Thoughts In Meditation Before A Fight

Underneath the layers of sadness, anger and confusion, I am a fighter. I have always been a fighter.

Even the focused mind is susceptible to distractions. But I will return again and again to the task at hand. I come to the battle with a quiet mind and a strong heart. I will not show fear.

I do not need the permission of others and I will not ask for it. I do not need the admiration of crowds. The only support I need comes from within. I am grateful to recognize this which I have been afraid to admit as truth. I was once clouded by fear but today my mind, body and soul are clear.

It is an honor to fight.

This is the way out of depression, isolation, inactivity and self-destruction. This is the path. This is the way. There is a greater purpose and a higher truth. I am humble before it.

I must honor the sport. I must honor the gym. I must honor my opponent with a strong fight and most of all, I must honor myself.

I will be fierce. I will be one with the war.

I will not wear out my body with anxiety. I will be prepared for anything. I will rest in uncertainty. I will be a man.

I will protect myself. I will breathe with my punches. I will be confident. I have that confidence. I am confident.

Everything that happens in life also happens in boxing.

A Truth Born of Blood and Fear

RLC on NESN's "Boston Boxing" Reality TV show. Screenshot Courtesy of Bradley's Almanac.

He came at me with a series of body shots, capped with a punishing left hook that hit directly in my right eye. I threw a jab and a right but they were too slow and he countered with a punch that landed on my jaw, followed by another that hit me square in the mouth. It felt as if his fist had gone clear through my skull. A horrible shock of pain shot through the base of my neck and I felt blood run down my face and into my throat. I began to choke. He caught me with another blow and my legs went soft. That was it. I went down against the ropes.

I had come unprepared for this sparring session. Despite a good night’s sleep and a solid breakfast, my mind and heart were elsewhere. As I hit the mat, I knew that I had to rise with my hands up or I would be finished.

He came in as soon as I stood up. I threw jabs and rights to keep him outside. He stepped back and I saw my opening, but I couldn’t move in. I went numb. Then the moment passed and he came right back at me with that terrible swinging. By the grace of divine intervention, the bell rung and it was over.

I left the gym and went straight to the yoga studio where I work part-time as a janitor. I arrived quietly and quickly started the shift. To nurse my wounds, I put on headphones and listened to Chopin’s “Nocturnes.” As I moved the mop across the floor, I realized that we all put ourselves in certain roles. I was a janitor for the same reason that I had never been a fighter. I subscribed to values that brought me into a passive way of life. I had previously believed that violence was universally wrong and that sensitivity was the key to evolution. I thought that being a creative person meant living on the outside of society. But the truth is that I was afraid.

I became aware of this fear in the ring. Suddenly I saw it all around me. I looked on as fear allowed my opponent to take control. I watched helplessly as fear caused my worst nightmares to unfold before my eyes. It was devastating.

This discovery has been both liberating and terrifying, because it brings great responsibility. Seeing my anxiety in the ring has enabled me to perceive all of the other places where fear has a grip on my life. I now know that I must overcome what scares me if I am to realize my potential as a person.

As I examine my fear, I have been surprised to see similarities in people all over. Everyone is afraid. And this is why confident people are successful – because they move forward while the rest of the world cowers.

Since this last bout, I am unsure of whether I have reached my limit as a boxer or if I am just beginning. I have a feeling that the answer may be somewhere in between. What I do know is that we all have to just go for it, whatever the endeavor. There will be days when things don’t come together and there will be days when our worst fears come to pass. There will be bloodshed. So it goes.

Everything that happens in life happens in the boxing ring. The entire human experience is contained within the ropes. Champions are made, only to fall from grace. If it is God’s will, they may return to redeem themselves and inspire others. In this sport, people pull themselves up from nothing, to become the very best they can be.  Some find fame and fortune, yet most tragically end up with nothing. Still, fighters go on facing challenges. Under the best of circumstances, boxers find a deep love and empathy for their themselves and their opponents.

****

As I spend more and more time in the ring, I have come to see violence in a new light. After years of avoiding it, I am now finding that conflict is an inseparable part of life. After I left the gym yesterday, I wondered if there is an alternative to the role violence plays in our world… but I couldn’t think of one.

When I hear John Lennon’s arguments for peace, I believe in every word he says. My heart aches with the desire for all people to love and understand each other. But there is a reason that the world is run by testosterone. It’s because violence is the most direct, persuasive form of action. You can’t beat it.

This leaves everyone else to survive anyway possible. But, I wonder, for men who lead passive or cerebral lives, does that mean denying a central part of our nature? And is this a question for men alone?

I believe that consciousness is evolving throughout the world, slowly. But does this suggest an end to violence? Would humanity be better off if this part of our instinct were stripped away? Or would we be a weaker species?

When I look to nature for perspective, I see violence at its core. Animals assert themselves and consume each other in order to survive. So I wonder, if God’s creatures were no longer murderous, would nature’s order fall into chaos? If violence makes the world work,  should I shy away from fighting or do I return for another round? If there was no fight, would I cease to exist?

If I have learned one thing in my quest to better understand the inner struggle through boxing, I have found this to be true – there are few things that will send you searching inward faster than a brutal beating…and I am perfectly fine with resting on the inside today.

Boxing on TV tonight

If you are in New England and you find yourself sitting in front of a television tonight, tune into NESN at 10:30pm. I’ll be featured on the “Boston Boxing: Team Training” Reality TV show. They’re showing my first experience sparring. The results are bloody…

Thinking of Vic Chesnutt on Christmas

Today, I am reminded of lyrics I put down on paper a long time ago:

“Late last year, I nearly died.
It was the second time I tried
to avoid the holidays
and all the ways
they leave you with
nowhere to hide.”

- From “Belief in Me and You” on There is no Music (2005)

I’ve just heard about the passing of Vic Chesnutt, who apparently died on Christmas day from an overdose of muscle relaxants. I am terribly saddened by the news, not because I knew his music, but because I feel connected to his spirit.

When I first heard Vic speak and sing earlier this month on NPR, I felt an immediate kinship. There was an unmistakable familiarity in the tone of his voice as he answered questions in an interview with Terry Gross on the “Fresh Air” radio show.

One of the songs they discussed is on Vic’s new album. It’s called “I’ve Flirted With You All My Life,” which he described as “a break up song with death.” I stayed in the car to listen to the interview, even after I had arrived at my destination. Something about Vic reminded me of certain members in my family. On my mother’s side, suicide is part of our history.

To my knowledge, Vic’s passing has not been publicly confirmed as self-inflicted, but the circumstances took me back to something that happened several months ago. Someone in my family overdosed on anxiety medication and muscle relaxants. Like Vic, she was in a coma and facing possible outcomes of death or brain damage.  We found out that the overdose was intentional after she woke up eight days later. Even now, I am still trying to put the pieces together. The answers aren’t always there for the people who are left behind.

For drinkers and drug users, overdoses happen and they’re not always on purpose. I had my first major one when I was 20 years old. Angry, lonely and in a frantic emotional state, I consumed an entire prescription of klonopin with a bottle of codeine cough syrup, a 12 pack of beer and a bag of grass.  I later pieced together that I had blacked out for about 5 days, but I didn’t go to the hospital and there were no further details because I had been alone. The hard months that followed were filled with a solitary struggle to reach a relative level of sobriety. I eventually stabilized for a few years, but all of that changed when Elliott Smith died.

When Elliott left, I was living alone in a cheap room inside a small house on a dead end street in Jamaica Plain. The room was empty except for a futon mattress on the floor and a chair that I had found in the street. My clothes sat piled up in a corner. There was one window and it didn’t have a shade. I had never felt more isolated from the world. I listened to Elliott’s records constantly, while getting high and drinking wine by the gallon. I was also mixing in dangerous amounts of ativan. I believed that I, like many of my family members and musical heroes, would wind up in an early grave. Eventually, I discovered that it didn’t have to be that way.

Depression is a real and dangerous thing. It can be treated, but only if the person is willing to accept help. If depression goes uncared for, it will deepen and deepen until the suffering soul feels that there is no way out. It becomes impossible to recognize that there are always options and that it is necessary to ask for support. It makes me so sad to consider that Vic might have felt there was no one he could turn to.

I have read that Vic was struggling with overwhelming hospital bills and that this was profoundly disheartening to him. I think that part of why creative people suffer from depression more than others is because there are very few support systems in place for artists in our society. We need insurance that works, we need financial and emotional support and we need our creations to be appreciated as valuable contributions to the greater good. All creative work makes the world a better place and that needs to be acknowledged by our culture.

Vic Chesnutt may have been a troubled and unhappy man, but his music, which drew from that sad life, brought so much joy to others. He bared that pain to the world so that we could better know ourselves. I am grateful to him.

I’ll never know Vic, but maybe, through his music and through developing a deeper empathy for the sadness of all people, I’m going to love him anyhow. My prayers go out to his family, friends and fans.

RLC

New Video: “Summer’s Come (You Are Gone)”

1st video from “Out to Dry” by Ryan Lee Crosby

Shot by Jermy Reger with additional footage shot by Ryan Lee Crosby and Daniel Nicholas Daskivich.

Edited by Ryan Lee Crosby

The Core Of My Being & The Big Apple

I leaned over and heaved.

2 liters of water and nothing came up. My body had absorbed it all. We had been doing some hard sparring for the last 90 minutes and I was completely drained. I leaned over and heaved again.

We had been fighting “round robin” style, with 4 boxers in the ring and 1 outside, switching places every 60 seconds. You fought for 4 minutes, then got a 1 minute break. This went on for an hour and a half. At the end, there were pools of red on my clothes, gloves and the canvas. My nose wouldn’t stop bleeding.

Beyond the physical toll of fighting, the emotional strain had worn out my inner defenses. All the walls had come down. Standing there in the bathroom of the gym, dry heaving into the air, I could see myself clearly through the haze,  all the way from childhood into adult life. I saw why I had taken so many punches in and out of the ring. I felt the boundary that fear had made between my soul and the world. Boxing brought me to the core of my being. It was horrifying. And cleansing.

I didn’t want to go when the trainer called me for the final round. I was too tired to stand, let alone fight. But I entered and touched gloves with my opponent. He hit me with some shots in quick succession and I wobbled back and forth. The trainer asked if I was alright, but words couldn’t come. So he let me out. I didn’t want to quit, but I had nothing left.

I went home that night and had tuna maki with a bottle of Woodford Reserve. The mix of the wasabi and bourbon mirrored the burning in my skull. After dinner, I put ice on my nose and laid down on the bed, letting the sensation flow through me. Every few minutes I put the ice to the side and took a good drink of bourbon, repeating the treatment until sleep came.

There was music the next day.  In the morning, I went down to New York City for a CMJ showcase with Faces on Film. Rolling into town brought the familiar portents – congestion on the FDR, combing dozens of blocks in search of parking, navigating through the crazies, the women, the hipsters, the thugs, the homeless, the police, the cabs, the buses, the cyclists… then out of the car, moving the gear, wanting nothing more than a drink and a quiet place to sit down.

Manhattan is better after a couple of drinks. The women look friendlier, the insane appear rational and life is full of possibility. Suddenly you’re one with the Apple and you decay as it decays, everyone and everything around you starving, dying to be eaten, rotting to the core.

I waited with the band by the bar in the Bowery Poetry Club on the lower east side. We were there for hours until finally our time came and we took the stage…

Fighting With Depression

I felt like a real bum last week. After fighting it for days, depression got the better of me.

On the morning of a sparring session, I woke up with a hangover. I still felt weak when evening came, but I made the bike ride from Somerville to Allston any way. I walked into the gym and went right to the speed bag for a warm up. The red leather loomed ominously before me. I had trouble connecting and I knew what that meant. Before the night was over, I was going to take a beating.

Training started with push ups, step ups, foot work drills and the medicine ball. I was exhausted and light headed. My body felt tight and slow. We finished conditioning and the group moved into the ring for a lesson on inside fighting. Body shots, uppercuts and combination punches. What to do when you’re up against the ropes.

After the lesson, Ed told us all to partner up and practice. I was approached by a smaller fighter and thought I could get off easy.

I was wrong. Too tired to keep my hands up, I took repeated blows to the head. The bridge of my nose was sore for days after, but the shame hurt more than any punch.

Recovery came through writing and playing guitar at home. A new song was born from the wound – “November in New England.”

I finally returned to the gym on a quiet Saturday afternoon. Most of the boxers were laying low before the exhibition that night. I came back for the fights, which were open to the public. There was a cash bar and DJ. My wife accompanied me. We were lucky in finding ringside seats.

Watching the bouts at the open house, I was reminded that my center lies in song. However, like music, quitting boxing is not an option. The only answer is to work harder and to take better care of myself, particularly in the face of depression. The blues hit like a fist and they come when your guard is down. The only way to fight back is to stand tall and face them head on.

Many of those around me at Boston Boxing are artists in their own right. Their speed, grace and power are awe-inspiring. The sheer force of their collective will makes me want to go on when depression has me down for the count. Once again, boxing has reminded me that there is no room in this world to be weak-willed – not in the ring, or in music, or in life. There simply isn’t time or space for it.

Having fast become a passionate fan of this sport, I could not truly feel my love for the sweet science without actively taking part. There would be no integrity in it if I didn’t know what it means to give or take a punch.
I have felt a real revelation of that truth and I am grateful for a lesson of tough love:  in life and boxing, you cannot achieve victory without self-respect. I’ll remember that the next time I come up against the ropes with the blues.

Competition and the First Sparring Session

In my program at Boston Boxing, the team trains during the week and competes on the weekends. Fighters are supposed to go to the gym on their own time for additional conditioning and practice.

My mother was hospitalized last week and I was unable to go to the gym on Wednesday and Thursday. I knew that I was scheduled to compete on Saturday – not yet in the bouts – but on the jump rope.  I expected to miss it but I returned home on Friday and arrived at the gym on Saturday.  Ed, the owner and head trainer, smiled as I walked in. I was glad to be back.

In life, like boxing, you must roll with the punches.  I had missed my chance to train, but when called to compete, I walked up to the platform and faced my opponent – Alex, a man both taller and broader than I. We were there to see who could score the highest amount of points (one per revolution) in 60 seconds. It could be one jump or one hundred, but if you tripped on the rope, it was all over. Ed decided that I would go first. Knowing that we were both new boxers, I put my nerves aside and began.

As a performer, I have struggled with stage fright for years. It started in my mid 20s, when I began performing alone. I often thought that the problem was that I was playing without the support of a band, but in reality, I had attempted to publicly execute the difficult skill of finger picking without putting in the hours and that made me shaky, insecure and ineffective.

Through boxing, I have had the opportunity to see my fear in a new light. Being able to perceive my anxiety in another context has fostered the awareness to name what scares me and to put it aside.  In that moment of competition, I cast my fear away and honed in on the task at hand – jumping rope.

The key was to start slow and finish strong. I reached my edge by the 30 second mark and gradually built speed until the minute was up. I didn’t think of it as competition with my opponent or his team. I didn’t try to take on the demands of others. I knew that I only had to answer to myself and that as long as I gave everything I had, I couldn’t lose.

I won 141 – 94.

Preliminary sparring drills began soon after. I faced off again with Alex. We traded light punches at first, but began hitting harder as our spirits engaged. He wanted to keep going after class and I agreed. We were in it.

A boxer has to size up his opponent and formulate a strategy to take him apart. I could see that Alex was coming at me with 3 jabs followed by a straight right, but I had trouble timing my defense and caught a couple of those punches head on. The shock made me impatient and I rushed straight at him, making myself vulnerable to punishment.

I  was able to connect with a few jabs and a shot to the body, but it was difficult to get through his large arms when he blocked.

He countered and caught me square in the nose. I tasted blood. Hungry to connect, I landed a right, but he followed with another shot to the middle of my forehead. The earth shook and everything became dark for a moment. I spun around and Alex called it off.

I had beaten him in the jump rope competition, but Alex dominated me in the ring. With overwhelming size, strength and patience, he emerged victorious. I took off the head gear and looked in the mirror. Blood ran down my face and my head throbbed. It felt like bad acid.

As a musician, I have made the same mistakes. In the past, I have rushed to get out there, instead of staying calm and pursuing my craft while pushing the world to bring its guard down. I have tried to deliver knockout punches when I should have focused on solid, quick jabs. I have not always known when it was right to get out of the way and I have suffered as a result.

At the gym, I was compelled to prove that I was unafraid of taking punches. Then Alex caught me with one hard shot that turned everything upside down. If I had been relaxed and calculated, it could have gone my way. But I was unwilling to wait and left myself wide open. Neither fighters or artists can afford to let the body, mind and spirit become vulnerable to attack.  They will pay for it dearly. The world will send them reeling as it all starts to fade away…

Songwriting and the Sweet Science

I have been a songwriter and musician for nearly sixteen years. Six months ago, I decided to become a boxer.

I joined Boston Boxing in Allston, where the gym is a former auto body repair shop and the aesthetic remains intact. I started going last spring, once or twice a week. I knew that the boxer’s workout was said to be the most difficult there is and after a year and half without exercise, I found the regimen to be more than difficult – it was devastating.

The experience, however, was cleansing. The practice purified my body, mind and soul. New possibilities began to emerge. Now, after six months of learning some of the workouts and punches, I have signed up for the gym’s team training, which is a 90 day intensive that prepares members for an upcoming night of amateur fighting against other local gyms. The first two weeks are made to be painful – a boxing boot camp designed for the dual purpose of getting fighters in shape and also for weeding out those unfit to compete. Thousands of pushups, intense cardio exercise, weight lifting, circuit training and technical development are all part of the program.

Boot camp just finished and today the focus will begin to include offensive and defensive drills. The group has been broken up into two teams and competitions will take place once a week. I am pleased to have survived the introductory training, but I am now thinking more about the challenges that lie ahead – increased conditioning, refining my footwork, developing speed and learning how to stay relaxed as I throw and take punches. Meeting with the team 3 times a week is not enough – it is necessary to work on the off days, as well.

I am so grateful for this opportunity. Boxing has allowed me to see all of the things that I am not and to have this insight has been an amazing gift. Rather than feel a sense of lacking or diminished self-worth, I have felt all of the space that I have to grow into and that is profoundly inspiring.

Through these physical demands, I have been reminded of the inherent value in discipline and practice. Pugilism, like poetry and music, cannot be taken lightly. If you open yourself up without strengthening the mind, body and spirit through daily practice, this sport, like the business of music and art, will eat you alive. It takes dedication, will, strength, passion, faith and it requires all of these qualities on all levels all of the time. If you are not at once totally engaged, then you are destined to fail.

I came to boxing because my creativity was suffering. After fifteen years as a guitarist and songwriter, I was ready to trade notes for gloves. I thought that boxing might renew my interest in writing through its use of rhythm, flow, timing, power and grace. I hoped that direct action would translate to a direct voice. But this search for connection brought me so much more. I came to boxing to learn about music, but to my great surprise, it has taught me about life instead.

When a fighter steps into the ring, he or she knows that they’re going to get hit. Therefore the boxer must move with all of their might and will. A fighter can’t move half-heartedly or his opponent will take him apart. The boxer must bring everything they have to the bout and in addition to the totality of their strength, focus and determination, the fighter must also come with all of their honor, respect and love – for the sport, for the ring, for their opponent and for themselves. The ring, like the stage, is life. And it is our duty to show up.

While living with the uncertainty of a career in the arts, boxing has shown me a clear vision of my own inner possibility and of my deepest, purest energy. Great integrity can be found through the simplest of actions: jumping rope, lifting a medicine ball, or throwing one punch over and over until power comes from the feet through head, then deep into the mind, heart and spirit.

We cannot turn our backs on the great gifts that are given to us. The fighter must enter the ring, just as the performer must take the stage. All of God’s creatures everywhere must step into life.  Through action we honor the world,  as we must honor each other and we must honor ourselves. That is the work and this is the way.