Yoxing, I hear you say, like it’s some strange beast forged in the fiery pits of exercise hell. Nope, it’s not yodelling while boxing (although, hello, AMAZING business idea), it’s yoga/boxing. Strange right? Turns out, not as strange as you’d expect.
I first heard about Yoxing when an email landed in my inbox inviting me to pop down with the tempting lure of food and goodie bags: ‘brunch!’ it screamed. ‘Matcha Maiden!’ I’m pretty sure the ‘you’re about to get slammed with the most crazy workout of your life’ was in teeny tiny 3pt writing at the bottom, asterixed like a mofo.
I said yes. It sounded like a lovely Sunday morning of zen yoga, after breaking a mild sweat pretending to box, followed by brunch and perhaps an awesome #fwis featuring boxing gloves. Oh, how wrong I was.
Alarm bells may have started ringing when I was sent a waiver a couple of days before. “If you die blah blah...” Wait, hold up... DIE?! Um... surely this was just an overzealous PR?
I arrived on Sunday morning, waiver in hand, and was handed a pair of those little undergloves, with the wrap around wrist and padding over the knuckles and everything. Totes Rocky and shit. Well, except for the fact that they were bright pink.
After an internal leap for joy that I had an awesomely legit prop for a post-Yoxing flatlay, my heart sank when I realised I would have to do some actual, IRL boxing. Turns out Yoxing wasn’t, in fact, punching the air whilst nailing the perfect Warrior II, it was an hour of high intensity boxing training before a boxing-specific yoga come-down. Oh. Crap. This is happening.
The warm up (WARM UP) was skipping rope for 2 minutes, followed by burpees, followed by skipping rope for 2 minutes, followed by push-ups and cycle-sit-ups. Three times over. I shit you not, I was 100% about to vomit after 2.4 minutes of that whole #situation.
FitePT trainer, Ruan, came around at one point and told me to work harder, at which point I very seriously explained that I was a journalist, and this was for a story, and I had clearly made a very real and terrible mistake. He looked at me like I was a fat skink. I don’t exactly know what that means, but that’s how he looked at me. I’m just telling it how it is.
And then the boxing started (yep, that’s right, the *actual* boxing hadn’t started yet). Reps of punching for approximately 532 hours really takes it out of your arms when your arms resemble a soggy Maccas chip. Delicious, but definitely not sturdy.
I blacked out for most of the session, but apparently they took a photo of me in the ring with the rest of the class (?) and then the yoga started: finally, relief. Except, not at all. My arms were jelly, and downward dog was my enemy.
The yoga, focussed on boxing-specific poses to aid in recovery, was strangely the perfect accompaniment to the boxing session—who knew?—and I found myself downing a protein ball, and a totally Instagrammable Matcha Maiden concoction, happy as Larry (but srsly, who is Larry, and why is he so happy? It’s actually really suspicious) and feeling the post-workout burn.
Until Monday morning when I had my husband take me to work in a wheelchair. Well, that’s it for me for the year. EXERCISE, YEAH!
Yoxing was developed and created by Tully Lou, and their classes run around the country intermittently. Keep an eye on their site for more details about their next class. Want to read about that time we tried Gwenyth Paltrow's diet for like... 5 seconds?
Image credit: Tully Lou Yoxing Facebook Page