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The training approach for Ukrainian boxer Vasyl Lomachenko, developed and managed by his father with input from a psychologist specializing in cognitive behaviorism, is famously unconventional. It incorporates diverse activities such as street skating, juggling, handstands, and solo tennis drills where Lomachenko sprints to retrieve his own shots. His regimen also includes demanding endurance exercises like marathons and open-water swims spanning 10 kilometers. Sparring sessions are rigorous, consisting of 15 rounds lasting four minutes each, with only 30 seconds of rest in between. Fresh sparring partners are introduced every three rounds, unless they are overcome earlier by the intensity and sheer volume of punches – meticulously tracked and analyzed via sensors in his hand wraps – or simply forced to concede.
Following the removal of his hand wraps, the psychological component of his workout begins. This involves a series of tests and exercises using reaction timers, small blocks, or numerical charts, techniques previously utilized for diagnosing cosmonauts and Soviet-era pilots.
However, one of the most striking exercises might be the simplest: breath-holding. Lomachenko trains in an Olympic-sized pool. He’ll sprint a lap, then swim back underwater on a single breath. This continues for some time. Eventually, he fully submerges himself. During the training camp for his fight against fellow two-time Olympic gold medalist, Guillermo Rigondeaux, he managed to stay submerged for 3 minutes and 30 seconds.
“What’s his personal best?” I inquired. Andriy Kolosov, the psychologist, relayed my question to Anatoly Lomachenko, his father, known in the camp as `Papachenko`. Anatoly was occupied reviewing the day’s performance data, displayed as a bar graph on his laptop. Vasyl had thrown 2,949 punches across 15 rounds, with an average velocity of 160.2 km/hour, showing minimal fatigue. In the final round, hitting a double-end bag, he landed 324 punches. It was clearly a productive session, which I sensed was the reason Anatoly was willing to entertain my question.
“Four-twenty,” he replied in English.
“He held his breath for 4 minutes and 20 seconds?” I repeated, confirming.
“Yes,” Kolosov affirmed, “that was during his preparation for the Olympics.”
But the duration itself, he explained, was less significant than understanding the critical moment.
The moment?
“You must confront the essence of that moment,” he elaborated. “When your body signals a lack of oxygen, the primal urge to breathe, the instinct for survival in a dangerous situation.”
Ah, that moment: where everything converges – the physical and mental conditioning, the bond between father and son, innate talent and burning ambition.
“In that moment,” Kolosov continued, “you override your body`s demand – `Not now!` You exert control over your instincts. You push the boundaries of your limitations.”
Perhaps you endure for an extra second. Or another ten. Or, in the case of Vasyl Lomachenko, 29 years old, you last somewhere between 3:30 and 4:20.
The concept began to resonate. A tattoo adorns the left side of his abdomen, featuring his father`s likeness, depicted slightly more kindly than Anatoly appears in person. Above it, the inscription: `Victory.`
For Lomachenko, winning seems more imperative than breathing.
Russ Anber, Lomachenko`s cutman who has worked with fighters since 1979, readily acknowledges the history of father-son relationships in boxing as “semi-f—ing disastrous.”
Semi?
Excluding his current employers, I challenged him to name a successful father-son boxing pairing. “Off the top of my head?” he responded, “I can’t recall a single one.”
Boxing lacks the equivalent of Little League or Pop Warner; there are no gentle metaphors for violence. Despite its artistry, it is inherently violent. Not every parent is capable of placing their child in harm`s way. The father who cornered his son, I tend to find, often prioritized his own needs: his legacy, settling some perceived existential score, validating the talents he believed he had bestowed upon his offspring.
Older fans might remember Joe Frazier`s stern gaze attempting to intimidate Mike Tyson moments before his son, Marvis, collapsed in the corner – a stark, cautionary lesson broadcast widely.
Danny Garcia once recounted losing an amateur bout shortly after his father`s release from prison.
“When we returned to the room,” he shared, “he threw me against the wall, grabbed my neck, and 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 11. He remained undefeated until he was 28.
Freddie Roach remembers his father waiting for him in the dressing room after his final professional fight, a disappointing loss in the Lowell Auditorium.
“How could you have been so good,” asked Paul Roach, a former featherweight champion of New England, “and end up like this?”
That was their last encounter. Now a highly acclaimed trainer, Roach was among those manager Egis Klimas considered for Lomachenko when he turned professional in 2012. But Vasyl declined. It wasn`t a slight against Freddie or others. While he understood the professional game differed from the amateurs and acknowledged Klimas`s serious reservations about father-son boxing teams, he was resolute.
“No one but my father will train me,” he told Klimas. “No one else deserves credit for what he has already accomplished.”
Anatoly wasn`t just cultivating a boxer, but a prodigy – a kind of Faustian pact aimed at achieving perfection. Thus, perhaps more fitting parallels exist for the Lomachenkos.
Pete Maravich, for instance, was shaped by his coach father to become the ultimate basketball player. As Pete grew older, his sadness neared suicidal depths. Marv Marinovich attempted to engineer the ideal quarterback in his son Todd, who instead struggled with drug addiction. Even the celebrated Tiger Woods experiment seems tainted by the knowledge that he faltered following his father’s death.
Naturally, no such discussion feels complete without mentioning LaVar Ball and his sons. Their apparent objective is generating buzz and selling merchandise. If Ball seeks perfection, it resides in branding. In essence, LaVar Ball not only embodies certain American characteristics but also serves as a perfect contrast to the Lomachenkos.
Their focus is less on commerce and more on lasting legacy. Yet, their egos are perhaps even larger. All fighters possess vanity; they spend their careers honing their craft in front of mirrors. Still, I have never encountered an athlete like Vasyl who articulated such audacious ambition with such genuine lack of pretense. His aspiration isn’t merely a title, or multiple titles, or even pound-for-pound recognition.
“History,” he declared. “If, in 10, 20, or 30 years, you are discussing boxing with friends, you must remember my name.”
By “you,” he includes the grandmothers casually chatting back in his hometown of Akkerman (as he refers to it, recalling its Ottoman past), as well as enthusiasts gathering in a Queens barbershop, a gym in L.A., or a pub in Sheffield. The reality is, Vasyl Lomachenko considers his style, both aggressive and aesthetically pleasing, superior even to Floyd Mayweather’s. He is less concerned with online rankings than with achieving a form of immortality, being mentioned alongside legends like Ray Robinson, Jack Dempsey, and indeed, Muhammad Ali. The goal isn`t financial gain, but mythic status. A famous American phrase, reimagined: There goes Vasyl Lomachenko, the greatest there ever was. …
Now that is ego.
But what is its source?
Vasyl was only three days old when his father, a physical education teacher and boxing coach, first placed gloves on his tiny hands. It’s not that Vasyl doesn`t remember his first time in a gym; he doesn’t remember a time when he wasn`t in a gym.
“Whose dream is this, then?” I asked. “Yours or your father’s?”
For the first time during my two weeks at his camp, I saw his icy blue eyes narrow. “It is my dream. Mine.”
I then inquired about the nature of his talent. A prodigy, like John Coltrane or Michael Jordan, is inherently driven to practice longer and harder than someone merely gifted. Throughout my time in the Lomachenko camp, I witnessed him constantly engaged, seemingly never taking a break.
“My talent is understanding what I desire,” he stated. “I comprehend the cost. I understand I must live up to my words.”
Lomachenko doesn’t boast; he makes solemn promises and fulfills them. It seems genetic. His son, also named Anatoly, was five years old last year when he asked for an iPhone. “You must earn it,” Vasyl told him. The boy gave his word, and five months later, little Anatoly completed a run from their home in Akkerman to Zatoka, a resort town on the Black Sea – approximately 15 miles. According to Vasyl, it took him 2 hours and 15 minutes. He received the iPhone, yes, but more importantly, he learned what his father had learned around the same age: the true fulfillment comes from the effort, the training itself.
Danny Garcia wept after sharing the story of that night in the hotel. In truth, he wasn`t resentful of his father; in his own complex way, he was grateful, believing it made him a fighter. I recall the pathos in Maravich`s eyes and the current discussion surrounding Lonzo Ball`s alleged passivity. Yet Vasyl, even with his father closely monitoring, counting, calibrating, and critiquing every punch, appears to be their opposite.
“Watch him when he smiles,” noted Russ Anber, the cutman. “It comes from the heart.”
There is an evident joy in his approach to training. He is that rare and most formidable type of fighter: the happy one. Regarding the risks associated with father-son collaborations, particularly given the fraught history in combat sports, the Lomachenkos might well prove to be the remarkable exception.
Akkerman, more officially known as Bilhorod-Dnistrovskyi, is a town of 50,000 residents featuring a renowned `White Castle` situated on an estuary leading to the Black Sea. Anatoly once confided to colleagues his aspiration to produce a champion from their hometown but chose not to elaborate further.
Unsurprisingly, Anatoly had been an amateur boxer himself. How skilled was he? What might he have achieved? What were his personal hopes and ambitions?
“I never inquired about my father`s dream,” Vasyl admitted. He only knew that his father decided he would fight southpaw before he even began sparring. His first time was at age 4, facing a 6-year-old opponent whom he defeated.
When Vasyl was 6, he asked his father whether winning an amateur world title or an Olympic gold medal was preferable. The gold, his father replied. And so, gold it would be. It`s unclear his father`s exact thoughts, but the child took it as a sacred pledge. “I must prove it,” he stated, “to my father and to myself.”
As he dedicated himself to training, his inherent gifts became increasingly apparent – not just ambition, but also genetic advantages. While his father boxed, his mother, Tetiana, initially trained as a gymnast. They met as students at the State Pedagogical Institute in Odessa. It was Anatoly who suggested she take up judo. Within just one year, Tetiana achieved fourth place in the Soviet judo championships.
Anatoly devoted considerable thought to athletic development, his ideas eventually solidifying into firm beliefs. Maintaining good academic performance was crucial for Vasyl, as an educated physique is governed by an educated mind, intellectually stimulated and capable of making decisions under pressure. Anatoly never endorsed the intense early specialization common today. While boxing, Vasyl also participated in soccer, hockey, and wrestling. At age 10, he began learning traditional Ukrainian folk dance.
Dancing in a sash, bright boots, and flowing satin trousers wasn`t Vasyl`s idea, but it wouldn`t be accurate to say his father forced him. “He explained to me,” Vasyl clarified. Such reasoning was typically delivered with concise expression, often just a penetrating stare, as Anatoly presented cause and effect as undeniable facts.
“Do you wish to become a great boxer?” he would ask.
“Yes.”
“Then you must learn to dance.”
Vasyl danced for two hours daily after school. Afterward, he would go home for a meal and then head to the gym. This routine continued for nearly four years. But it instilled in him what he possesses today: the most exceptional footwork in boxing. Unlike many fighters, Vasyl enjoyed a balanced, harmonious youth. He read a Russian translation of `Tom Sawyer` in grade school. He learned to hunt pheasant and duck and fish for carp. The `Fast and the Furious` series seems to have fueled his passion for drifting high-performance cars (he owns a modified Nissan 240 SX and a Mercedes-AMG C63). His favorite film for a time was `300`, which explains the Spartan warrior tattooed on his back (“A youthful error,” he admitted sheepishly). His musical tastes lean towards deep house. However, nothing in his background fully accounts for the profound yet composed fierceness of his drive.
Vasyl`s amateur record stood at an astonishing 396-1. His single loss to Albert Selimov in 2007 was avenged twice. With his father coaching the national team, he secured Olympic gold medals in 2008 and 2012, contributing to Ukraine`s tally of five boxing medals from the London Olympics. Oleksandr Gvozdyk, a bronze medalist now campaigning successfully as a light heavyweight, commented on the elder Lomachenko: “He cultivated a unique spirit on that team. He never shouts or intimidates; he simply explains.”
Gvozdyk`s initiation into the Lomachenko method included crossword puzzles as training aids, learning to walk on his hands, playing volleyball and basketball, tennis, marathons, and distance swimming.
“I lacked the courage to tell him these methods wouldn’t work,” Gvozdyk confessed. “People thought we were eccentric. But these activities build mental superiority.”
To further enhance mental prowess, Anatoly enlisted Kolosov, a young Ph.D. and former gymnast whose primary experience was with air force pilots, not boxers, ahead of the 2012 Olympics.
“I don’t need a psychologist,” Vasyl initially protested. For once, Anatoly offered no detailed explanation. “You must trust me,” Vasyl said, insisting, “My character is strong.”
“It`s not what you imagine,” his father replied. “You won’t need to discuss your feelings with anyone.”
Ultimately, Kolosov became one of the most prominent voices in the Lomachenko camp, second only to Anatoly. Kolosov was present for Vasyl’s second gold medal victory and when he turned professional. Negotiations for his pro debut hinged on one major concern: not the signing bonus, but whether Vasyl could make history by challenging for a featherweight title in his very first professional fight.
As it happened, he had to settle for a title shot in his second bout. His opponent, Orlando Salido, employed tactics that included coming in overweight and fouling frequently. This cost Lomachenko a split decision loss but also served as a valuable lesson and underscored that an undefeated record is often overvalued in boxing.
Now with a record of 9-1 and having captured titles at featherweight and super featherweight, a victory over Cuban Guillermo Rigondeaux on Saturday night would grant the Lomachenko team what they have long sought: not just a claim as the world’s best, but enduring recognition as a truly historic fighter.
“I’ve been in this business for over 20 years,” stated Cicilio Flores, the strength and conditioning coach. “He is the most dedicated fighter I have ever worked with.”
While the work is demanding, it is never monotonous. Flores might start a training day by requiring Vasyl to sink 50 3-pointers. His father might have him kick a hacky sack 75 times before it hits the floor. The aim isn`t solely physical agility, but also cognitive flexibility, as Kolosov calls it.
It’s more than just quantifying every movement or enduring 15 four-minute rounds. In recent weeks, he has sparred with champions and sent them home early. He has faced wrestling and low blows. He responds to fouls swiftly and methodically – a precise right hook to the body followed by a right uppercut, leaving his opponent gasping and calling for a break. Yet, I never observed him becoming angry or tense.
One evening, his father wore a body shield and moved around the ring, imitating Rigondeaux`s evasive style. After sparring and bag work, it was an exercise in relentless pursuit, designed to provoke Vasyl`s frustration.
“Enough with your bicycle,” Vasyl told his father.
“I am Rigo!” his father declared fiercely.
“No,” Vasyl retorted, grinning, “You are Lance f—ing Armstrong.”
This exchange is another demonstration of both talent and training – the ability to remain unprovoked, to resist the emotional turmoil that affects lesser fighters.
In the fourth round of his most recent fight against Miguel Marriaga, Lomachenko sustained the first significant cut of his career – a jagged wound requiring eight stitches. Vasyl could see the blood dripping when he looked at the monitor between rounds.
“You always wonder about a fighter,” Anber remarked. “How he’ll react the first time something like that happens.”
In Lomachenko`s case, however, he displayed no reaction. Marriaga’s corner stopped the fight after two more rounds.
The cut was another form of The Moment. If this is Anatoly’s masterpiece, Kolosov has been brought in to apply the final refinements.
“All the intensity in training prepares you for situational possibilities,” Kolosov explained. “You cannot adapt effectively in the ring without the necessary psychological resources. You cannot be tense, angry, or fearful. His greatest skill is recognizing opportunities within the fight.”
What the psychologist is essentially describing is creativity.
“For Vasyl, it is art,” he declared. Vasyl moves with the fluidity of a dancer, never appearing awkward. His punches vary in angle, rhythm, and force, yet there is a consistent flow. Kolosov termed this `flow,` referencing the work of Hungarian-born psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi.
In a state of flow, individuals are fully immersed in a challenging task, intrinsically motivated, and experience deep satisfaction. Improvisational brilliance often stems from relentless repetition. This concept helps explain the artistry of jazz music and justifies comparisons to Lomachenko`s style. However, unlike musicians, Vasyl creates his art amidst violent circumstances.
That being said, Lomachenko may have found an ideal opponent. If he embodies rhythm and flow, Rigondeaux represents the opposite: harmony versus disruption. There`s a reason many avoid fighting Rigondeaux, who is also a southpaw. He not only makes opponents look bad but also inflicts punishment. Whatever tempo you establish, Rigondeaux aims to dismantle it.
Perhaps that’s why he has attempted to provoke Lomachenko, mocking his training methods and predicting a “massacre.”
“We understand the motivation behind this,” Kolosov stated calmly. “We train to comprehend our opponent, their subtleties. We analyze every opening. We train to make our actions more cognitive than emotional. Rigo is simply a task for us.”
Flores was less reserved:
“Vasyl doesn’t tolerate that kind of talk. I believe he feels disrespected.”
His prediction?
“Vasyl is going to brutalize him. Badly.”
Flores has been part of the Lomachenko team since their third professional fight, when they defeated the undefeated Gary Russell Jr. for the title. He has been in their corner for every round since.
During sparring, Flores took a seat a few steps away from Anatoly, who counted each punch with a handheld clicker. Kolosov filmed the rounds. Flores simply observed.
On one occasion, Flores asked the elder Lomachenko, “Did you always know what he would become?”
“It was all planned,” Anatoly replied. “It was written down.”
But when? When was The Moment of conception for this plan?
“Before he was conceived.”
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