On to the Next Chapter: No Double Entendre Intended

It’s been a good run.

That’s what I would say about my short-lived but well enjoyed amateur boxing career. But after a devastating decision at provincials last month, and a lackluster performance at box-offs, the run, it seems, is over.

I remember sitting in a classroom at the University of Regina in 2004 with my cooperating teacher (and a bunch of other prospective interns and their mentors). The task at hand was to create a list of personal and professional goals for the future. I turned a few heads with my “Compete at the 2008 Olympics” contribution. Heck, at that time, even to me, the goal was just as enchanting as its elusive achievement.

So I would spend the next three years working away at the sport of boxing, picking away at it really, deciphering it, getting inside of it, wearing it, and, at almost whimsical times, living it.

Flashes of memories hit me now like a too-fast slideshow. Running in frozen-faced blizzards with my dog, pounding leather with determined fists, a rib cracking here, a neck snapping there – sweat, blood, pride, war. There are shades of saddening defeat, and of maddening victory, the will to do more and to be more – the search for the invisible limit.

And then there are flutters, fleeting but clear, of glory.

And few people have understood, fewer still will understand; there is a plight to all this. There’s a guy in the mirror and a voice in your head that spurs you on, holds you back, gets you up, and beats you down all at once. In twenty-five fights he’s all I’ve ever met. Because the war against the self is repetitious and tedious; it begs of time and tears.

Because the war against the self is the war for the self. It’s strengthening in all its destruction.

With all that it sheds it builds.

When a man sweats off his 17 extra pounds, his extra skin, his baggage, his indulgence, his smug contentment, his weakness, all that is left is starving emotion. It’s only logical though; it takes a lot out of someone to put so much into something.

For the first two years it’s okay – because satiation comes in learning, not just winning. A loss is a lesson and an honour. But time marches on, and losses leave lessons behind in favour of sad surprise: Provincials 2007. Then the will starts to go, and the baggage creeps back in. The emotion goes and the old pounds and guilt retake their place. The logic goes and the nonsense manifests: Box-offs 2007. It sucks when opportunity knocks but it’s coming from next door: Olympics 2008.

But, thank God, the long and learned hunger for self-betterment remains.

And so the will walks out of the ring and into a book.

I’m on page 45 so far. Go Riders Go.

- Khodi

Morning Mistaken

I just woke up at 8:00 this morning to take a subbing job at work. Only, the school doesn’t need me anymore. Normally, I would be aghast at the whole prospect of waking up without a good reason. I mean, not that I don’t have other reasons to get up in the morning. I mean, there’s Carly, but then – she’s still in bed, so that makes no sense whatsoever.

Anyway, showered and fed and watered, I think I’ll use this time productively, if not to write, then at least to think and reflect, or umm – watch TV. Yeah, that’s probably more like it. But did I tell you that Carly and I are both taking on the daunting task of writing novels? Maybe in about five years, you’ll see a first draft.

Anyway, last night was Halloween and a funny question struck me. Why do people always have to count the number of trick-or-treaters they get every year? I mean, I suppose it’s helpful information to the individual for future reference, but what I really don’t get is why that information becomes the hot topic of conversation the day after Halloween in every Canadian home, workspace, and collective human conscious:

“So, how many trick-or-treaters did you get last night?”
“Oh, we had about 60 or so. You?” “About a hundred actually.”
“Wow.”

What is a pointless conversation, Alex?

Anyway, I’m sure it’ll never change, but for the meantime, it really bugs me. Worst part is, I found myself having that conversation last night around 9pm with a friend.


We wanted to do something scary last night to celebrate the day, so Carly and I went to see the movie “Halloween” with some friends. It’s a remake of the old Michael Myers story, this time directed by Rob Zombie, whose often been compared to the devil incarnate. All I know, is that movie was just about worth walking out on. The gore was shameless. At one point, I actually called out “Noo!” during a quiet moment in the film when I thought the killer was gonna go for a baby. Thank God, he let her grow up another seventeen years or so and then tried to kill her. Phew.


My big rematch is on Saturday. Originally slated to take place at 7pm, the time has now changed. The fight will go on at 5pm at 1600 Dewdney Ave, Regina – the Lonsdale Boxing club. I know, I know – the Rider Game could be a time conflict. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t miss it if I had a ticket either. Anyway, if I win on Saturday, I will fight again on Sunday at the same place (not sure what time).

I'm sure excited for this fight though. I've been workin' real hard:

"I done somethin' new for this fight. I have wrassled with a alligatah; I don' tussled with a whale; I don' handcuffed lightnin', throwed thunda in jail. Only last week I murdered a rock, injured a stone, hospitalized a brick! I'm so mean I make medicine sick!" - Ali

Talk to you soon.

- Khodi