He was your quintessential boxer; in perfect shape, 6'1", and tatted up. He was half Puerto Rican, half Italian; deadly combo. We kinda caught each other's eye in a twice a week boxing class. He was an actual boxer with fights under his belt. I was just in the class to learn to box; I'd always wanted to learn. It was one date; he cooked dinner (sub par) and a movie (lame, if I remember correctly). We were from two very different worlds. Nothing is his life was steady and for the most part he was a player. We talked about dating, but some habits die hard, I guess. He wanted to remain "friends", but I didn't want to remain in his mixed up world. He moved soon after and that was a good thing, for both of us.
I actually took boxing classes for roughly two years; best shape of my life. Unfortunately, it's not the recommended physical activity for someone with rheumatoid arthritis, so unfortunately I had to hang up my boxing gloves. I miss it sometimes.
Feels like a million years ago...
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