Lolita HarperIt is a typical weekday morning,...

Lolita Harper

It is a typical weekday morning, and Tom Jones readies himself for

his daily routine. He is an unassuming man with a mainstream name, of

average height and build.

He enters L.A. Boxing, a gym in small Costa Mesa, dressed in

bright yellow kickboxing shorts and a hooded sweatshirt, not unlike

his peers. Jones, a Huntington Beach resident, quickly disperses the

usual pleasant salutations and then gets down to business.

His cloaked frame blends into the backdrop of dozens of hanging

heavy bags and he avoids the usual chatter that surrounds him. He

goes virtually unnoticed until the thunderous sound of his kick is

heard, smacking against the solid leather bag. With each punishing

crack, Jones unleashes a guttural sound, and heads turn. But the

40-year-old doesn’t care who is or isn’t looking.

His face is stern and concentrated. His drive is unrelenting. He

is like a machine, producing punishing kicks at an astonishing pace.

He has a job to do and he won’t be distracted.

SAVING A HARD LIFE

Other fitness enthusiasts can’t help but feel inferior as they

observe Jones’ unyielding determination. But his rigorous workout

doesn’t even begin to tell his story. In the midst of this modest

Costa Mesa gym trains a man who has lived through the unimaginable,

accomplished the impossible and dreamed the ideal.

From an outside perspective, his brutal assaults on the heavy bag

scream of violence, but in reality, martial arts and competitive

fighting has been his salvation from a life of pain.

“I had a hard life,” Jones says matter-of-factly.

From the age of 8, Jones lived at the Masonic Home for Children in

Covina. It was in that orphanage that Jones received his informal

fighting training.

“I got in a lot of fights,” he said. “A lot.”

Using the rage life had given him as fuel, Jones dropped out of

school and embarked on a professional fighting career at 16. As he

aged, he fought more, drank more and began abusing drugs. Jones even

spent some time in jail.

About seven years ago, Jones had an epiphany. He was

self-destructing and it had to stop. Through will, therapy and faith,

Jones kicked his bad habits and began to train in the martial arts.

He also met his wife, Brandi, who he says has provided him with

enormous amounts of love and trust.

He holds two world titles in kickboxing and three U.S. titles in

Thai boxing. He and Brandi also have an energetic 2-year-old son,

Noah, who has already mastered front and roundhouse kicks.

“I’m all proud,” Jones said sheepishly of his son.

But it wasn’t enough for Jones to turn his own life around. He had

to make sure he made a difference in the lives of others.

The iron-willed fighter started an extreme running campaign to

eradicate child abuse. He garnered private sponsorships to run insane

distances to raise money for child abuse prevention organizations. He

has run the length of California -- 1,250 miles from Oregon to Mexico

-- three times, and run across the United States -- trekking an

average of 26.2 miles per day -- in 121 days. He ended that

coast-to-coast run with a nice jog through the New York Marathon.

As a result of his outrageous itinerary, Jones has raised more

than $500,000 for various organizations, such as Orangewood

Children’s Foundation, which raises money for the county’s emergency

child shelter.

AN INSPIRATION STORY

Jones invests not only his money but his time to help other

troubled children by going and talking to them, sharing his story and

inspiring hope in their lives. He tries to steer them from the path

of destruction that many are on.

“Jail is full of people who weren’t able to turn a bad thing into

something positive,” Jones said. “I try to help people that are

struggling with that same situation.”

Jones lives a very disciplined life. The word “extreme”

characterizes not only his fighting and running style, but his

lifestyle. He has turned from abusive and destructive drug addiction

to an extremely nourishing diet full of leafy greens, protein,

barleys, legumes, oats and grains.

“I’ve almost blocked eating out of my mind because it is so

bland,” he said. “I just do it for performance and dream about the

day I can eat Oreos.”

He is constantly being evaluated by medical professionals to make

sure he is not getting anemic or too low on body fat. After falling

ill from not having enough adipose tissue, Jones said he toils to

keep some fat on his body.

“I have all the challenges people wish they had, but aren’t

willing to pay for,” Jones said.

This year, he is issuing a worldwide challenge to run the San

Diego marathon in the summer and immediately afterward come to blows

in a five-round Muy Thai fight -- a marathon exercise in itself.

Jones is being sponsored by big-name backers such as Nike, Iyonix and

24-Hour Fitness.

“I’m setting out to do the impossible for the fifth time,” Jones

said. “I’m pretty confident I won’t find anyone willing to do both.

In that event, I will run the marathon and fight someone fresh.”

It is the upcoming Muy Thai brawl that has Jones spending hours

upon hours at L.A. Boxing in Costa Mesa. There, he trains with

professional kick boxer Sean McCully and professional boxer Jason

Parillo, as well as personal trainer and martial arts champion Greg

Beilfuss.

After lifting weights and running in his hometown of Huntington

Beach, Jones drives his camouflaged Hummer to Costa Mesa for

coaching. He meets McCully, Parillo and Beilfuss daily for two hours

of intense combat.

INSIDE. OUT. MOVE.

In the ring, the hooded sweatshirt comes off and Jones takes on an

almost menacing demeanor with his shaved head and tattooed arms. On

Thursday, he was joined ringside by Parillo and McCully, who took

turns sparring with Jones while the other coached from the sidelines.

Jones was on the balls of his feet, with his guard up, constantly

moving and repositioning for battle. He kept his head moving and

varied his offense with punches to the head and to the body, fighting

from the inside as well as the outside. He countered Parillo’s jabs

with right crosses in textbook fashion.

He also stayed aggressive, coming at Parillo and unleashing

various combinations. While lunging to land a jab to the midsection,

Parillo caught him with an uppercut that stunned Jones momentarily.

“Move Tom, move,” McCully shouted from the perimeter. “Be aware of

where you are, Tommy.”

Jones was forced against the ropes with a brutal blow to the

liver, and Parillo kept coming hard. A quick pivot to the left, and

Jones escaped the assault, but not without damage.

“Punch with him,” McCully advised. “As soon as you get hit, come

back with a tap-tap.”

The final bell rang, and both warriors stepped down from the ring.

Each had battle scars. Blood from a scratch on his nose had

splattered on Jones’ left sleeve and he had red marks and scratches

from Parillo’s gloves.

Although he was his opponent, Parillo offered helpful expertise

from a boxing point of view. He told Jones to position himself better

and get the proper angles for more effective blows.

“Every time you throw one of those big shots, throw something down

the lane first,” Parillo said while taking his mouth guard out. “It’s

all about positioning yourself.”

Although Jones is a decade older than either of his coaches, he

listened intently, digesting every word.

“This is the kind of workout I need,” he said. “Thanks a lot.”

Jones knows he won’t get empathy or gentleness from his trainers

-- who have been through similar battles as he in and out of the ring

-- and he is grateful. Parillo, who is undefeated, and McCully and

Beilfuss, who own L.A. Boxing, are examples of the successes he wants

for other challenged youths, Jones said.

“That’s why I like working with these guys,” he said. “They’re

good people on the inside.”

* LOLITA HARPER is a reporter for Times Community News. She may

be reached at (949) 574-4275 or by e-mail at

lolita.harper@latimes.com.