The walk to the ring feels like 10 miles, though it's just a few dozen steps. My heart races, senses blur. Hundreds watch, including close friends and colleagues, but all I can focus on is my missing mouthpiece. I'm about to get punched in the face without it. I could lose teeth, suffer a concussion. I might even die.
Photo: JOHN TOMAC
That's what the waiver warned in bold Times New Roman as I signed away legal recourse before stepping into the boxing ring for the first time against amateur JB Foote. Hours earlier, I met JB, struck by his calm amid work calls and smoke breaks. More muscular but smaller than me, covered in tattoos, he's an Iraq war veteran who works outdoors with his hands. He drops F-bombs casually, recounting a street brawl that required emergency eye surgery for his opponent. "I've been fighting my whole life," he says—no training for this bout.
Me? No real fights beyond college wrestling on trampolines. I'm a magazine editor—desk-bound in loafers. But for months, I've hit a local boxing gym during lunch breaks for exercise and stress relief. Our class: desk jockeys like me, stay-at-home moms needing an outlet. We'd drill combinations—"Jab, cross, hook, jab, cross, uppercut, cross"—on heavy bags, then I'd grab a kale smoothie before heading back.
It wasn't bloodlust that pushed me to fight. It was guilt. As editor of SUCCESS since fall 2015, I challenged my team to live our personal development content: endurance training with top athletes, stand-up comedy, solo dangerous hikes, tech detoxes. Their stories inspired. But I, the leader, hadn't stepped up. Signing up for this sports radio Fight Night felt essential to walk the talk.
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"In the blue corner, standing 6-foot-2, weighing 190 pounds, fighting out of Longview, Texas—Josh 'The Final Boss' Ellis!"
Round 1
My ringside trainer whispers: "Keep your hands up! Don't lead with your head! Punch and move!" For weeks, private coach Oreaser "O" Brown III—a former troubled kid turned fighter with intense eyes and a punch-proof neck—drilled me on scenarios: attacking off-balance foes, escaping clinches, ropes pressure. Most vital: mindset. "Fight like your life's on the line—you might be," he says. Boxing claims hundreds of lives historically, even with protections.
Mouthpiece in, relief hits. Then chaos. We circle, my jab feinted and blocked easily. Too easy, I think. Jabs, crosses, hooks—all blocked. He lands light shots; I'm frustrated, defensive. Watching the video later, it mirrors my early magazine leadership: subtle shifts, setting tone, but new to management despite books by John C. Maxwell and editor John Addison. Theory vs. practice felt like dodging a Marine vet.
Round 2
I framed this fight as leadership proof. Addison advised: "Titles are cool, but they don't make leaders. Leadership influences others toward a common cause." You're never fully ready; earn trust through hard work, not hierarchy.
At 29, leading veterans fueled my imposter syndrome—not doubting skills, but feeling out of place. Harvard's Amy Cuddy, author of Presence, notes many attribute success to luck, not ability, stoking fears.
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Imposter feelings hit harder here. Escaping Round 1 intact, I "fake it till I make it"—shaking limbs like Floyd Mayweather. More aggression: a crowd-roaring right hook stuns JB. But I dance instead of pressing. He counters furiously; I drop hands, eat a temple-crashing right. Ears ring, head hollow—first real punch. Instinct slips his follow-ups; he stumbles twice.
Photo: JOHN TOMAC
Round 3
Leadership confidence grew issue by issue: treating team as equals, navigating crises. Addison: "Get comfortable being uncomfortable. Stink, then improve." A year later, we're thriving.
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Head throbbing, I attack: right to chin, body hook, head hook, combos. Uppercuts in the clinch. I control the end.
Cuddy: "Fake it till you become it—be present, authentic." Nearly everyone feels imposter syndrome; hiding worsens it.
Photo: JOHN TOMAC
The announcer calls JB first—loud cheers. Then me: louder. I win the crowd vote, claim the belt: "Sports Radio 1310 AM/96.7 FM 'The Ticket' Fight Night Champion—2016."
Judges scored it JB's way unanimously, but crowd kept the belt. I lost officially, won because my team cheered fiercest.
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This article originally appeared in the March 2017 issue of SUCCESS magazine.
