Next Stop: Olympics

    When I first started boxing, it seemed like everyone had an opinion about it. 

    “You’ll ruin your pretty face,” they said. 

    “Girls are like flowers—they’re too delicate for a sport like that.” 

    “Awwww, that’s so cute. The little girl wants to box!”

    Most of this was just confusing to me. I was only 7 years old at the time. All I knew was that boxing was the most fun I’d ever had. And I wasn’t going to give it up for anybody.

    When I started boxing, it seemed like everyone had an opinion about it. 

    “You’ll ruin your pretty face,” they said.

    “Girls are like flowers—they’re too delicate for a sport like that.”

    “Awwww, that’s so cute. The little girl wants to box!”

    These comments confused me. I was only 7 years old. All I knew was that boxing was the most fun I’d ever had. I wasn’t going to give it up for anyone.

    When I first started boxing, it seemed like everybody had an opinion about it. 

    “You’ll ruin your pretty face,” they said.

    “Girls are like flowers—they’re too delicate for a sport like that.”

    “Awwww, that’s so cute. The little girl wants to box!”

    In general, these responses just confused me. I was only 7 years old at the time. All I knew was that boxing was the most fun I’d ever had, and I wasn’t going to give it up for anybody.

    For a while, my sparring matches were all really hard. There weren’t any girls to spar with, and the boys were all bigger than me. But fighting them made me stronger. By my first competition at 9 years old, I was more than ready.

    Right away, I could tell I was going to win. Now that my opponent was my size, it felt easy. Before I knew it, the fight was over. I had won!

    Winning my first real match gave me a lot of confidence. I kept sparring with the boys, and I kept winning in competitions too. People stopped seeing me as the cute little girl just messing around. They started to see me as the serious athlete I am.

    For a while, my sparring matches were all really hard. There were no girls to spar with, and the boys were all bigger than me. But fighting them made me stronger. By my first competition at age 9, I was more than ready.

    Right away, I knew I would win. With an opponent who was my size, it felt easy. Before I knew it, the fight was over. I had won!

    Winning my first real match gave me a lot of confidence. I kept sparring with the boys. I kept winning in competitions too. People stopped seeing me as a little girl messing around. They started to see me as the serious athlete I am.

    My sparring matches were all really difficult at first, because there weren’t any girls to spar with and the boys were all bigger than me. But fighting the boys made me stronger, and I was beyond ready when I had my first competition at 9 years old.

    I could tell immediately that I was going to win—after my big, strong sparring partners, facing an opponent my own size seemed like no challenge at all. Before I knew it, the fight was over and I was the winner!

    Winning my first real match boosted my confidence. I continued sparring with the boys, and I kept winning in competitions too. People stopped seeing me as a cute little girl just messing around and started to recognize me as the serious athlete I am.

    Over the next couple of years, I entered more and more competitions. One of the biggest was the Junior Olympics. The first two years, I lost. But the third year—when I was 12—I was set on winning.

    My first fight was against the girl who had won the past two years. Everyone knew she was the best. When I got into the ring, my heart was pounding. I thought back to my very first sparring match. I told myself how far I’d come. I looked into the crowd and saw my dad cheering me on. I knew I would win.

    And I did! When the referee announced I was the champion, I jumped up and down. I watched my dad do the same thing in the stands. I felt so proud.

    Over the next couple of years, I entered more competitions. One was the Junior Olympics. The first two years, I lost. The third year—when I was 12—I was set on winning.

    My first fight was against the girl who had won the past two years. Everyone knew she was the best. When I got into the ring, my heart was pounding. I thought back to my first sparring match. I told myself how far I’d come. I looked into the crowd and saw my dad cheering me on.

    I knew I would win.

    And I did! When the referee said I was the champion, I jumped up and down. My dad did too.

    I felt so proud.

    Over the following couple of years, I entered more and more competitions. One of the biggest was the Junior Olympics. I lost the first two years, but the third year—when I was 12—I was determined to win.

    My first fight was against the girl who had won the previous two years. Everyone knew she was the best. My heart was pounding as I entered the ring, but I thought back to my very first sparring match and reminded myself how far I’d come. I looked into the crowd and saw my father cheering me on.

    I knew I would win.

    And I did! When the referee announced I was the champion, I jumped up and down. I watched my dad do the same thing in the stands.

    I felt incredibly proud.