I probably went to that same gym, with the same trainer, four times a week. I would get off work at 6, walk the exact same route every evening, and get to the 6:15 class on time. If I had to leave later, I would try to make the 7:15 class. Either way, I intended to train. Sometimes I knew that the 6:15 class was too early for some coming off work – and I knew that if I could make it many times it would just be myself. And I could get a private session based on a class price. Those sessions were brutal. I would always be drenched in sweat afterwards and felt like I knew nothing about boxing.
This year, when I came back to Shanghai, I checked out that same gym where I first got introduced to the sport – it no longer feels like the same place with different trainers and class types. But, for some reason, I still find some comfort in the architecture, in the space. I still check out this gym at least once a week now as I resume training. Not because it has the best trainers (it doesn’t). But simply because of that nostalgic feeling I get from the circle of life – I’m a sucker for stories.
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I still remember one night in my old boxing gym, when I just finished training. I recognized a guy or two asking the reception what the name of the guy training is – that guy being Phaniang’s best student. He was always at the gym, with tattoos exposed under his sleeves, and was clearly one of the best boxers at the gym. I still remember being incredibly nervous when I first sparred with him and him telling me everything was going to be okay – a few months later, we sat next to each other after a brutal training session as usual, and he said to me, “You know, I’m super proud of you and how far you’ve came. I look up to you in a way.” I didn’t expect to hear that. I never kept in touch with him. But I wonder if he still trains. I hope one day to be back in that gym and can spar with him one more time.
But more importantly, that random guy who hasn’t even talked to him wanted to know his name – that struck with me. The fact that people will want to socialize with you if you are simply good at your craft. This same sequence of events happened to me almost a year later, perhaps a few weeks ago. A regular at one of the gyms asked me what my name was after a session and gave me a compliment.
That was another circle of life moment. And for the first time in a while, I felt good about myself.
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I remember meeting a girl one day in HK at training who went to UofT – I always strike up a conversation with those students because Alex and Bryan went there. One thing led to another and she invited me to a sparring session hosted by her friends. That was fun. I joined sometimes on Mondays. And that led me to meeting another person and then Sunny: who became one of my closest friends when I moved back to Shanghai. We also bonded over boxing. That was another influential event this year. Boxing has been good to me.
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I turned 23 yesterday. I would give my past year a B- (whatever that means).
My tradition every birthday is to write an essay to document the passing year. But when I stared at the blank document yesterday, for the first time in a long time, I really didn’t know what to write. Perhaps, it is the first time in a while, I am also metaphorically staring at a blank space in terms of my future. I made three big decisions this year – moving back to Shanghai, started a company, and moving out. All these decisions were difficult, full of uncertainty, and very emotional. I struggled for a long time; and still am. As I predicted in a letter from my past-self last year, “I truly don’t know where you’ll be reading this from and what kind of life you have.” When I was in university, although I didn’t know the details, I could still reasonably predict what my life would look like in the next year. But if you asked me last year, or even now, the range is slowly becoming wider and more uncertain.
However, I know this: if I close my eyes and take a deep breath, I know I still have my free will. I know that I can make decisions. And if there’s one thing boxing has taught me, it is to die empty – to give your all during the training sessions and you get to enjoy the momentary bliss afterwards: sitting in your own sweat, drinking some water, and staring into the empty space where you’ve just given your all.
So, despite the uncertainty, despite my disappointment in myself, despite the emotions, I know I have my decisions. I have my will. And that will keep me going.
Happy 23, kiddo.
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