I went to Cappy’s Boxing Gym on Saturday for a fitness boxing class. It was $5. It was actually run by Cappy. And it was the most fun I’ve ever had exercising. 

Now, I’m just a wee little girl with not too many issues. But I was so ready to punch the shit out of people (mainly, the boyfriend who was also excited to punch the shit out of me, since we usually reserve beatings for Tuesdays).

Right when we walked in, we were pleasantly surprised that Cappy himself was teaching the fitness class. You’d think he’d spend his Saturday mornings punching the shit out of homeless people in Capitol Hill, but nope he was there, giving me tape to put around my hands and telling me to grab a jump rope. After 15 minutes of jumping, I discovered I’m pretty fucking talented at jumping rope.  I can swing it around figure 8 style and even jump through a loop I would make (which also looks like a figure 8). Mom, I found my hidden talent.

Then we got to punch bags, and that little bag that flies in your face. And then we got to punch eachother! Well, not really eachother, but the bags we were holding right against our chest. And sadly, we were also separated by our sex organs and not our strength. If it was separated by strength, I would’ve clearly been put in the little kid’s corner with the boyfriend because the one woman I was paired up with had more power in her right hook then my dad had the time he caught me smoking the dope.

By the end, my legs and shoulders and arms were so sore that after we had lunch and saw some tulips, the boyfriend and I passed out at 8pm. When we woke up 12 hours later with slightly toned arms, we agreed that Cappy was a genius. Even if he did totally kick our asses.

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