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Speak to anybody who’s been there and they’ll agree – if you have any demons lying dormant, boxing training will root them out.
I realise very quickly that this is going to take me to places I’ve never been to before.
This is where hours of repetitious training, especially the night-time rounds of sparring when already exhausted from earlier hours of exercise, come into their own and save me from meltdown. Apparently not, but I haven’t lost either; at tonight’s event, London Calling, the fights are ‘no contest’ (there are no official winners or losers) and the referee actively discourages knockouts.
Previously I might have welcomed such a sporting attitude (‘I don’t want anybody to go home a loser,’ says Dominic), but tonight I am frustrated.
Then there’s the obsession, the inability to switch off from it all, that engulfs me. I close my eyes and find myself dancing around the ring, my neuromuscular system now so accustomed to the movements that they’ve become embedded in my psyche as much as my body.
On the one hand there is much positive feeling among my sportier friends, or those who come out of the woodwork as having a secret penchant for the sport.