Backstory: Girls find a place in the ring

The children among Marvin McDowell's cohort of young boxers, boys and girls, sit at long gray tables to absorb the skills necessary to normal life: reading and math, taught by teachers from Baltimore's school system.

The ribbon of the alphabet, running beneath the edge of the ceiling above, offers its inherent promise. Hortatory slogans blare from every side: "NO HOOKS BEFORE BOOKS," meaning let your grades fall, you lose the privi-lege to train. "PUT THE GUNS DOWN, TAKE UP THE GLOVES," suggests the kind of neighborhood we're in.

Mr. McDowell and his trainers work with 40 young people, 25 under 13. Eleven are girls.

For years, McDowell notes, trainers refused to take on female boxers – and he admits he once entertained similar sentiments. "Some guys still won't allow girls in their gym ... some guys say a lot of females are too emotional," he says.

But asked why he began training them, he says: "Because they wanted to learn. I found they had a stronger work ethic than the men."

McDowell, a former boxer, knows what he's talking about. He's thin, loose-limbed, with the languid posture particular to athletes who have frequently strained their physical selves to the limit, and know true repose. As an amateur he won 180 of 198 bouts, and a place in Maryland's Boxing Hall of Fame. As a professional he won 22 of 31.

He's not a man to question the value of the sport that has filled his life and that he's bringing to youth. It's what he knows; he believes he puts that knowledge to good use. Others agree: in 1999 his Umar (Arabic for "life") Boxing Club over a pawn shop on Baltimore's dicey North Avenue gained non-profit status; it's supported by club dues ($50 a year) and several charities.

This isn't the poorest part of the city, but the crime rate is high, the streets can be mean, and offer little wholesome diversion for young people – especially girls.

That a quarter of McDowell's group are females is no longer unusual, and their reasons for boxing are various. Some may be driven by the absence of other organized sports that appeal to girls, like field hockey and soccer. Some take it up for recreation, fitness, even social purposes. A few, especially among the disadvantaged, may even see a path out of poverty – and its character-building discipline has worked for some.

"I get calls all the time," McDowell says. "Somebody's mother will say, 'My daughter wants to learn to box....' It's the in-thing to do among some girls."

Across town, at the Baltimore Boxing and Fitness gym, trainer Jeff Pasero says most women there "don't want to become boxers, they want the sit-ups, jumping rope, the heavy bag."

"Boxing workouts are fun," says Julie Goldsticker, spokesperson for USA Boxing, the organization that regulates amateur boxing nationally. "Women see them as a way to get into shape. They see the results in their bodies."

Matt Messinger of Bally Total Fitness says all of its more than 400 gyms offer boxer training for women – "punching the bags, rope jumping, exercises you would typically see a boxer doing." He adds that "about 25,000 females are regularly engaged in this sort of exercise in Bally's facilities."

The embrace of this regimen for fitness among girls and women has been accompanied by growing numbers training to box competitively as amateurs and professionals. In 1993, USA Boxing changed its policy against female pugilism. By 1997, 821 women were registered; and there were 2,491 in 2005. A policy change by the International Olympic Committee to permit female boxing, expected before long, would further this trend.

Many Americans disapprove of boxing. Many more disapprove of female boxing. This aversion to their participation in that ancient sport seems to collide with certain contemporary attitudes: the acceptance of women doing dangerous work traditionally reserved for men, as combat soldiers, firefighters, police.

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