Back in the good old days it was a lot easier running a boxing gym than it is today. You didn't need a business plan, business sense or even a lot of money to open one. A ring, some heavybags, a couple of speedbags and not much else. Those days are over. Now boxing gyms are owned and operated by guys with MBA's and Instagram followers. Guys with cool names and even cooler tattoos who kind of know how to throw punches and kind of don't at the same time. But man are they great at marketing. I like to save the savvy for the training. No slouch in the education department myself, especially after eight years of nuns and another eight with Jesuits, it wasn't until I stopped fighting that I really learned how to box. Coming from a long line of Irish Neanderthals, I was somehow misinformed about the basic premise of boxing, that of hitting and not getting hit. The second epiphany I had, not up there with the burning bush but to me pretty relevant, was that getting better at boxing made you better at everything else. I mean everything else. I met people I would never forget, went out with girls I would gladly regret and accomplished things I never dreamed were possible, all thanks to boxing. I've taken these lessons I've learned and experiences I've had and tried to codify them into this place I called Trinity Boxing Club. My business plan was based on a song my grandmother used to sing to me as a kid about a placed named Maryanne's where the doors were always open and the hands were off the clock. Utter chaos with boxing gloves. If you were Irish you'd understand.