The thick rubber mats covering the tile floor of Trinity’s locker room slide and give a little under the weight of the athletes, most—young men in their late twenties and early thirties. The wooden stalls in the bathroom feature old boxing articles staring out from behind a protective layer of varnish, most about prominent boxers early in their career. What makes this locker room different is that all the muscular guys in boxer shorts are Wall Street stock brokers.
The main floor is a little brighter and cleaner than the Philly boxing gym in Rocky, but you get the same feeling. Members sign up for special “Hell Week” and “Boot Camp” sessions to make sure they’re not getting soft. Most of the equipment is well worn, but the “assistants” are much prettier than the short guy that swept up for Mickey. They don’t have to worry, though, because the workouts are so tough most guys are staring at the pool of sweat gathering around their feet before too long.
Not every young pugilist who trains with the club’s manager (at the time), John Snow, is a trader. I was one of the few taking one-on-one instruction without a series seven. I got the impression that John believed the stock brokers were there to sharpen their edge, stay aggressive and hold on to their ability to back other guys down, while staying in shape. I quickly saw that most treated boxing like meditation—quieting the mind through focus and effort.
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