Towards the end of 2011, my friend James decided it was a great idea to start boxing. Not boxercise, or other such 'girly' pastimes, but real boxing.
Now, at this point I should probably point out that James is one of those 'let's jump off a cliff' guys. Literally in fact - he partakes in that mad sport of paragliding. This is the guy that persuaded me to get up at 6am every day for a month to do the Bikram Yoga challenge, the guy that is currently preparing to leave home for over a year and cycle from Bolivia to Alaska. WHY? Because he's a 'let's jump off a cliff' kinda guy. Or as us mere mortals call them: Insane.
So this boxing malarky seemed like a good idea. Get fit, continue the giving up smoking, be able to beat up tough guys in dark alleys, attract hot girls. I couldn't see a downside.
I have recently found the downside. It's not as you might think. It's not the blisters on my hands, or the fact that I am constantly bruised somewhere, or indeed that most days I am limping due to extreme muscle ache. Oh no. The downside is that I'm addicted.
I AM ADDICTED TO EXERCISE.
I never thought I would say that, but I am. When I'm not at the boxing gym I feel guilty. When I am there, I don't want to leave as I don't feel I have earned the right to leave. It's starting to ruin my life somewhat. Even right now, if it wasn't for the fact that both my hands seem to be bleeding from this morning's session, I would go back again this evening.
I'm starting to get the idea of what it must be like to be a crack addict.
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