The Road Back - Rich Franklin

On Cardiff Avenue in Cincinnati, Ohio, a white sign with red lettering hangs off a pole. The letters run down it, reading plainly, “BOXING.” The air on this crowded street is cool; it’s a damp, dreary day in the city.

Thirty feet from the sign is an unassuming building that looks like the back of a grocery store, the place where trucks carrying food would back in and unload. Inside, it opens to the right and extends far to the left into a spacious gym with the structural feel of an old airplane hanger.

White cinder block walls stretch up to dark brown rafters that support the dark brown ceiling. To the right are weights. Squat machines, bench presses, some dumbbells. Even though it’s chilly in here, a fan spins. Across the black rubber segment mats, rows of heavy bags extend down from the rafters via steel chains. Some look new, some are heavily taped and some swing gently back and forth, creaking slightly with each sway.

Jump ropes and speed bags and exercise bikes and treadmills line the walls, stopping occasionally for the large rectangular windows you’d find in an old basketball gym. One window is open, letting in the faint scent of rain and dulling the principal odors of petroleum jelly, sweat and whatever it is that slowly spills out of a dying heavy bag.

Far in the back, in a ring elevated about a foot off the ground, Rich Franklin, wearing a long sleeve white thermal shirt, camouflage shorts and black Asics wrestling shoes, glides and circles and gradually turns the once-black canvas a lighter shade of gray. A minute ago it was nearly silent in here, but now hisses and the quick smack of glove and mitt fill the gym with a rhythmic pounding.

A buzzer sounds and the man holding the focus mitts rips the boxing glove off Franklin’s left hand. Franklin inhales deeply, and the man speaks very quietly and calmly to him. “Two deep ones,” he says, and Franklin’s chest heaves one more time before returning to shorter breaths. Time ticks by without a word; the gym is silent except for the air passing through Franklin’s lungs and the steady hum of the halogen lights overhead.

“Good,” says the man, finally breaking the silence. He lets go of the heart rate monitor on Franklin’s wrist, puts the glove back on him, and training resumes. The man is Rob Radford, Franklin’s boxing coach. Each time he speaks, Franklin responds, “Yes, sir,” and then either makes a minor adjustment or does some sort of agonizing drill.

“Tuck your shoulder in a little more to protect your chin,” Radford says.

“Yes, sir,” Franklin replies before pulling his shoulder in a bit more.

“One hundred,” Radford says.

“Yes, sir,” Franklin replies before beginning a sprint of 100 short rights and lefts to the mitts.

Later, Radford puts on his own gloves and spars with Franklin, all the while reminding him which side to fall off on after a certain counter, reminding him to move and control the fight with his feet. Then he sends Franklin to the jump rope, which isn’t your typical jump rope. It’s a neon pink heavy-duty tube that’s about twice as thick as a normal rope. Each time it passes over Franklin’s head, a deep sounding WOOM spreads through the gym. WOOM … WOOM … WOOM.

A few rounds on the heavy bag conclude today’s workout. Most days are worse, says Franklin, but he’s close to the fight now and tapering off the torture. The conditioning drills over the last couple months have been long and grueling, and the sparring with professional partners has been much more intense than today’s session. The last two months have also been filled with Jiu-Jitsu, wrestling, mixed martial arts sparring, lifting and general conditioning.

Franklin sits on a mat now and unwraps his hands. “You look great,” Radford says to him. “You’re in great shape.”

“You’ll be watching, right?” Franklin asks.

“Yeah, I’ll be watching.”

Franklin promises to call his boxing trainer after the fight.

“After you knock him out, you’ll call me,” Radford corrects. The two hug, and Franklin heads out the door, stepping into the cool air rushing down Cardiff Avenue and past the sign that says “BOXING.”