Where We Belong (7 page)

“Most of my clients,” she says, “didn’t even know my father was Muhammad Ali.”

And then, with a click of a button, Laila’s world changed. It was the night of March 16, 1996.

“I turned on the TV like everyone else to watch the Mike Tyson fight, and here come these women. I was totally surprised.
What is this?
I didn’t even know women boxed. I thought,
I could fight and get paid for it without going to jail?
” She laughs. “I had my share of fights in high school.”

In front of Showtime cameras in Las Vegas, the world got a glitzy glimpse of professional women boxers in the ring. Twenty-seven-year-old Christy Martin, promoted by Don King, was on Mike Tyson’s undercard, the preliminary bout before the main event. Martin was fighting Deirdre Gogarty, a match that would put women’s boxing on sports fans’ radars. And one in particular.

“I immediately wanted to do it and I knew I’d do it well,” Laila recalls. “I understood that I’d have to train hard and learn the skills, but I knew I would be able to become a champion with every cell in my body.”

Except for that pesky little anti-celebrity cell. It balked at the idea of stepping into the public spotlight. The eighteen-year-old struggled with the inevitable trade-off.

“Am I going to follow my heart or am I going to let this whole idea of fame and being a celebrity hold me back?”

The answer lay in rejiggering how she perceived fame. Instead of viewing it as a negative, Laila began to envision using a platform of success as a tool.

“I considered how many lives I could touch, people that I could inspire, how I could contribute to the world in a positive way.”

And so, at age twenty, Laila hit the gym. She told people she was simply using a boxing regime to get into shape, quietly gauging whether she had the stuff that her head and heart told her she did. Laila knew better than to consult her body. In fighting shape? Hardly; not even close. The complete change in lifestyle would be physically shocking. She’d never worked out before or considered making the choices required of an athlete.

“Like most teenagers, nutrition wasn’t my focus. I ate whatever I felt like eating: hamburgers and French fries and a lot of processed foods.”

Everything had to change. She began working out two hours each day, six days a week, with the best available trainer at the boxing gym. Their challenge was two-pronged.

“It wasn’t just training and working out,” she explains. “It was learning a new skill at the same time.”

Laila’s trainer used focus mitts to teach her the basics of punch combinations and technique. She worked the large, cylindrical heavy bag to get a realistic feel for landing punches; the resistance toned her muscles. A treadmill and jump rope improved her endurance. Within two weeks, Laila lost weight. She needed to drop at least twenty pounds to achieve a fighting weight of 165. With a daily calorie burn in the multi-thousands, she ate as much as she wanted of what was considered at the time to be healthy fuel.

“I ate pasta, steak, and potatoes—the old-school boxing go-tos.”

Laila’s body was changing. And screaming.

“When you’re not used to using certain muscles that you didn’t even know you had, it feels like you’ve been in a car accident. You’re so sore and tight.”

She was sparring in the gym mainly with men, developing the ability to overpower opponents with both her body and her brain.

“With boxing, you have to continue to keep thinking and making smart moves,” she says. “You have to figure out a way to win the fight. Boxing is a very mental game.”

Laila discovered she was gifted with the ability and drive to ignore—for the most part—the fear of getting punched in the ring.

“We go into the sport not thinking about the pain or getting hurt. It’s hard to explain, but every time we get hit we don’t feel it. Certain shots hurt, but not every time. It takes a certain type of person.”

Laila’s father, then living in rural Michigan, heard through the gym-rat grapevine that his daughter was sparring. When he came to town for a visit, he asked Laila if it was true. She confirmed the news and told him of her plans to go pro.

“My dad and I bumped heads for years because we’re so much alike. So, he didn’t try to say ‘Don’t do it’ because he knew that wouldn’t work, but he did try to bring up all the bad things that could happen in the ring: The whole world’s going to be watching you. What if you get knocked down or knocked out? I just said, ‘You’ve been knocked down, Dad, and you got up and kept fighting.’ He was concerned about my safety, and,” she adds with a laugh, “I think he wanted me to leave his legacy alone. He didn’t want any of his kids coming behind him, embarrassing him, let alone his youngest daughter!”

After a year of training in the boxing gym, in October 1999 Laila was ready for her first professional fight. Her manager was her soon-to-be husband (and later ex-husband), whom she credits with expertly guiding her along the path to professional boxing.

“He was definitely good for that one thing.” She laughs. “That was his purpose in my life.”

At five feet eleven, one hundred sixty-six pounds, Laila began her professional career. The twenty-one-year-old knocked out her first opponent in less than a minute. Laila dominated in the ring from that match forward.

Warming up with trainer Roger Mayweather before the championship title fight versus Valerie Mahfood, Las Vegas, 2002
(Courtesy of Laila Ali)

In 2007, the twenty-nine-year-old ended her pro career with a flawless record: 24-0 with twenty-one knockouts (including the first female boxer she watched on television, Christy Martin, in 2003).

While Laila knew instantly that the boxing ring was where she belonged, the decision to fight professionally required a draining and daunting physical transformation, as well as a quick jab to her desire for privacy. She says ultimately, the result has been extremely rewarding.

“It’s a feeling of accomplishment. It’s a feeling of going as hard as you possibly could and not having regrets because you didn’t try hard enough or because you had fear. Everybody’s going to have an opinion, but you have to do what’s in your heart.”

In March 2015, Laila made a triumphant return to boxing, but this time as a television corner analyst for NBC’s
Premier Boxing Champions
.

“To say my dad will be watching his baby girl on TV and beaming with pride,” she says, “is an understatement!”

While boxing will always be her first love, Laila says she’s very excited about sharing with people what she’s learned through years of studying nutrition, fitness, and wellness.

“Many people aren’t as informed as they could be about how to live a long, healthy life. African Americans are disproportionately affected by conditions such as obesity, diabetes, and heart disease, so it’s an area where I feel like I can really make a difference. That is what fuels me now.”

Sounds like another KO.

T
he person who risks nothing does nothing, has nothing, is nothing, and becomes nothing. He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he simply cannot learn and feel and change and grow and love and live.

CRAIG AND KATHI JUNTUNEN

San Jose, California, in 1964 smelled like freshly cut grass and homemade cookies. Kids played outdoors and neighbors were extended family. At least in the suburb where Craig Juntunen was raised.

“When I was a kid, I would go to my friend’s house and they didn’t have their door locked; I would never even knock on their door,” Craig says. “I’d just show up and eat dinner over there. There was decency and a sense of proper behavior. Our neighborhood was absent of conflict and strife and divorce. We had Little League and PTA meetings and there was no turbulence in our world.” He pauses. “Maybe there was, but it was hidden from us. There wasn’t a burden of confusion for us, and that gave us an enormous sense of comfort and security.”

“Us” was Craig and his brother, who was nine years older. Their parents, Jack and Josephine, married as teens and, because they were both somewhat shy, did everything together. The family’s life revolved around the boys’ busy sports schedules.

When Craig was ten, his teen brother left home to explore the popular counterculture movement. The remaining three Juntunens spent all their free time focused on Craig’s passion for sports, primarily football. Because Northern California was less developed in the 1960s, the powerhouse San Jose Stingers had to travel great distances to compete against other schools in the Pop Warner league. That meant the Juntunens and other families were road warriors nearly every weekend of the football season.

“On Saturday, our parents would throw us into the car and we would drive nine hours to Eureka. At night, the parents would go to the hotel,” Craig explains. “The kids would stay with families in Eureka. It was great. We had dinner with them, we’d get to know the kids we would be playing against, and we’d go to sleep. Then we’d get up the next morning, they’d serve you breakfast, we’d play the game, say good-bye, and then we’d disappear. That was the beginnings of where I learned how much fun it is to win, and how much fun it is to be part of a team.”

Craig dreamed of one day playing Division I college football but hoped to grow taller and stronger in the years ahead. Always dwarfed by the rest of the peewee team, he had to work extra hard on other skills to make up for his small stature. Before dinner each night, Craig played catch with his dad to improve as a quarterback. Mr. Juntunen used his know-how as a mechanical engineer to build up Craig’s throwing arm.