Glove story

[...] I can't hear over my pounding heart, I can't focus on anything other than trying to convince my confused mind to ignore the signals from my body to run.

If you have a brother or a sister, you probably had a fight at some point.

Growing up, I was always taken aback by the violence between siblings.

The curiosity sat in the back of my mind with other things I mused about — what is it like to drive 200 mph?

For the next several months, I'll be following people as they get the chance to do something they always wanted to do but didn't because they didn't have the opportunity or the gumption.

Maybe they're a belt-it-out-in-the-shower-type who always wanted to sing the national anthem for a crowd but couldn't handle the nerves.

Or maybe they've always wanted to finish a marathon but they've never so much as jogged around the block.

Rick Sweeney, the owner of Sweeney's Boxing and Fitness in Delmar agrees to take me on as a client.

If he thinks the idea of me sparring with someone after a crash course in boxing is absurd, he doesn't say so.

When I change out of street clothes into workout gear, I feel ridiculous in Spandex that reveals my jiggly parts.

The people who stand to the left and right of me create the rhythm the bag is supposed to make: thudthudTHUDthudthudTHUDthudthud.

A polka instructor once insisted he could teach me to dance, "because even the deaf learn to dance, they feel the vibrations of the music in the floor."

A bunch of ripped LL Cool J-types roam the gym, wrapping their own hands and carrying no extra body fat.

I forget one of the rules I live by — people are generally way too concerned about themselves to notice what you're doing.

Rick shows me combinations on the heavy bag and how to stand — left foot forward, right back.

The check engine light is on in my car, again? WHAM.

Rick...