I can feel the vibrations of a speed bag coming from within the gym. As I start to open the door, it is hard not to be a bit intimidated. It is 4:50PM, ten minutes before the workout begins. The smell of old leather fills my nose. The trainees range in all sizes and ages. My eyes first alight on a boy that could not have been older then eight. Suddenly, my eyes shift to a teenager who looks to be at least 6'5". Both have confidence and a determination that is easily felt as I walk by and proceed to go in further. It does not take me long to arrive at the coach's desk. Pontiac's Azteca Boxing Gym is smaller than any elementary school's gym, and just as quickly as I get to the coach, the intimidation goes away.

"Welcome. I was looking forward to seeing you, David. Excuse me for a moment." He turns, "Everybody should be stretching!" As he yells this to his boxers, it is easy to get an impression of the man in charge. Ruben Flores is of Mexican descent, 61 years old, yet, young and restless as he instructs his students. The wrinkles on his hands, as he signals to a boy approaching us, reveal many stories of hard work and dedication.

I see the boy hand his coach some cash saying, "Here's yo two dollars Ruben." The kids think of it as a bargain paying the few bucks a week. Along with an annual $35 registration fee, it is a small sacrifice for what the amateur boxers get out of their daily classes: two hours of individual coaching, confidence building, a chance to compete around the state, country, and more.

"Push-ups, count them out!" I look away from Ruben and follow the direction of his voice. It then hits me the amount of other neighborhood kids who came in within the fifteen minutes I was there. "You get 35 kids in here, and you're stepping on bodies," Flores says as if he could read my mind. It is awfully cramped. Some are in the ring, the rest spread throughout the small complex. Things get really tight when "time for jumping jacks" come. I can see that none of the kids minded though. They are all there together for a reason - one I am there to find out.
As the kids get more warmed up, it is soon evident who are the beginners and who are the experienced fighters. Flores said more than 3,300 boxers have trained at Azteca, winning 361 state and 34 national amateur boxing championships. Although he emphasizes hard work and dedication, Flores tells his boxers to work toward college degrees, not professional boxing. He says only the promoters make the money. "Even if the fighters make money in the business, they need school to manage it."

Ruben has a very rigorous schedule, but to him, it is as normal as night and day. Waking up at 4:00AM, he will work as a maintenance electrician until 4:30PM, then he rushes to open the gym by 5:00PM. Once there, he, his other coaches, and the students work out for at least two hours. Twice a week, the gym is used for Azteca ceremonial and Mexican folkloric dance classes that run from 8 to 9:30PM. Flores is always the last to leave his gym and by the time he drives home, talks to his family, and eats dinner, it is already after 10PM. In all, Ruben spends about 25 hours a week working with the boxers, that does not even count the frequent weekend trips in the gym's van, which travels about 20,000 miles a year to competitions. To Ruben and the other volunteers, it is all worth the effort.

With all the abundance of the volunteers' energy, the session begins to really kick into gear and I feel the gym become steadily warmer. Ruben walks over to the heating controller and continues to turn up the heat in order to maximize training conditions. In the humid gym, it is easy to observe the dozens of young boxers maneuvering around punching bags, treadmills and each other, waiting for a chance to spar in the ring with Ruben, who has coached since 1968. It is amazing watching Ruben "doing the mitts" with the young boxers. As fast as Ruben says "One, two, three, four" the boxer will give a jab, a straight right, a left hook, followed by another right and there is Ruben, positioning his mitts to meet the strikes, absorb the shock, and correct the boxer's techniques. I am amazed that, for a man his age, he is so fast and solid. I overhear him say, "In order to be a champion, you have to train like a champion." I look around the walls. One sign says, "The more you sweat, the less you bleed." Another claimed that "A great fighter with bad training will lose to a good fighter with great training.

The high training standards and the potential I see in every one of Ruben's kids, makes it easy to understand his expectations regarding behavior, health, and sportsmanship. Under the gym's rules, the boxers must maintain at least a "C" average in school and stay sober and respectful, including not swearing. Boxers suspected of using drugs are tested, but all of the half dozen tests done over the years revealed that the boxers have been clean. "They got other drug-free kids in a drug-free environment to be with," Flores said. "These are kids who need some steering and a place to go." He teaches them to be good sports and that the art of boxing is not to go around looking for trouble. "The key for a lot of young people is tapping into something that's good for the mind, body, and spirit. Along the way the kids are learning a lot of life lessons that, unfortunately, they're not always being shown at home or school." Today, a third generation of kids from one family has begun to enter the gym. When asked why he does all this, Flores simply responds with a question, "If I don't do it, who will?" With that in mind, it explains why the one thing Ruben asks of his boxers is that they one day return and give back by volunteering, donating, or coaching.

Ruben begins to rub his back shoulder as to foreshadow the inevitable future. "I am finally feeling some aches that won't go away. As much as I would want to be here, my time will soon come when I can't put in as much as I have been. I love these kids. I like to teach and train them and hear their troubles." His actions speak louder than his words. He bought the gym by cashing in all his savings bonds and borrowing the last $875. The gym gained its nonprofit status in 1988. It has survived on money from fund-raisers, donations, and grants since it began in a converted motorcycle repair shop, 24 years ago. Today, the facility costs over $35,000 to run annually. Funds are especially thin this year, while more amateur boxers struggle for space in the crowded gym. "It's been very bad this year. The donations aren't there like they have been," said Ruben who estimates that contributions are down 25 to 30 percent this year.

Ruben is currently hoping the gym receives a $200,000 community block grant to build a new, larger facility to accommodate the 118 boys and 10 girls registered for classes this year. Flores said that if the grant comes through, work on the new gym would begin this spring. As the time approaches 7:00PM, one can feel all the sweat and fat that has been burned during the session. The looks on all the boxers' faces reveal many thoughts. One is that they would love to be there longer, yet, at the same time, the thought of "dinner and bed" sounds just as sweet.

Not until I am walking to my car am I able to think clearly about what keeps all these kids together. It is not the tight facility like I thought a few hours ago when they first began their jumping jacks. It is what Ruben Flores created among all the people he has affected in his life. Many become a different person from the time they enter the gym to the moment they walk out. This happened to me, as well as all the thousands of people who have come in and out of Azteca Gym over the years. Ruben tells me as I am leaving, "Do what makes you happy, and the love will spread."

Like the vibrations coming from within the gym.