“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face.” —Mike Tyson
“I am not a wimp.” Those were the famous last words of my boss and Style.com’s site director, Jessica Teves—a fitness maven who hits the treadmill twice a day—before we signed ourselves up for boxing. I, on the other hand, am on the opposite end of the spectrum. My body violently rejects anything deemed healthy (a juice cleanse had me splayed out on the bathroom floor for 24 hours, as did an attempt at eating raw food), and my lofty goals of going to the gym on any sort of regular basis are often sidetracked by late hours in front of the computer…or captivating reruns of Law & Order: SVU. Just to further illustrate the divide in our physical prowess, Jessica went to college on a tennis scholarship, and I, well, let’s just say I can barely volley during a light match of Ping-Pong. When we stepped inside the ring at Gotham Gym on Manhattan’s West Side, however, all bets were off and the two of us were instantly put on an even playing field. Inspired by the models we continually spotted kicking butt and burning calories on Instagram (Sara Sampaio, Lais Ribeiro, and Josephine Skriver, to name just three), we wanted to float down New York City’s streets during fashion week like butterflies and sting like a harsh review written by one of our editors. And so we made a date with Eric Rakofsky, or “Hot Eric” as our trainer was described to me on the phone, to road-test the fitness craze catwalkers swear by in time to prepare for the Fall ’15 shows.
It all started innocently enough: We both arrived early (nothing gets you to a gym faster than a calendar alert promising “Hot Eric”) and dropped our purses off in the no-frills locker room (there were no Kiehl’s products in sight). Our hands were taped up by our brown-eyed, long-lashed trainer and slipped into boxing gloves that smelled a little less than fresh. I didn’t mind the odor—it added to the ambience. After all, this was no sissy spin class lit up by citrus-laced candles available for purchase in the lobby gift shop. When Eric asked us to climb into the ring, I was a bit taken aback—there was no door through which we could saunter in our black stretch pants and neon sneakers. Instead, we had to wedge ourselves between the ropes (an action I had only seen on TV during the WWE wrestling matches I watched alongside my big brother in the ’80s). Immediately, I felt like Ultimate Warrior minus the neon face paint and tassels, and Jessica was akin to a more svelte, mustache-free Hulk Hogan with her platinum hair. As one of us went head-to-head with Eric, jab-jab-crossing fists into a foam pool noodle cut in half, the other was conditioning via a series of mountain climbers, burpees, and planks. It was agony, but if Rocky Balboa’s training was any indication, boxing is not meant to be easy. (And for the record: Athletic scholarship or not, both of us were struggling to keep pace.)
Our session continued not with a marathon sprint through the streets of Philadelphia, but with small obstacle courses set up outside the ring and hitting punching bags side by side with any force we had left—finally concluding with sit-ups and a quick stretch. We were dripping in sweat—like hot yoga-level sweat—but mutually agreed that the models were onto something. The hour-long session worked every inch of our bodies to the point of exhaustion (particularly our arms and midsections), yet we never had more energy. We bounded into the office inspired and with an inexplicable urge to scream, “Yo, Adrian, we did it!” Our muscles ached for the next five days, but we signed up for round two. We’re officially joining knockouts and badass boxing bitches like Gisele Bündchen, Adriana Lima, and Gigi Hadid in the New Year in hopes of attaining a runway (or at least sidewalk-worthy) body and letting go of some pent-up rage after-hours. Now if we could only get our hands on two pairs of Alexander Wang black leather boxing gloves…
For more information on personal training and classes, visit gothamgymnyc.com.
Get in the boxing ring with Gigi Hadid: