Chasing Gold: One Fighter’s Journey to the Golden Gloves

I met Marcus “Stone” Reyes at 5:42 a.m., long before the sun had even thought about rising. The gym was empty, save for the low hum of fluorescent lights and the rhythmic slap of jump rope against concrete. No entourage, no ego, just a kid from Flatbush with a dream that burned brighter than the flickering neon sign outside, Southside Boxing Club.

Marcus is 19, just old enough to vote, but already fighting like his rent depends on it.

“Golden Gloves,” he said, taping his hands methodically. “I’ve been chasing it since I was twelve. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”

He throws combinations into the heavy bag like he’s trying to break a piece of his past. Three years ago, his older brother Jamal, also a fighter, was shot a week before his own Gloves debut. Marcus never talks about it, but you can feel it in the way he fights. Every jab has weight. Every round has purpose.

Training starts with roadwork, six miles before breakfast. Then it's mitts, bag work, shadowboxing, footwork drills, sparring, and more sparring. On weekends, his coach brings in ringers from other boroughs to keep Marcus sharp. And let me tell you, this kid doesn’t just take punches. He absorbs them, stores the pain like fuel, and then explodes with even more fury in the next round.

But Marcus isn’t just a brawler. Watch him work the ring and you’ll see finesse, tight angles, slippery defense, a counterpunch that lands before you even realize he moved. He studies old tapes of Sugar Ray Leonard like scripture and eats raw discipline for breakfast (literally, the man drinks raw eggs like it’s 1976).

With the Golden Gloves only five weeks away, his days are tighter than ever. He works part-time at a hardware store to pay for gear, eats grilled chicken and oatmeal almost religiously, and spends his evenings icing bruises and studying fight footage.

“There’s always someone faster, stronger,” he said during a water break, sweat dripping off his brow. “But I don’t think anyone wants it more than I do. And that’s gotta count for something.”

It does.

Next month, Marcus will step into the ring under the lights of Madison Square Garden, no longer just a dreamer from Brooklyn, but a contender. The kid with a taped-up past, a heavy heart, and fists wrapped in fire.

Whether he wins or loses, he’s already become something more than a champion.

He’s become a fighter.