Rolling hills, wandering deer and quaint towns slip past the clear windows of Marcy Floyd’s car as “The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo” drifts out of the speakers. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, Floyd makes the hour-and-a-half commute from her house in Lake Oconee to the X3 gym off Milledge Avenue in Athens. Some might find the commute tiresome. For Floyd, it’s a requiem.
Standing at 5 feet, 2 inches with a blonde pixie cut and a can-do smile, Floyd radiates calm and caring energy. For decades, she and her family have run Allstar Muffler & Complete Auto Care in nearby Covington.
Always one to be considerate and forthcoming, she proposed that no work be brought up at the dinner table, instead using inboxes at their respective desks for work-related items. Outside of work and family, Floyd loves to travel. A favored spot of hers is Cape Coral on the boat she and her husband recently bought. Living on the water for weeks at a time brings her peace as she looks out at the serene, ice-blue water.
She needed that after surviving an aggressive form of breast cancer. Then, nearly three years ago, came another terrible prognosis that explained her brain fog and unexplained tremors: Parkinson’s disease. Like cancer, Parkinson’s has no known cure. But Floyd is hardly one to be defeated. So, at 58, she does yoga and pilates. But she also took up boxing.
Exercise, she knows, is essential, even life-changing, for people with Parkinson’s. It improves balance, strength and endurance while also providing better cognition, sleep and fatigue management. Endorphins released during exercise also aid symptoms of anxiety and depression that those with Parkinson’s may experience.
Insurance also rarely covers enough physical therapy, says Dr. Adenda Leder, medical director of the Adele Smithers Parkinson’s Center, who also implemented boxing classes for her community. Coach Maura Cartwright has been teaching this Parkinson’s class, known as the KOPD (knock out for Parkinson’s), for the past five years. Since taking over this class, she has personally seen the possibilities it offers. One regular member of the class confided in her, saying that due to benefits from the class, they were able to reduce their medication dosage as symptoms became more manageable.
At 9:55 in the morning, the door swings open, chimes ringing, and Floyd walks in, bringing an unbreakable energy and a bright smile with her. Outfitted in her light pink workout set and sneakers, she is ready to take on the class. Motown music plays quietly off the speakers, the soft sounds mix with the quiet chatter of the other boxers preparing for class.
Floyd is not a fan of crowds; she’s a self-proclaimed introvert. But for her, these 45-minute classes are a safe place. Everyone greets her with enthusiasm and genuine concern for how she’s doing, while also keeping the environment lively as they play around.
“For our warm-up, we are going to do step-ups! Our category is going to be things you find on a college or university campus! We are starting with A,” says Cartwright as they line up around the black lifting platform in the center of the gym.
“Alcohol,” yells the crowd, laughing at their own college days, most likely.
“B,” Cartwright says as they continue stepping on and off the platform.
“Books,” a man says.
“Baseball,” says Floyd.
“A lotta beer,” gets shouted out.
“Basketball.”
“Let’s go, C guys,” says Cartright.
“Curriculum.”
“Classroom,” says Cartwright.
…
“30 seconds left!” says Cartwright.
“Let’s finish out on O,” she says.
“Orange shirts,” yells the man.
“Oceanography,” yells someone else.
“Offices.”
“Time!” says Cartwright, as everyone wraps up their final step of the day.
Each participant, regardless of their abilities, gives their all during the workouts. They leave everything on the floor, showcasing their determination and inspiring others with their resilience.
As the class transitions to the next phase, Cartwright’s encouraging words fill the room. Floyd and the others walk to the bench to put on their gloves. Despite some hands trembling, the supportive environment is evident as neighbors offer guiding hands to secure each Velcro on their gloves, uplifting everyone in the room.
Boxing gloves “borrowed” from Floyd’s son sit in the backseat of her car until the time comes to put them on for class. She jokes she keeps them there in case of an intruder, so they know not to mess with her, but in reality, they serve as a reminder — a reminder of her capabilities and power on bad days.
Bad days aren’t always inherently due to her disease, but rather the way it affects those she cares about. Her husband, she likes to say, is very type A, a fixer, a doer, and struggles with the fact that he cannot “fix” her diagnosis or her experience. Recently, lightning struck their house, and the couple had to build anew.
“We need to make sure we don’t have stairs,” she tells her husband as they discuss new floor plans.
“The door frames also need to be wider, since I may be in a wheelchair.”
“No, you’re not,” says her husband, frustrated and disheartened with that possible reality.
A wheelchair won’t stop Floyd, and it hasn’t stopped many other participants in the class, some of whom use canes or sit for the entire workout, modifying it as needed.
“All right, guys, so, for our first round on the bag, we are gonna ease into it with a nice round of free style. Imagine the bag is a blank canvas, your opponent. Keep working on whatever you want. Put it all together,” explains Cartwright.
“Go,” she yells.
Leather meets leather as jabs and uppercuts are thrown around the room, in a symphony of sound. Bags swing back and forth, cutting through the air. Shoes scuff against the rubber flooring as they shuffle. Determination swells within the room.
“Come on, Marcy,” encourages Cartwright.
“We are going to be working a three-to-the-body, and we’re going up top. I want to see that level change. When I call 3b,2,3,3,2, 6 punches, then back to free style,” says Cartwright.
The class includes a warm-up, bag work, weight work and a cool-down.
“We are doing lateral raises, grab two dumbbells, let’s go,” says Cartwright.
“Does it look like a lemur, chipmunk, giraffe, or a monkey?” she jokes, as they make climbing movements with their arms while holding the light weights.
After a session, Floyd feels refreshed. She’s a “bad ass” ready to take on the day. Sometimes getting to class can be hard and not just because of time constraints. This Thanksgiving, Floyd’s mother died. Handling grief as well as the often busy holiday season can be hard, but Floyd knows the class will be there for her when she’s able to go once more.
As class comes to an end, everyone crowds around, sticking gloved and ungloved hands, shaking and non-shaking hands, and enters the center to call off class.
“1,2,3, KOPD,” yells the group as they swing their hands up.
Floyd takes a few minutes to chat with friends, a smile stuck on her face as she packs her things. For those fleeting moments, as weighted punches are completed and bags are properly pummeled, Marcy Floyd feels limitless.
Katherine Fivgas is junior journalism major in the Grady College of Journalism and Mass Communication with a Spanish and women’s studies minor.
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