The walk to the ring is only a few dozen steps, but feels like 10 miles. My heart is racing and all my senses are blurry. I'm vaguely aware of the crowd, several hundred people gathered to watch, including some of my closest friends and colleagues, but all I can think of is my spokesperson.
Where is my mouthpiece? I'm about to get punched in the face and I don't have my mouthpiece. I could lose my teeth. I could have a concussion.
I might actually die.
JOHN TOMAC
That's what the waiver form warned in Times New Roman in bold print as I waived my right to legal recourse if anything went terribly wrong today when I step into the boxing ring for the very first time – to fight another amateur named JB Foote. I meet J.B. just hours before our fight, and I marvel at how calm he seems. While we wait for our event time slot, J.B. takes work calls and takes lots of smoke breaks. He is not the most physically imposing guy in the world, more muscular than me but smaller. And I know the damage he's doing to his lungs won't help him because the fight will continue into the final rounds if it lasts that long. But he looks pitiful and acts tough. He's covered in tattoos, a real guy. I learn that he works outside with his hands, that he is a veteran of the war in Iraq. He nonchalantly peppers F-bombs as he tells me about the last fight he was in, a street brawl that resulted in emergency surgery to save the other man's eye. I think so.
JB wasn't trained for today's fight, he said, because he's been fighting all his life.
I, on the other hand, don't I've never been beaten, unless you count the wrestling moves of my college friends and I was tugging at each other on the trampoline. I'm a magazine editor, sitting at a computer or in a meeting all day, wearing loafers. Except, that is, for my hour-long lunch break during which, for months, I have been visiting a local boxing gym. At first, the routine was intended for exercise and stress relief. The original goal was just to sweat a few pounds while taking off my heavy bag anxiety. No one else in my regular lunchtime class was a great fighter either. It was mostly filled with guys like me trying to get a workout in during their lunch hour because we were too lazy to get up early to exercise. Our fellow pugilists were stay-at-home moms who needed the release more than anyone. After a few warm-up calisthenics, a trainer would start calling out combination punches to get the muscles firing and the heart pumping:"Jab, cross, hook, jab, cross, uppercut, cross." We would all dance around the bags for 30 minutes with a few watering down breaks, and I would usually skip the 15 minute session at the end, so I had time to grab a kale smoothie on the way back to the office.
It was not bloodlust that led me to take the next step and enter the ring. It was something closer to guilt.
When I took over as editor of Means I/O in the fall of 2015, I began to challenge our editorial staff to think our personal and professional development content in a different way. Instead of just writing on this subject, I wanted us to be there. I wanted our employees and freelancers to tackle obstacles, demonstrate the process of overcoming them, and explain what they learned about themselves and why the hard stuff is worth it. Rather than writing a practical story about perseverance, I tasked our editor with training with the world's greatest endurance athlete. Instead of researching 79 Ways to Project Confidence, I ventured our associate editor to try stand-up comedy and perform in front of a crowd of strangers. I sent a writer alone, overnight, on one of the most dangerous hiking trails in the country. I got our assistant editor to ditch her precious iPhone and disconnect from technology for a while.
Their stories were great. Yet I, the chief, had done no such thing. I felt like a fraud. I was pushing people who worked under me but not pushing myself to show that I had the same level of commitment. So when I heard that a sports talk radio station was to host their annual Fight Night event for local aspiring boxers, I felt compelled to sign up.
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So here I am, "In the blue corner, standing 6-foot-2, weighing 190 pounds, and fighting out of Longview, Texas — Josh "The Final Boss "Ellis!" »
Round 1
Just before the bell rings, I get some final advice from my ringside trainer appointed by the radio station. “Keep your hands! Don't steer with your head! Punch and move!
I have been hearing these same simple commands for weeks. After receiving confirmation that I would fight, I sought the help of a private trainer at my gym. Like many people who take combat sports seriously, Oreaser “O” Brown III was a troubled kid with a temper and an eye for bullies. Brown has a fighter build, leaning through the hips and waist but with an upturned chest triangle and a thick neck built to take a punch. Every time we meet for practice, I notice the intensity in his big brown eyes. During our sessions, he ramps up my physical training and walks me through boxing scenarios I wouldn't have experienced in group classes – how to attack if my opponent is off balance, what to do if they start to pile me up or if I get stuck against the ropes. I'm getting used to the smell of O's breath.
Most useful of all, it shares the secrets of a winning mentality. "You don't get in that ring unless you're ready for a fight," Brown tells me. "You must have in mind that I am fighting for my life, because you might be – you never know. So you go out to fight for your life and don't stop. ”
This is not an exaggeration:all over the world there have been hundreds of deaths in boxing over the last century, with many deaths in the ring. Even with padded gloves and a hard hat, I know there's always a possibility that even an unpolished fighter like JB can land a terrible blow with just the right amount of force in the right place.
But while the bell rings to start the fight, my new trainer slides the mouthpiece along my lips, apparently having kept it safe the whole time. A sense of relief washes over me.
The calm evaporates in the first five seconds as J.B. and I find myself in the center of the ring. I do a slight fake head, then throw a punch to try to establish myself as a puncher to be feared. My opponent sees it coming and nonchalantly deflects the left right hand with both of his gloves. It was too easy for him , I think. We circle for a while, each of us looking for an angle, sometimes throwing punches that miss or are easily blocked.
Jab-cross-hook — blocked-blocked-blocked. Jab-uppercut-jab-cross — blocked-blocked-blocked-blocked. J.B. lands a few punches that don't hurt but throw me off balance. I can't find a way to reach it. I'm frustrated and defensive, moving and dodging.
When I watch the video of our fight afterwards, I can't help but compare this dance to the feeling process I went through during of my first months running the magazine. I worked to pick my spots for subtle shifts here and there, and tried to set the tone for the group, but this was my first time in any management role. I had never been anyone's boss before. I had read countless articles and books on leadership in my previous years as the younger editor of Means I/O. I had been exposed to experts on the subject, such as our columnist, the great author John C. Maxwell, and our own editor, John Addison. Yet putting the principles of superior people management into real life was as much of a headache as the defensive strategy of the former Marine who stood before me now.
2nd round
As part of my fight, I started to see the event as an opportunity to prove that I deserved my title as leader. I asked Addison how he did it over two decades ago, when he got his first management role.
“Titles are cool. But titles don't make you a leader. »
“Headlines are nice,” he told me. "But titles don't make you a leader. Leadership is about your ability to influence people and get people to work together for a common cause and do things they wouldn't normally do. »
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He explained that he realized a long time ago that you're never really ready for that first job, no matter how many courses or classes you take. You're never really ready to be in charge, and everyone reacts differently.
"When you step into that first leadership role, you have to understand that there are a lot of people out there who think, Why did this idiot get the job? " he said. "And you have to work hard to earn their trust. You do that by playing, by working hard, by being knowledgeable, by not just being in the room saying, "Hey, I'm the boss, you all do the work - you all will." People aren't going to follow you just because you have a title. You have to work hard to earn their respect and trust. My own doubt about leadership came not just from my inexperience as a manager but from my age. I was 29 when I was promoted to head, among other things, an editor who had worked in journalism longer than I had been and a pair of designers a decade older than me. With editorial positions to fill, I was hesitant to hire someone born before me just because I feared the awkward feeling of having to correct their work or explain that they couldn't take a week off so that would leave us short-staffed.
In recent years, the so-called impostor syndrome has often been described as a problem for women in the workplace, but as a millennial in my career, I felt it too. It wasn't that I doubted my ability to oversee a major magazine, but that I felt out of place. I was always interested in dinosaurs, like when I was 8 years old. How was I going to be someone's "boss"?
"It's a situation that would stoke fears of imposters for a lot of people," says Amy Cuddy, a social psychologist who teaches at Harvard Business School. She is the author of last year's bestseller Presence:Bringing Your Boldest Personality to Your Biggest Challenges . "You don't just have the power nominally. There are these people under you, and you can be afraid of them. I suspect that's part of why some people just don't want to be a leader or a manager to begin with. And so, as a result, they never have the opportunity to develop those leadership skills.
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Cuddy says that many people don't attribute their accomplishments to something constant or internal, like talent or ability, but attribute something beyond their control, "like luck or, worst case, favoritism:someone one gave them their job and they didn't really deserve it. “
For all my worries about me as a leader, I realize at the start of the second round that my impostor syndrome is much more appropriate in the boxing ring. I escaped the first round after taking a few peeks and landing without power punches from myself, and now my corner man is urging me to relax.
“Pretend until you do it” is the best piece of advice many people get after getting a promotion. As Round 2 begins, that's basically my approach to boxing. I shake my arms and legs and jump, partly to stay light on my feet, but mostly because that's the kind of thing I've seen Floyd Mayweather do, and he always wins.
JBet I resume the twirling dance, this time with more intensity. We know time is running out to score points with the crowd (whose applause will decide the winner if there is no knockout) in our three round fight. Despite being tough, J.B. isn't particularly effective with his moves, and as he falls off balance, I throw a lucky but powerful right hook that draws a roar from the crowd. That one felt good , I think, the way a perfect tee-shirt ride feels in golf, a sport I'm much better equipped to play. But rather than take advantage of my momentarily stunned opponent and let the fists fly, I start dancing around him again, unsure of myself even after landing my best punch. Now JB comes back angrier and angrier.
JOHN TOMAC
Tired, I lose my fundamentals for a while, dropping my hands, and though I see my opponent's liquidation coming from a mile further I am powerless to stop it, and it lands crashing right at the temple. It takes me back and leaves me with a feeling I've never had before - hollow-headed - with my hearing muffled and a bloated feeling that feels like my brain is trying to hatch through my skull .
Through all my training sessions with O, I never really took a punch; for insurance purposes, gym policy would not allow this. Right now, I desperately wish I had been given a better idea of what to expect, so I wouldn't be shocked by the intense pain. "It controls your guts," O told me of my opponent's first big shot. “It creates a question about how you are going to react. Will you stay in the fight, or will you back off, not wanting to get hit? In the video of the fight, one of the radio personalities calling play-by-play describes the look on my face as a "failed smile." It's not that I'm happy to be hit - it's that I know I must look like a fool, and I don't know how to react otherwise. Although completely dazed by J.B.'s right hand, my instinct kicks in when he moves in to try to finish the job. He hits wildly, but I slip and move and dodge him, and twice he falls trying to kill.
Round 3
Unsure of myself while in charge of the magazine in my first few months, I slowly started to feel more confident over time. Issue after issue came out on schedule and in good shape, and we all settled into a groove. Perhaps because I didn't feel particularly worthy of the title "boss," I simply treated the people who work for me as friends and equals. From time to time I had to ask them to do this or correct that, but I approached them as equals. Regardless of our individual roles, accomplishments or position, I believe that all people are equal. Hoping that philosophy would never leave me, I began to get used to my new job.
“Throughout your career, you have to be comfortable being uncomfortable. »
“One of the things you have to do throughout your career is to feel comfortable being uncomfortable,” Addison says. "You have to get through it. You have to get going and get better. I believe the key to being great is first you stink, then you get better than stinky. You're okay. Then you get better than OK. You become just. Then you become good. And if you get high, one day you could be big. »
It's been a year and a half now, and our team is strong. I took a few punches along the way, of course. Nothing is ever perfect; we had to repeatedly pull stories and scramble to fill pages at the last minute. We faced a budget crisis. Our fantastic editor retired this summer. But we get along very well, we support each other and do a job that we are all very proud of. As best I can tell, that means I'm doing my job. So who knows if I'm a great leader or even a righteous leader? It's not really up to me.
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With my head still pounding from the huge punch of Round 2, I somehow find a way to get my boxing from stink to OK heading into the final round of the fight. When the bell rings, I don't go out to dance, but to beat my opponent. As long as I can avoid a knockdown, I might still have a chance to gain favor with the crowd.
JOHN TOMAC
I score with a straight right hand to JB's chin Then a hook to his body . I dodge another punch, then connect to the head with a right hook. He tries two punches, but I deflect them and come back with a two punch combination.
J.B. is tired and tries to wrap me up, but I hit him with two quick uppercuts to the body as he closes in. At the end of the round, I feel like I've won. I may not have beaten him bloody, but I am less tired than him. I'm the one who controls the fight at the end.
***
“As far as fears of imposters go, I think the first thing we have to acknowledge is that almost everyone feels them. Cuddy says. “Instead of faking it until you make it, I'm talking about faking it until you get it. Pretending until you do is kind of putting on a mask so you can get where you want to go, and then you're done. You take off the mask and you become yourself again or something like that. ”
She says that when people feel like imposters, they hide. "They're actually hiding, and so it's harder for them to not only perform well, but to be and feel authentic and present, and walk away from those difficult situations and feel like for doing everything they could to be their best. And this peace is extremely important.
As the announcer glides through the ropes, I feel like I've become a boxer. Not a great boxer, but a boxer. I boxed. And in a difficult situation, I believe that I did everything I could to be my best, that's all I ask of my team in their work. Calling on the crowd to decide the winner, the announcer calls out JB's name first, and my opponent receives a loud ovation.
I don't know what to expect when my name is called, and his shot round two punches still muffled my hearing a bit. But I can still tell… the cheers are just a little louder. I won.
How did this happen? I wonder. Yes, I was better at the end, but boxing is supposed to be scored round by round. I didn't feel good in either of the first two laps. Maybe I was better than I imagined. Maybe I should get checked for a concussion.
The referee raises his hand and a pretty girl in a tight outfit holds out a leather title belt adorned with a pair of colorful boxing gloves on the front and gold plastic on the sides. It reads:“Sports Radio 1310 AM/96.7 FM “The Ticket” Fight Night Champion – 2016.”
I wear it all night. I'm proud of what I did, but more proud of the fact that I felt compelled to do it in the first place, that I wanted to lead by putting myself on fire - just like I asked my team. I'm also proud that so many of them came to see me fight.
Breathless as we sink under the ropes, we make our way to a long table beside the ring. Neither J.B. nor I realized it at the time, but the cheers from the crowd were for show only. Three ringside judges sanctioned by USA Boxing, the sport's governing body for amateurs, scored the fight, and all three gave the first two rounds to JB and the third to me.
Officially, and by unanimous decision, I lost. But the crowd vote means I can keep the championship belt.
In the end, I didn't win the belt and bragging rights because I was the better fighter. I won them because my teammates were there to cheer me on as hard as they could.
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This article originally appeared in the March 2017 issue of SUCCESS magazine.
