The long fight ahead for boxing’s Heather Hardy

The Long Fight Ahead for Boxing’s Heather Hardy

Walking into Heather Hardy’s small office at Gleason’s Gym in Brooklyn is like stepping into a time capsule of her illustrious 11-year professional boxing career. The walls are adorned with photos that capture her journey, from her Irish heritage proudly displayed in a green fight kit to the triumphant moments when referees raised her hand in victory. But now, a year into a forced retirement due to brain injuries, the 43-year-old Hardy finds herself grappling with the memories these photos evoke.

One particular photo, however, hits her the hardest. It’s a snapshot of Hardy at 21, holding her daughter, Annie, who was less than a year old at the time. “I feel so bad for her. I wish I could tell her nobody’s going to help you,” Hardy says, tears welling up in her eyes. “You’d have to do it all by yourself.” She’s not speaking to Annie but to her younger self, reflecting on the challenges she faced alone.

These are challenging times for the former World Boxing Organization featherweight champion. The toll of her career is evident in her daily struggles with short-term memory loss, balance issues, and vision problems. Training fighters at Gleason’s, her primary source of income, is now a taxing endeavor.

Hardy is determined to reform the boxing-management system, which she believes exploits fighters and fails to educate them on health and financial decisions. The allure of the ring and the promise of bigger paydays often overshadow the long-term consequences of physical damage, leaving fighters without a support system in retirement. Hardy insists this must change.

“I had a nose that never got crooked. No scars on my face,” Hardy recalls, looking at a photo. “I didn’t even know what my life was going to look like yet. I thought at that point that I had seen bad stuff already.” Her voice quivers as tears fall behind her pink, heart-shaped glasses.

Boxing’s Double-Edged Sword

Boxing brought Hardy glory and a measure of fame, but at a significant cost. Her aggressive style, willingness to take hits, and ties to Brooklyn and Ireland made her a fan favorite. Her colorful outfits, red lipstick, and fashionable eyewear added to her appeal. “She got people excited about seeing women fight again,” actress and boxing fan Rosie Perez told ESPN. “Nobody gives her that credit. She really did.”

For five years, Hardy was a prominent figure in women’s boxing, known as the First Lady of Lou DiBella’s boxing promotion. She boasted a 24-3 record and reached her prime just before the era of big prize payouts that benefited stars like Amanda Serrano, Katie Taylor, and Claressa Shields.

Despite earning more than most women fighters of her era, Hardy’s career earnings were insufficient to sustain her in retirement. Her highest payday was $90,000 for a fight against Serrano in 2023. Last year, a neurologist diagnosed her with a traumatic brain injury after a 32-fight career filled with head punches, concussions, and other damage.

“I am worried about Heather Hardy,” said Larry Goldberg, one of her former clients and promoters. The past 18 months have been marked by erratic behavior and mood swings. She sometimes forgets to eat, and vision and balance issues make even crossing busy streets a challenge.

Hardy finds some relief in marijuana and alcohol, despite medical warnings about alcohol’s effects on traumatic brain injury. On Friday, she posted on Instagram about returning to Alcoholics Anonymous.

Seeking Support and Change

Stories like Hardy’s are common among male boxers, but Bruce Silverglade, who has owned Gleason’s for 42 years, notes that Hardy is the first female fighter he’s seen with these symptoms. “I do not think she’s getting better,” Silverglade said. “I think she needs help.”

Hardy didn’t have medical insurance when she retired, and it wasn’t until September that a neurologist diagnosed her symptoms. With limited employment options, she makes a living training clients and fighters at Gleason’s, where she finds stability and a sense of belonging.

Hardy often blames the power brokers in the sport—promoters, managers, and athletic commissions—for her situation. It’s challenging to hold her accountable for some of her choices, given the lack of support for fighters.

Last year was one of the worst of her life, Hardy said. “And I have had a life. And it didn’t have to happen, that’s the saddest part. Because all I kept thinking was: How could all these people not care that I could die?”

What Help Looks Like

Hardy believes financial and medical assistance are urgent priorities, but she also wants to address inequities in promotion and representation, as well as the pay gap between male and female boxers. Despite her current state, Hardy is reluctant to discourage others from boxing, believing it helps more people than it harms. She would choose the same career again.

“I’m the first person who has this awful, f—ed up, s—ty thing,” she said. When she reached out for help, she felt abandoned. “That’s awful. That’s criminal. It’s diabolical.”

She criticizes her former promoter, Lou DiBella, and the New York State Athletic Commission (NYSAC) for their lack of support. DiBella offered to set up a GoFundMe, which Hardy declined. Silverglade said DiBella initially supported her but stopped after Hardy’s online insults.

DiBella declined to comment, saying he still loves Hardy and wishes her well. It’s difficult to assign blame, as fighters are essentially contract freelancers without a union or league for protection. Hardy insists this must change.

“She feels that [DiBella should have done more] because she’s alone, however there’s no legal obligation,” Silverglade said. “Now you can say, what about the moral responsibility? Well, the only thing I’m going to say there is she’s not alone. Every fighter reaches this.”

NYSAC has no monetary fund for retired fighters in need. The World Boxing Council provided financial support through a fighter assistance fund, and Goldberg and others contributed. At Gleason’s, trainers cover her clients if she needs time off, and clients sometimes pay for training in advance or offer other financial assistance.

Brit Phelan, a client and filmmaker, cast Hardy in her latest project, “Something Happened,” where Hardy plays herself as a trainer of female vigilantes. Phelan is helping Hardy create an acting reel.

“These are all of my best friends,” Hardy said of the people at Gleason’s.

Hardy’s Journey and Legacy

Hardy had to sell tickets for almost every professional fight, including $10,000 in tickets for her first fight. As her following grew, she became the first female to sign a long-term deal with DiBella. She sold tickets at the gym, around the neighborhood, and in local bars, with Gleason’s purchasing blocks of seats.

She juggled her responsibilities, taking Annie to school, working at Gleason’s, and running to the Barclays Center in Brooklyn for cardio. She organized seating charts and will-call envelopes, ensuring her family sat together.

“I used to say I was a part-time fighter,” Hardy said. “And a part-time ticket seller.”

Her ability to draw a crowd elevated her local celebrity, earning her an Everlast sponsorship. Yet she struggled to move up the card. A 2015 fight at Barclays Center was particularly disappointing, as she fought early on the card before the doors opened, leaving fans unable to watch.

“Girl on Fire,” Hardy’s theme song, played as she entered, but there was no crowd. She won the fight but never forgot the embarrassment. A prospective sponsor pulled out because of it.

“You felt bad,” said Perez, who began showing up early for Hardy’s fights. “There was nobody. It was sparse. It was tense. It was very, very tense.”

In 2018, Hardy drunk-dialed an HBO executive to push for her featherweight title fight on TV. She won her World Boxing Organization title by defeating Shelly Vincent, sleeping on the couch that night with her belt beside her.

Financial struggles, partly due to pay structure and her own choices, were always an issue. In 2017-18, she left boxing for MMA in search of bigger paydays. Had she made enough money, she might have retired after winning the WBO title.

Silverglade noticed Hardy slowing down and tried to dissuade her from fighting. “It was like talking to a wall,” he said. “Because she needed the money.”

Pride and financial insecurity kept her going, even after losing her title to Serrano in 2019. She returned post-pandemic in 2021, losing to Jessica Camara in Tennessee. Her relationship with DiBella soured, and she fought Serrano again.

“It’s like a bad boyfriend,” Hardy said. “It’s true. No matter how many times boxing breaks your heart, I still go back. MMA was like the boyfriend who had money and a good job. And I still went back to boxing, trying to make it right.”

A New Chapter

A little after 7 a.m. on a busy Tuesday last month, Hardy arrived at Gleason’s wearing white glasses, a white unitard, long pink socks, and furry sandals. It was a good morning, with her symptoms subsiding enough to let her work.

Hardy’s peripheral vision is poor, and her brain damage makes physical contact dangerous, limiting her ability to spar or use punching mitts. She has clients jab at foam noodle sticks and typically works for about four hours before fatigue sets in.

Beneath a banner announcing Gleason’s as the “Home of World WBO Champion Featherweight Heather The Heat Hardy,” she laces up her first client’s gloves. Between rounds, she asks about their lives, viewing her role as part-therapist, part-friend, part-trainer. Clients believe Hardy has made a difference in their boxing abilities and lives.

Hardy moves between rings, pausing to smoke marijuana outside, which she says helps alleviate her pain and face-twitching. In the middle of a session, she sits down, dizzy, and heads to the bathroom to vomit—a daily occurrence. It’s 7:48 a.m.

The Toll of the Ring

Hardy absorbed 278 punches against Serrano in their 2023 fight in Texas, including 242 power punches in 20 minutes. She lost by unanimous decision, and Serrano praised her longtime friend and sparring partner. “Heather is a hell of a fighter,” Serrano said. “She’s as tough as they come.”

Serrano gave Hardy the fight to secure another payday and showcase for her friend. Seniesa Estrada, a now-retired world champion, visited after the fight to congratulate her. “It’s actually inspiring, how much courage she has, win or lose.”

Estrada thought it might be Hardy’s last fight, and friends and family hoped it was. Hardy wasn’t sure, as she had bills to pay. But her vision and brain didn’t feel right.

Hardy’s mother, Linda, a nurse, was concerned about her daughter’s condition. Heather was honest about her symptoms, including double vision and dizziness. Linda offered to drive her back to New York, fearing a blood clot or undiagnosed ailment. Days later, Hardy was in the emergency room with post-concussion symptoms.

Back in New York, dizziness made training impossible, and she began having seizures. Stubbornness and lack of medical insurance kept her from seeking treatment. Her weight loss was evident.

“Obviously, it was more than just a concussion,” said Ronica Jeffrey, her friend and fellow fighter.

Facing Reality

Desperate for money, Hardy accepted a $50,000 offer for a Bare Knuckle Fight Club bout in early 2024, including a $10,000 advance. Associates urged her to pull out, fearing for her safety.

After days of not regaining her vision after light sparring, she saw a physician. Dr. Anthony Curreri, her ophthalmologist, told her the problem was with her brain. To the relief of her confidants, Hardy decided to retire immediately.

The months after were filled with confusion as she sought a deeper diagnosis and medical insurance while starting to ask for financial assistance.

“There is no system for her to go to other than the goodwill of the WBC, but there’s 6,000 boxers out there,” Goldberg said. “And there’s zero to protect someone like a Heather Hardy. Or any of these fighters.”

Hardy eventually secured Medicaid coverage in September after a seizure during a visit to NYU Langone Medical Center. Her diagnosis: post-concussion syndrome, traumatic brain injuries, recurrent major depressive disorder, and insomnia. This explained her memory loss.

Finally, Hardy received the help her friends and family had begged her to seek. She has therapy appointments on Tuesdays, regular meetings with neurologists, and sees a psychiatrist monthly. Access-A-Ride was set up to shuttle her to doctors and, eventually, work.

“I had … damaged parts that would never return,” Hardy said. “Which is terrifying to hear that you’ve lost pieces of your brain and you don’t know what they are and you’ll never remember. And they don’t know how to tell you to fix it.”

A New Fight

Hardy started boxing later than most high-level professionals. She graduated from the John Jay College of Criminal Justice in 2005 with a forensic psychology degree, holding Annie in her arms as she received her diploma.

Before Annie’s birth, she considered applying for a job with the FBI or other law enforcement agencies. But with a child, that no longer seemed possible. In 2010, as her marriage faced trouble, her sister gifted her kickboxing classes. Walking into the gym, Hardy felt she was meant to fight.

Hardy won amateur kickboxing competitions and eventually turned to boxing, winning the 2011 nationals at 125 pounds. After turning professional, she worked six jobs to pay the bills.

Hardy always prioritized Annie, sacrificing her own financial well-being to ensure her daughter had a good education and everything she wanted. She paid for most of Annie’s college tuition.

People close to Hardy said financial management wasn’t her strong point, and her choice of boyfriends sometimes added to her distress.

Given her fragile condition and sometimes violent domestic situations, Hardy said she had to make a choice: “I’m either going to fight for my life right now” or tolerate abuse and put her own survival at risk.

Hardy’s next fight is to help other abused women and campaign for improved protection of all fighters—extended insurance coverage, more comprehensive prefight physicals, union-style representation, and better education on boxers’ rights and resources. Her attempts to enlist the New York City mayor’s office have yielded minimal results.

A city hall spokesperson said, “We support [Hardy’s] ongoing efforts and are currently reviewing the New York State Boxing Bill to determine whether any changes or expansions may be appropriate to advocate for.”

Perez credited Hardy with pushing for advancements that now benefit women in boxing, even though she didn’t see as much benefit herself.

“I would say [to her] I see you and what you did for boxing,” Perez said. “I saw what you did for women. You made people pay attention to women and I want to shake your hand for that. … And finally, I would say I’m very happy that you are retired. And just know that you do have fans still.”