I started the eight weeks training maybe a little too confident in my own fitness and ability - after all, I'd been a regular boxerciser for a number of years - how hard could real boxing be? Quite bloody hard, it turns out.

But what an incredible experience.

As the weeks went on I took everything I could from the two free weekly sessions, extra classes and PT, and walked into that ring last Sunday with my head held high, ready for the fight or flight reaction in my body to decide how it was gonna go.

I was excited, terrified, and proud to have got to this moment, determined to soak up every single second, win or lose.

Blue corner

Red corner

Nothing like it

Everyone at the gym said that stepping into the ring for the first time is the most amazing experience in the world - there's nothing like it. They weren't wrong.

All day I'd been bouncing off the walls, so excited for everyone to arrive and the fights to start - my fight was last, so we were closing the show. As the day went on and I watched my new friends battle it out in the ring, the nerves started to take hold and the adrenalin pumped through my veins.

The stage awaits...

Me and my trainer, Mark West

Me and my opponent sussing out the ring beforehand

Watching the other fights - nail biting stuff!

When the time came to warm up I felt like the day had disappeared so quickly - was I ready?

Yes.

Maybe.

No.

Yes. Ish...

SHIT.

Fighting my heart out

My opponent, and new-found friend in training, dominated me from the first punch. Within five seconds of the bell ringing at the start of the round she'd landed a hefty combination of punches to my face and backed me against the ropes.


I realised then that this was much different to the sparring I was used to, and knew I had to fight my heart out.

By the end of the first round I was absolutely knackered. My strategy to go for the defence in the first round and let her knacker herself out didn't go to plan - she was coming from all angles, and I had to attack back. I had to give it everything.

We both did.



A week previously, another boxer at the gym told me to completely relax in the one-minute breaks between the rounds. He said to let my body go completely floppy and let myself recover as much as possible.

I didn't have to try, it was all I could do.


By the time the second round came the crowd were going mental, all eyes on us. I couldn't believe it was actually happening, it was like slow motion. I slipped and got in close to land some combos to the ribs and body, and she used her reach to dish out some stonking head and face shots - I still need to work on my head movement.


Every time she got me in the face or had me up against the ropes I got really angry and came back at her with everything I had. I did manage to crack a few in the face which I was pleased about but definitely had more success with getting in close and going for the body shots.


The crowd support was just amazing and every time one of us was going at it the roars from the room got louder and spurred us on. It's an incredible thing to have the whole room watching just you and no one else, everyone cheering and screaming and whooping when one of you lands a punch.

Ours was the last fight so the atmosphere was electric.

Just, electric.

That's my mate in the corner with her arm in the air - I must've been doing something right!

Maybe this time not so much - spot my husband's clenched fists next to a worried Carla!

At the end of the second round I was dead - I had nothing left to give but knew I had to go out fighting and that there was no time to rest. We spent a fair amount of time circling each other and staring each other out (basically grabbing a breather - thank God we let each other do that!) before moving in for another attack.

Looking at the official photos, we got pretty good at symmetrical synchronised attacks, which is quite funny:

Third and final round on video 

The third round was, for me, my best one. By that time I knew I'd lost but was so pumped and determined to go down fighting that I went all out until the final bell. Which, by the way, took a bloody AGE to come.

I was knackered, out of breath, my chest was tight, and I was counting the seconds for it to end but at the same time not wanting it to come so I could try and claw it back.

I can honestly say I've never been so knackered in all my life, in ANYTHING I've ever done. The marathon's got nothing on this - it was six minutes of absolutely every trace of my inner soul - I left everything I had in that ring. I had nothing left in me.

Hooked for life