My Corner of the Ring

by Jesselyn Silva

  “If it’s not bad weather, it’s road construction,” Zack mumbled next to me.

  “Come on, guys! We’re on the open road!” Don said with a fist pump. The car burst into laughter. That was at hour one . . . By hour four, we seemed to be in just stop-and-go traffic.

  I’d been playing a game with Zack, but he’d gotten tired of it. Zack was sixteen years old, tall, and really strong. He’d just moved to Englewood, New Jersey, from Philadelphia, so he was still getting to know people. Boxing helped him meet some kids. He’d been boxing for two years. He dozed off pretty quickly, and Don tried to get a funny photo of him sleeping to tease him later.

  Papi and I thought we were going to get some rest on the drive, but Coach Don saw my father nodding off and shouted jokingly, “Pedro, this is no time to sleep. We’re going to the nationals!” Then he began to sing at the top of his lungs whenever he saw anybody closing their eyes for too long. I think he just didn’t want to be the only one awake while driving.

  “Come on, Jess, gotta keep your eyes open to see the world,” he said.

  It was true: the only way to really see the world is to keep your eyes wide open and study what’s in front of you. I saw mountains so tall that I had to crane my neck out the window to see the tops of them. And fields of grass that went as far as the eye could see. But what was most interesting to me were all the trucks on the road. Papi and I would try to guess what all those trucks were carrying.

  Don told us that one of the best parts about being a boxer is the amount of travel you do for each tournament. He’d traveled all over the place when he was an amateur boxer—to places like Las Vegas and Florida and even other countries.

  “I wouldn’t have seen any of those places had I not been heading to another tournament,” he said.

  He looked in his rearview mirror at Zack, who had been playing Fortnite on his phone most of the drive. “Might not seem like much when you’re in the moment,” Don said, addressing the entire car, “but appreciate these long drives. They happen in the blink of an eye.” It wasn’t just new places; it was also new people, new experiences, breaking up the routine of life that was the best part of the adventure.

  The only way to really see the world is to keep your eyes wide open and study what’s in front of you.

  I must admit, all the distractions of being surrounded by my father, my coach, and my teammate were a nice break from thinking about the tournament ahead. I tried not to think of all the things that could go wrong, like losing, and imagined what it would feel and look like to win. Don always told us to “imagine the win.” Of course he gave us tips the entire road trip and told us about his first fights and going to nationals.

  “You know, Jess and Zack,” said Don, “you two are the first Junior Olympians in our gym to go to the nationals. This is a very big deal. You know that, right?”

  Zack just kind of nodded and went back to playing Fortnite, and I started to laugh.

  “Yeah, Don, we know it’s a big deal . . . We’re just in the zone. Not getting too excited, you know?”

  He knew. He trained us to stay relaxed and focused. Like Jedis, Jesiah would say.

  Then somewhere in D.C., we got lost. Don’s bits of wisdom and silly stories quickly changed to confusion, then silence. We all looked around with wide eyes. But looking back, I think Don might have gotten lost on purpose. Because after we drove in what seemed to be endless circles around the District, we somehow, miraculously, pulled up to the White House. The White House! And stopped. “Wow,” “Oh man,” “So cool,” we all said at once. Don grinned a wide grin. It was beyond amazing to be right in front of something I’d only seen in photographs. Now I was in photographs with it.

  As we got back on the road, the GPS took us half an hour in the wrong direction. But it was well worth the detour. While Don tried to get us unlost, we all rode in silence. Then he returned to singing, and we all told stories. Around that time, I started to miss home . . . Mostly I missed my brother and wished he were going to the nationals with us.

  I also kept thinking about the look on my grandma’s face when I left. She had clutched my hands together and said a little prayer, and when she hugged me, she told me to keep my head up . . . something she’d heard my father say over and over again about boxing. I knew she was still uncomfortable with having a granddaughter who boxed, but I also knew she was proud of me. “Not many grandmothers can say they have a granddaughter going to fight in the Junior Olympics,” I’d overheard her say to one of her friends on the phone. It was a good reminder of how far I had come in this sport. Sometimes when you’re so involved in something, you forget where you started from. This was a long way from The Jim in Edgewater, New Jersey, five years ago. Getting to where I was now had taken years of dedication and hard work in the gym.

  “Wake up, everyone,” Don said a few hours later. “No more sleeping!”

  “Sleep is underrated,” Zack said, stretching and yawning.

  “We’re here.”

  “We’re here?”

  We arrived in Charleston, West Virginia, that same day late in the afternoon. It was quieter than I expected. Given that it was a city of 50,000 people, I thought there would be bustle. But very few people were on the streets the day we arrived. “I think it’s the heat,” said Don. It was dreadfully hot. We found a gas station and asked how far the Civic Center was. Turns out it was nearby. The Civic Center was where the nationals were being held, and Don wanted Zack and me to see it before the tournament began. I’m glad we did, because the place was enormous and I wanted to explore it. It’s a 13,500-seat coliseum with a two-story lobby and a huge center arena . . . and I was going to be boxing there!

  “Don’t let the grandness intimidate you,” Don said to me with a smile. “That boxing ring is the same size as the one back home. Same exact dimensions, same exact height off the ground.”

  After we checked in to the tournament, I got all my information. The most exciting thing I learned was who my roommate was going to be for the weekend! At regionals, the makeup of your team is based on your gym, but when you go to a national tournament, it’s based on the state you live in and represent. Because I was on Team Jersey, I got to meet some pretty cool boxers from my state. My roommate was a girl named Elizabeth. She’d been to nationals five times, so I asked her a zillion questions about what to expect. She was sixteen years old and super focused on her fights when she was at tournaments, but outside tournaments she was crazy-funny and caring.

  Her cousins were there boxing as well, and they were rooming next to us: Los, Jeremiah, Chinny, and Narem. It felt a little weird being with so many kids my age who loved to talk about boxing, but it certainly kept my mind from worrying about nationals. We hung out playing Grand Theft Auto and watching cartoons until the adults came in.

  “Everyone get to bed early tonight. You have a big day tomorrow,” Elizabeth’s coach (who’s also her father) told us.

  But when the doors closed, Elizabeth said, “Do you like water sports?”

  “Yeah,” I said, a little confused. Her cousins started to laugh.

  “Good! Because we have a game we like to play. Whoever falls asleep first tonight is going to get cold water poured on their face. And if you fall asleep first again, then you get toothpaste.”

  Guess who fell asleep first . . . And then again. So I was the one who got both the water and the toothpaste treatment. I didn’t get much sleep that night, but I did have a lot of fun.

  Papi and I got to the weigh-ins super early—6:00 a.m.—with Elizabeth and her father. I weighed in at 79.4, just within the 80-pound division. Then I waited and watched for my opponent to arrive . . . and I waited. The line of boxers for that day got smaller and smaller. My opponent never showed. Don was furious. “We didn’t come all this way to win by forfeit!” And with that, he stormed off to talk to the people running the tournament. He came back a few minutes later with a s
erious look on his face.

  “Well, I talked to the officials, and they said because your opponent never showed, she gets disqualified and you automatically win the division with a gold medal.” Don, my father, and I all looked at one another with concern. That’s not how I wanted to win a medal—because a girl never showed, so I never fought but won anyway?

  “I came here to fight, Don,” I said.

  “Well, the other option is that you could fight up in the 85-pound division,” Don replied.

  “Yes!” I responded.

  “But I should warn you, Jess, some of those girls are pretty tough and have a lot more experience.”

  “I don’t see that as a problem, I see that as a challenge,” I said.

  “I feel the same way.” Don was smiling.

  Papi said nothing but looked a little nervous, as usual. And we all laughed.

  I had to wait a full day to weigh in for the 85-pound division. But the fun part was that I got to eat a really big breakfast and an even bigger lunch to compete at the higher weigh-in. I also got to watch a lot of incredible boxing.

  The level of boxing at nationals is the best in the nation—only the top winners of each division make it there—so competition was the highest I’d ever seen. Everyone was out to win. And what I learned was that if it was your first time at nationals—like it was mine—you have to full-blown beat your opponent for the judges to notice you and give you the decision. Otherwise you’ll probably get robbed. At least that was my opinion and the opinion of my teammates.

  “Jess, you gotta do the best fighting of your life here,” Don told me. “The judges need to recognize you as an experienced boxer so there’s no second-guessing who won or lost the fight.”

  I understood what I needed to do—bring full heat!

  The next morning was another early one, and I was more ready than ever and up for the challenge. But this time at the trial scale (the scale that checks your weight before you get onto the actual scale to determine if you might come in over weight) the place wasn’t quiet, calm, and empty like it had been the first day—it was packed and the level of anxiety loomed large in the room.

  I waited for about twenty minutes in line at weigh-in. The girls in line were nervous and excited. We all asked each other questions like where we were from, how we all got here, where we trained, and how much time we dedicated to boxing. There were lots of funny stories. One girl said that when she gets nervous, she gets too much saliva in her mouth and needs to spit a lot—so she kept spitting into a cup, which made everyone a little uncomfortable.

  I weighed in at 81.2 pounds, which qualified me for the division.

  The brackets went up later that day in the Civic Center hallway—it was a list of about 75 female boxers from all over the country. I found out I was boxing a girl named Lauren from Tennessee. I had heard about her because she’d been to the nationals ten times and was a ten-time nationals champion. Her current boxing record was 23-0 . . . meaning she hadn’t lost a single fight. She was this beautiful African American girl with long, curly brown hair and bright eyes. She was heavier and taller than I was, which made her even more intimidating.

  Don wasn’t too thrilled to have to start the nationals with such an experienced boxer, but I reminded him that I had come there to fight. “We didn’t travel all this way to fight easy fights; we came here to battle for the title.” That was how I saw it.

  The moment Lauren and I got into the ring, we stared each other down. I was boxing out of the blue corner, and she was boxing out of the red corner. Her eyes were saying, I’m gonna kill you, but so were mine. And in the ring her height or weight didn’t scare me. I felt more determined and just as prepared. My body felt strong that day, and my punches felt smooth. To me, this was just as even a match as any.

  We stomped our feet at the judges to show our respect to them, and for the first time in my experience of fighting in matches, I noticed that when my opponent stomped to the judges, they all smiled at her because they knew who she was. When I stomped, there were no smiles and there was no recognition of who I was. I knew right then and there that it would be an uphill battle to prove myself.

  When I came back to my corner, I said to Don, “Did you see the judges smiling at her?”

  “Don’t worry, Jess,” he said. “By the time you’re done fighting her, they’ll remember who you are. No doubt in my mind they’ll remember you.”

  The ref checked my blue mouth guard, my blue headgear, my blue gloves. He was friendly and gave my shoulders a kind squeeze for good luck. I bounced up and down and shook my arms and legs to stay relaxed.

  The announcer came on the loudspeaker—it was a huge venue, and the announcer’s voice echoed throughout the whole arena. It was pretty cool! He announced Lauren in the red corner first, and I heard a burst of applause. She had a much bigger fan base, for sure. Then my name in the blue corner was announced, and the only people I heard clapping were my father, Don, Elizabeth’s dad, and a couple of teammates. The difference in the level of applause actually made me chuckle a little. Guess I should have brought my own cheering section, I thought.

  We bumped fists and I said good luck. I heard a bunch of people shouting, “Let’s go, Lauren!” and “All right, Lauren, this one’s yours!” Don gave me the usual quick words of encouragement, and then it was go time. I didn’t take my eyes off Lauren until the bell rang. She kept her eyes down instead of looking at me, which was unusual for a boxer. We both shot out quickly, but I got the first punch, a quick jab. It felt good to start out that way. In the first round we were feeling each other out, testing each other a little, throwing softballs. I was figuring out her stance and noticed she wasn’t southpaw like me, since she was a little bigger and had a strut where she kept her head down with her eyes focused on the floor. Most boxers are trained to keep their heads up, their eyes on their opponent. She was seeing me, I could tell, but not with the usual stare-down I was familiar with in other boxers. Almost immediately I knew she was strong, but not stronger than me. I got this, I told myself. And before I knew it, the bell to the first round rang and I went back to my corner. Don brought the stool over the ropes for me to sit on and said, “Listen: you’re moving well, and your punches look good. Don’t think about her size or her experience. You got yourself here because you’re a solid fighter. Focus on your moves. Okay?”

  This was a bigger venue, and I was more nervous than usual. “Okay . . . okay,” I said, taking in Don’s words. I got myself here because I can fight.

  “Good. Keep it up,” he said, and he gave me a gentle whack with the towel.

  I was eager to get back out there and show this girl, and the world, what I could do.

  The second bell rang. Lauren came hard and got in the first punch and then a few more, but I slipped and ducked most of them, got my balance, then came back with a few punches of my own. I was getting in my groove and got inside her enough to dodge most of her hits. I noticed she overexaggerated her left-hand punch, so I played on that weakness by making her work her left side more. I got her on the ropes and made her miss about five punches. I waited for her to come at me, slowed the pace, moved her off her timing, and then made her pay with a few hard punches.

  After the second bell rang, ending the round, I walked over to my corner and slowly exhaled. I felt like I had a chance to win. I wanted to win. I had come to win. I said that to Don. “Then go for it,” he said. “Make this third round the best of your life.” He whacked my headgear and said, “Win or lose, I’m so proud of you. You look fantastic up there. Okay? You look really strong.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I nodded. Strength. Dedication. Hard work. Passion.

  He drizzled cold water down my back from a water bottle, and I could feel it trail like little snakes down my spine. Don told me to focus on my breathing. “Keep pressuring her. Move and make her miss. She’s not used to that style of boxing.”

 
As I listened to him, I heard one of my teammates yell, “Come on, Jess, you’re so close!” He was right. I was so close. Close up and examining the world of boxing at the national level from the inside now. In this huge arena, with all these people watching and fans cheering; lights, camera, action. No more dreaming of this day: this day was here! This is what it meant to be a champion fighter.

  I felt free, strong, determined to do my best.

  In the blink of an eye, the third bell rang for the third and final round, and I went for it. I said to myself, Go for it. NOW! I came out not straight at her, but more slowly and to her left side. Five quick jabs, then a straight left. I was up before the round really started, and it caught her off guard. Then she went all nuts too, and we were both going crazy with the punches. In my mind I said, One-two, one-two. I just kept going after her. I threw everything into the ring that day—my entire body, my mind let loose. Everything opened, and I felt free, strong, determined to be my best. The bell rang, and the two of us hugged in exhaustion. It was over. I’d done my best, and now it was up to the judges to decide.

  In fights like these, you never know which way the decision will go. I thought I was going to win, but I said to myself that whether I won or lost, it didn’t matter: I had done my best work and could carry my head high. We stood together with the ref between us. Before the decision was called, I pointed to the blue corner, signaling that I thought the win should go to me. This is a common practice used by fighters to say to the judges that they think they deserve the win. I deserved the win! A few minutes seemed like forever. Then finally, they announced it over the speaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, boxing out of the red corner . . .”

  It took me a second to process. The red corner . . . not the blue corner.