Training just a piece of the puzzle for Vasiliy Lomachenko

In Oxnard, California, the training methods employed by Ukrainian boxer Vasyl Lomachenko are notably unique. Developed, directed, and overseen by his father, Anatoly, with assistance from a cognitive behaviorism psychologist, these methods encompass a wide range of activities rarely seen in boxing regimens. They include street skating, juggling, handstands, and playing tennis, often solo where Lomachenko sprints to return his own lobs. The routine also features long-distance activities like marathons and 10K swims in open water. Sparring sessions are particularly intense, involving 15 four-minute rounds with brief 30-second breaks. Fresh sparring partners are rotated in frequently, unless they are unable to continue due to the sheer volume and calibrated nature of Lomachenko`s punches, which are tracked via computer chips in his hand wraps.

After the hand wraps are removed, the mental conditioning begins. This involves a series of tests and exercises utilizing tools like a reaction timer, small blocks, or numerical charts, similar to those historically used for training cosmonauts and Soviet pilots.

However, one of the most striking exercises is simple: Lomachenko holding his breath.

His training includes work in an Olympic-sized swimming pool. He might sprint a lap, then return underwater on a single breath. This continues, but the most significant moment is when he fully submerges for an extended period. During his training camp for Guillermo Rigondeaux, he managed to stay underwater for three minutes and 30 seconds.

When asked about his personal best, psychologist Andriy Kolosov relayed the question to Anatoly Lomachenko, or `Papachenko,` who was analyzing the day`s data. The data showed Vasyl threw nearly 3,000 punches with high velocity and minimal fatigue, indicating a successful workout – perhaps why Anatoly entertained the question.

“Four-twenty,” Anatoly replied.

“He held his breath for 4 minutes and 20 seconds?” I clarified.

“Yes,” Kolosov confirmed, “during training for the Olympics.”

But Kolosov emphasized that the duration itself is less crucial than experiencing a particular moment.

The moment?

“You have to meet the point of this moment,” he explained. “When your body tells you there is not enough oxygen, that you have to breathe, that it`s important to live, that this is very dangerous to your life situation.”

Ah, the pivotal moment: where all elements converge – physical and psychological effort, the bond between father and son, inherent ability and sheer drive.

“This time,” Kolosov continued, “you answer for your body — `Not now!` You control your instincts. You move the limitation of your instincts.”

Perhaps you extend it by a second, or ten. In Vasyl Lomachenko`s case, at 29, he pushes this limit somewhere between three minutes thirty and four minutes twenty.

The meaning becomes clearer. A tattoo on the left side of his abdomen depicts his father`s face, appearing slightly more benevolent than Anatoly`s in person. Above it is the word: “Victory.”

For Lomachenko, the desire to win seemingly surpasses even the instinct to breathe.

Russ Anber, Lomachenko`s cutman since 1979, has extensive experience working with fighters, addressing their physical injuries, mental states, and hand preparation. He readily acknowledges that the history of father-son relationships in boxing is “semi-f—ing disastrous.”

Semi?

Excluding his current employers, when asked for a positive example of a father-son duo in boxing, he replied, “Off the top of my head? I can`t think of one.”

Boxing lacks the less intense equivalents found in sports like Little League. There are no mere metaphors for its nature; it is inherently violent. Not all parents can subject their children to such risk. Anber finds that fathers who work their son`s corner often seem primarily concerned with themselves: their legacy, settling some perceived score, or affirming their child`s supposed gifts.

Older boxing fans may recall Joe Frazier`s intense gaze directed at Mike Tyson before his son Marvis was quickly knocked out, a stark and concise cautionary tale broadcast widely.

Danny Garcia once recounted a childhood experience after losing an amateur tournament, shortly after his father`s release from prison.

“When we got back to the room, he threw me against the wall, and he put his hands around my neck and he said, `From now on, I`m training you, and if you ever lose again, I`m going to hurt you.`”

His father then threatened him with an iron, saying, “I`ll burn you.”

Danny was eleven years old. He did not lose another fight until he was 28.

Freddie Roach remembers his father confronting him after his final professional fight, a poor performance in Lowell Auditorium.

“How could you have been so good,” asked Paul Roach, a former New England featherweight champion, “and end up like this?”

That was the last time he saw his father. Despite becoming a celebrated trainer, Roach was considered by manager Egis Klimas to train Lomachenko when he turned professional in 2012. But Vasyl declined. Not out of disrespect for Roach or others, but because, despite understanding the professional landscape and Klimas` concerns about father-son boxing teams, he was unwavering.

“No one will train me but my father,” he told Klimas. “No one will get credit for what he has already done.”

Anatoly wasn`t just developing a boxer; he was aiming to create a prodigy, pursuing an ideal of perfection. This ambition suggests comparisons might be more fitting with examples beyond the typical father-son boxing dynamic.

Pete Maravich, for instance, was molded by his coach-father into what was intended to be the perfect basketball player, leading to profound sadness in Pete`s life. Marv Marinovich attempted to engineer the ideal quarterback in his son Todd, who instead struggled with addiction. Even the legacy of Tiger Woods` career, heavily influenced by his father, appears affected by his difficulties after his father`s passing.

Naturally, discussions of pushy sports parents often bring up LaVar Ball and his sons. Their focus seems to be on generating buzz and selling merchandise. If Ball seeks perfection, it`s in brand promotion. In this way, LaVar Ball represents a distinctly American approach and serves as a stark contrast to the Lomachenkos.

The Lomachenkos are less concerned with commercial success and more with legacy. Yet, their egos are arguably larger. While all fighters possess a degree of vanity, spending much time refining their craft in front of mirrors, Vasyl`s expression of audacious ambition is delivered with remarkable sincerity and lack of self-consciousness. His goal isn`t merely a title, or even pound-for-pound recognition.

“History,” he states. “If, in 10 years, or 20 or 30 years, you sit down with your friends and talk about boxing, you need to remember my name.”

He`s speaking not just of fans globally, from barbershops in Queens to pubs in Sheffield, but also, it seems, the grandmothers gossiping in his hometown of Akkerman (Bilhorod-Dnistrovskyi). The truth is, Vasyl Lomachenko believes his style, a blend of aggression and artistry, is superior to Floyd Mayweather`s. His focus isn`t on current rankings but on achieving a form of immortality, being discussed alongside legends like Ray Robinson, Jack Dempsey, and Muhammad Ali. His aspiration is mythic, not mercantile. A famous line rephrased: There goes Vasyl Lomachenko, the best there ever was.

That is a significant ego.

But where does it originate?

Just three days after Vasyl was born, his father, a physical education teacher and boxing coach, placed gloves on his hands. Vasyl doesn`t just struggle to recall his first time in a gym; he doesn`t remember a time when he wasn`t in one.

“Then whose dream is this,” I asked, “Yours or your father`s?”

For the first time in my two weeks observing his camp, his icy blue eyes narrowed. “It is my dream. Mine.”

I then inquired about the nature of his talent. Prodigies, like John Coltrane or Michael Jordan, often have an innate inclination to practice more intensely and for longer durations than merely gifted individuals. During my time in his camp, I saw him constantly engaged in activities, rarely taking a break.

“My talent is I understand what I want,” he explained. “I know the price. I understand I need to answer for my words.”

Lomachenko doesn`t boast; he makes serious commitments and fulfills them. It`s a trait that runs in the family. Last year, his son, also named Anatoly, asked for an iPhone at age five. “You must work for it,” Vasyl told him. The boy gave his word and, five months later, ran approximately 15 miles from their home in Akkerman to Zatoka, a resort town. According to Vasyl, it took him two hours and fifteen minutes. He received the iPhone, but more importantly, he learned what his father had understood at a similar age: the genuine reward lies in the effort and the training itself.

Danny Garcia cried when recounting the hotel story. Yet, he harbored no anger towards his father, feeling grateful, in a complex way, that the experience had forged him into a fighter. I think of Pete Maravich`s evident sadness and the discussions surrounding Lonzo Ball`s perceived passivity. In contrast, Vasyl, even with his father meticulously supervising every punch, appears to be the opposite of these troubled figures.

“Watch him when he smiles,” observed Russ Anber, the cutman. “It`s from the heart.”

There`s an unmistakable joy in his approach to training. He is that rare and formidable combination: the happy fighter. Considering the difficult history of father-son collaborations in combat sports, the Lomachenkos might just prove to be the remarkable exception.

Akkerman, also known as Bilhorod-Dnistrovskyi, is a town of 50,000 residents, notable for its “White Castle” near an estuary connected to the Black Sea. Anatoly once mentioned to colleagues his aspiration to produce a champion from their hometown, but he kept further details private.

Unsurprisingly, Anatoly himself was an amateur boxer. His own skill level or potential remains less known, as Vasyl states, “I never asked my father about his dream.” Vasyl only knew that his father switched him to southpaw before he ever sparred. His first sparring session was at age four, where he defeated a six-year-old.

When Vasyl was six, he asked his father whether winning an amateur world title or an Olympic gold medal was better. His father chose the gold. From that moment, Vasyl committed to achieving it, taking it as a personal vow. “I need to prove it,” he said, “To my father and me.”

As he dedicated himself to training, his abilities became increasingly clear, stemming not just from ambition but also genetic predisposition. While his father was a boxer, his mother, Tetiana, was initially a gymnast. They met while studying at the State Pedagogical Institute in Odessa. It was Anatoly who encouraged her to try judo, and within a year, Tetiana placed fourth in the Soviet judo championships.

Anatoly deeply contemplated athletic development, formulating ideas that became firm beliefs. He insisted Vasyl maintain strong academic performance, believing an educated body required an intellectually stimulated mind capable of making decisions under pressure. Unlike the trend towards early specialization, Anatoly encouraged a diverse athletic background. Alongside boxing, Vasyl played soccer and hockey and wrestled. At age ten, he began traditional Ukrainian folk dance.

Dancing in traditional attire wasn`t Vasyl`s own idea, but to say his father forced him would be an oversimplification. “He explain me,” Vasyl says, meaning his father reasoned with him. Such explanations were typically concise, delivered with a piercing stare as Anatoly presented cause and effect as undeniable facts.

“You want to be a great boxer?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then you must learn to dance.”

Vasyl danced two hours daily after school. He would then go home briefly before heading to the gym. This routine, including nearly four years in pantaloons, endowed him with his renowned footwork, arguably the best in boxing. Unlike many fighters, Vasyl experienced a balanced youth. He read `Tom Sawyer` translated into Russian, learned hunting and fishing, and developed a passion for car drifting (owning a Nissan 240 SX and a Mercedes-AMG C63). His favorite movie for a time was `300`, influencing the Spartan warrior tattoo on his back (“A young mistake,” he admits sheepishly). Musically, he favors deep house. Yet, none of these interests fully explain the profound and well-mannered intensity of his drive.

Vasyl`s amateur career concluded with an astonishing record of 396 wins and just 1 loss, to Albert Selimov in 2007, a defeat he later avenged twice. With his father coaching the national team, he secured Olympic gold medals in 2008 and 2012, contributing to Ukraine`s five boxing medals in London. Oleksandr Gvozdyk, a bronze medalist from that team and now an undefeated light heavyweight, describes Anatoly Lomachenko`s coaching: “He built a special spirit on that team. He never yells or intimidates, just explain.”

Gvozdyk`s introduction to the Lomachenko method included using crossword puzzles as training aids, learning handstands, playing volleyball, basketball, and tennis, and participating in marathons and distance swimming.

“I have not enough balls to tell him that these things don`t work,” Gvozdyk admitted. “People think we`re crazy. But these things give you mental supremacy.”

To enhance this mental edge, Anatoly hired psychologist Andriy Kolosov before the 2012 Olympics. Kolosov, a young Ph.D. and former tumbler, had primarily worked with air force pilots, not boxers.

“I don`t need a psychologist,” Vasyl initially protested. For once, Anatoly didn`t offer a detailed explanation. “You need to believe me,” Vasyl asserted regarding his strong character.

“It`s not what you think,” his father clarified. “You don`t need to talk to anyone about your feelings.”

Over time, Kolosov`s influence in the camp grew, becoming a prominent voice alongside Anatoly. Kolosov was present for Vasyl`s second Olympic gold and when he turned professional. The primary focus of his professional negotiation wasn`t the signing bonus but the potential to make history by fighting for a featherweight title in his debut.

Ultimately, he contested a title in his second professional fight. His opponent, Orlando Salido, intentionally came in overweight and employed frequent fouling tactics. This resulted in a split decision loss for Lomachenko but provided valuable experience and demonstrated that an undefeated record isn`t the sole measure of a boxer`s quality.

Now holding a 9-1 record and championships in both featherweight and super featherweight divisions, a victory over fellow two-time Olympic gold medalist Guillermo Rigondeaux would grant the Lomachenko team what they have long pursued: not just recognition as the world`s best contemporary boxer, but enduring consideration as an historic figure in the sport.

“I`ve been in the business over 20 years,” stated Cicilio Flores, the strength and conditioning coach. “He`s the most dedicated fighter I`ve ever worked with.”

While demanding, the training is consistently varied. Flores might start a day requiring Vasyl to make 50 three-point basketball shots. His father might challenge him to kick a hacky sack 75 times without dropping it. The aim is not just physical skill but cognitive adaptability, which Kolosov terms “mental flexibility.”

Beyond the quantification of every action and the extended sparring rounds, Lomachenko`s recent camps have seen him dominate champions, sometimes ending their sparring sessions early. He`s encountered wrestling and low blows. He responds to fouls clinically and precisely—a right hook to the body followed by a right uppercut—leaving opponents gasping for time, yet he remains visibly calm, never angry or tense.

One evening, his father put on a body shield and moved around the ring, mimicking Rigondeaux`s elusive style. After sparring and bag work, this exercise focused on exhausting pursuit, designed to frustrate Vasyl.

“Enough with your bicycle,” Vasyl told his father playfully. “I am Rigo!” Anatoly responded fiercely.

“No,” Vasyl said, grinning, “You are Lance f—ing Armstrong.”

This interaction reveals another facet of his talent and training: the ability to remain composed and resist the emotional turbulence that affects less disciplined fighters.

In the fourth round of his previous fight against Miguel Marriaga, Lomachenko sustained the first significant cut of his career, a gash requiring eight stitches. He could see the wound bleeding on the ringside monitor between rounds.

“You always wonder about a guy,” Anber commented. “How he`ll react the first time” he faces adversity.

In Lomachenko`s case, there was no visible reaction. Marriaga`s corner eventually stopped the fight two rounds later.

The cut against Marriaga was another instance of `The Moment` – a high-pressure situation. If Anatoly`s work is the masterpiece, Kolosov is adding the crucial finishing touches.

“All the pressure in training, it opens you to situational possibility,” Kolosov explained. “You can`t adapt in the ring unless you have the psychic resources. You cannot be tense, or angry or scared. His best ability is to recognize possibility in the ring.”

What the psychologist is describing essentially boils down to creativity.

“For Vasyl, it is art,” he stated. Vasyl moves with the grace of a dancer; there are no awkward moments. His punches vary in angle, rhythm, and force, creating a consistent flow. Kolosov likens this to the “flow” state, citing the work of psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi.

In the flow state, individuals are deeply absorbed in challenging tasks, driven by intrinsic motivation and experiencing great satisfaction. This improvisational brilliance emerges from extensive repetition. It helps explain the artistry in genres like jazz and supports the comparison to Lomachenko`s style. However, unlike musicians, Lomachenko`s artistry unfolds within a context of physical violence.

That said, Rigondeaux might be the ideal opponent. If Lomachenko embodies rhythm and flow, Rigondeaux represents the opposite – disruption and unpredictability. There`s a reason many avoid fighting Rigondeaux, also a southpaw; he`s known for making opponents look bad and physically wearing them down. Whatever tempo an opponent tries to set, Rigondeaux seeks to dismantle it.

This might explain Rigondeaux`s attempts to provoke Lomachenko, mocking his training and predicting a “massacre.”

“We understand why this is happening,” Kolosov noted. “We teach to understand our opponent, his nuances. Every opening we study. We train to make our activity more cognitive than emotional. Rigo is just a task to us.”

Cicilio Flores was less reserved in his assessment:

“Vasyl doesn`t play that. I think he feels disrespected.”

His prediction?

“Vasyl`s going to mess him up. Bad.”

Flores has been with the Lomachenkos since Vasyl`s third professional fight, where he defeated undefeated Gary Russell Jr. for a title, and has been in his corner for every round since.

During sparring, Flores sits near Anatoly. The father counts each punch with a clicker, while Kolosov films the rounds. Flores simply observes.

On one occasion, Flores asked the elder Lomachenko, “Did you know what he was going to be?”

“It was all designed,” Anatoly replied. “It was written down.”

But when, Flores wondered, was this design conceived? When was `The Moment`?

“Before he was conceived,” Anatoly stated.