Out of the office and into the ring

SWEAT pours down Stephen Kronish’s unshaven face as he whacks his boxing trainer’s mitts -- a one-two punch, a few jabs, a left hook. “C’mon, keep going, let’s go,” the coach barks as Kronish pounds out a series of upper cuts before dropping his arms, spent.

Kronish, gulping air, gestures to a television in the corner playing an episode of “The Honeymooners.” The show inspires him. “When I see Jackie Gleason,” he says, “I think, ‘That’s what I’d look like if I didn’t do this.’ ”

Kronish, the 54-year-old co-executive producer of the television show “24,” is hardly the stereotypical Rocky-like pugilist. But he’s riding the wave of a trend that’s finding more men (and some women) achieving fitness via boxing gloves and a heavy bag -- lawyers, accountants, pharmaceutical sales reps, business executives and entertainment industry types.

Some turned to boxing after having their interest piqued by the television show “The Contender” and popular, big-budget films such as “Cinderella Man” and “Million Dollar Baby.”

Others may have been inspired by John E. Oden, author of “White Collar Boxing” and a principal with AllianceBernstein L.P., a New York City-based money management and research firm. (Finding himself in less than great shape, Oden took up boxing at age 40 and eventually began competing in amateur bouts.)

There’s no need for these folks to drive their SUVs all over town in search of a boxing gym: Clean, well-appointed studios are popping up in upscale urban neighborhoods and suburban strip malls. In fact, for a lot of contemporary trainers, the typical client is a white-collar man in his 30s who’s looking for a new way to get fit but stays for the challenge -- and is able to pay for training: $100 an hour for one-on-one lessons.

What these well-heeled newbies get is an unparalleled workout, combining intense cardio with upper and lower body strength and toning in a workout that’s 180 degrees from a tedious jog on a treadmill. If they can hack it. Professional boxers make it look easy, something that even the very fit don’t appreciate -- that is, until they’ve got the gloves on and try to go a few rounds.

“They definitely don’t think it’s going to be that tough,” says 32-year-old Randy Khatami, head boxing coach at Elite Mixed Martial Arts in Thousand Oaks. “For the most part they don’t know what they’re getting themselves into. They’re like a deer caught in the headlights.”

There’s also an undeniable cool factor to boxing -- always a paramount concern in L.A. “To say you have a tennis coach or a golf coach is the norm almost,” Khatami says. “But when you say you have a boxing coach, people lift their eyebrows.”

These middle- and upper-middle-class enthusiasts are also discovering another welcome element to boxing they may not have banked on: an efficient and acceptable way to deal with stress and aggression. It may not be wise to clock your boss, but punching the heck out of a bag is perfectly fine.

“It’s about the ordinary man getting in there and connecting with the warrior,” says Los Angeles boxing trainer Terry Houlihan, owner of Boxing on the Boulevard in L.A. “Look at how people act out behind the wheels of their cars. If only we had ways of allowing men to test their mettle so they wouldn’t have to do it on the freeways.”

Kronish works out at the New York City Boxing Club, a studio about the size of a large master bedroom along a somewhat dull strip of Ventura Boulevard in Woodland Hills. His trainer is gym owner Phil Paolina, a meaty 48-year-old former professional boxer who likes to tell of training celebrities such as Bob Dylan, as well as professional fighters and amateurs.

Kronish started boxing a year and half ago, not because he’d ever thought much about boxing but because he was feeling out of shape and needed a workout that didn’t take place in a traditional health club. He found Paolina’s gym while passing by one day.

“I actually hate going to the gym, period,” he says, sipping water outside the boxing club before heading to work. “I thought if there was something I could do that would disguise the fact that I was exercising, I’d stand a better chance of doing it.”

Never terribly overweight, the 6-foot-2 Kronish says he’s made his upper body more lean, gained some muscle and increased his stamina. It may have even helped his golf game: “I feel like I’m hitting the ball farther,” he says.

Part of the appeal of boxing for him and his white-collar brethren, he says, is that “if you spend most of your time in some sort of mental battle with people all day long, the idea of getting in there and being able to move around and really hit something as hard as you can -- there’s a sort of liberating feeling about it.”

Despite its blue-collar roots, in many ways boxing is the perfect white-collar sport, Oden says. For one thing, the deep concentration that boxing requires does wonders for getting people to think about something other than work. “I used to do a lot of skiing -- I’d be on the top of some great mountain, looking down, and I’d be thinking about the office,” he says. “When I’m in a boxing ring sparring, the last thing I’m thinking about is the office.”

It fits the Type A personality so common in the business world too -- for whom a kickboxing class or Tae Bo video just won’t do. “A lot of the businessmen I know are very competitive,” Oden says. Ken Lawson, a 36-year-old entrepreneur from Camarillo who’s been boxing about a year, agrees. “If you’re given an opportunity to do a half-caff [caffeine] version of boxing versus the full thing, you feel like there’s a little sissy thing going on with the former,” he says.

The biggest challenge, say both boxers and trainers, is overcoming the fear of getting hit. Kronish knows all about that.

On a recent day, Paolina told him to spar with Don “The Dragon” Wilson, veteran of countless martial-arts films and, at 52, still a fine physical specimen. Kronish wasn’t happy about it and shots daggers at Paolina. The coach ignored his dirty looks. He knew that putting his student up against someone such as Wilson would challenge him.

Of course, the last time Paolina did that Kronish sparred with Darius McCrary, the actor who portrayed Muhammad Ali in the 1997 HBO film “Don King: Only in America.”

“He knocked me all over that ring,” Kronish recalls. His ear rang for 24 hours afterward.

But everyone, he knows, has to overcome the feeling of getting hit. “You have to realize it comes with the territory, and it’s going to happen,” he says.

His long reach, he adds, often works for keeping opponents at bay, but with more experienced foes, “I’m more or less running around the ring to get the hell out of there.”

Once that fear has been abated, the confidence that comes can’t be compared to feeling one’s body tighten after diligence in a regular gym. It’s about knowing how to defend yourself versus knowing how to use an elliptical trainer.

“It’s not that I want to get into fights,” Lawson says. “But I certainly would feel more confident in a situation where I needed to be physical.”

And it’s a new type of rush for even the most successful businessperson. Winning a fight, Oden says -- even a three-round match -- can trump the euphoria of pushing through a million-dollar business deal.

After knocking out a younger opponent at a charity bout in Britain, “it was like I was king of England for 24 hours,” he says. “There’s nothing more fun than making money. But this is a different high.”

jeannine.stein@latimes.com