I have recently joined a boxing fitness program ominously called ‘Get Even’ at a small boxing gym in central Melbourne. Although I consider myself to be quite fit, nothing I have done before could prepare me for the intensity of training for a(n imaginary) fight. Running up six flights of stairs carrying a medicine ball over and over and punching the fuck out of a giant sausage is a far cry from the sedate jogging round the duck pond I am used to.
I am However, loving it! In fact, I am loving it so much that when I saw my wife coming round the corner in the car (she was giving me a lift home after training as it was raining and I am not yet tough enough to run home in the rain!), I stood on the edge of the kerb and pulled a couple of Charles Atlas, Rocky Balboa poses. Unfortunately, it turns out the Nissan X-Trail is a very popular car in Melbourne and this particular one wasn’t being driven by my wife. As the car pulled up along side me, the large gentleman driving leaned over and shouted out of his open window “Mate, You aren’t gonna make much money looking like that”. Before adding “Ya bladdy poof”. I thought quickly, how would Rocky respond. Then it hit me. “Yeh”, I shouted back, “but I never went down??? I mean I never go down??? I mean……….