Don’t get me wrong, I really, really like Anthony Joshua. He has amazing hands, he’s very hunky, and obviously he’s the best boxer in the world. There’s nothing not to like. It’s just, he ruined my boxing classes.
I’ve been going to them for a year now and have had ever such a good time. I really do enjoy punching people, which you’re not actually allowed to call it – it’s ‘sparring’, dahling – although if you’re my height it’s almost always ‘boob bashing’. It just feels so good, after a long hard day, to punch someone, doesn’t it? No?
Regardless of this, on Monday something bad happened. That is, about a hundred billion zillion people turned up to my class, so that I could barely move my tongue, let alone stretch out an arm for some boob bashing. I was surrounded mostly by muscly, hairy men, which normally I wouldn’t complain about, it’s only that at boxing everyone smells of cheese – myself included – such is the intensity of the exercise, and so it is not quite the aphrodisiac one might imagine.
It wasn’t only the men that had eaten into my personal space, but plenty of women too, many of whom had turned up in fashionable attire, indeed, causing me to doubt their boxing credentials. As I watched a hundred billion zillion perform squat jumps on one floor, I had major healthy and safety concerns. “I’m going to die!” I thought to myself. That’s when I realised it’s all Anthony Joshua’s fault.
Because what other possible explanation could there be for this surge of wannabe boxers? Two weeks after he won his incredible match, everyone has suddenly turned up to my gym. La La Land had a similar effect; apparently it has led to an increased uptake of tap dancing classes. Boxing, methinks, will be even worse as so many watch it these days. It is fast becoming as popular as football.
I’m not sure how long the Joshua effect will last, anyway. I do think he’s given the sport an air of sexiness that it simply doesn’t have. It’s the pain that’s the worst – not only from the workouts, but when you get punched too. Recently I was winded and, corr blimey, it hurt, although it nothing compared to when I got punched in the snuffer. “My nose!” I exclaimed to my instructor, thinking it had fallen on the floor. After that I decided I would never try to step out of my comfortable, recreational boundary.
But even recreational isn’t that easy, which is why I suspect the newbies will clear off over the new few weeks. Maybe this isn’t so much of an expectation as a desire; I’m needy and liked my classes before Joshua won, as I got loads of individual attention. I didn’t have armpits in my face, or have to share the ring with people that can’t put on a pair of gloves. How I miss these days before the glory-hunters came! It seems that fashionistas will try anything once; even getting punched in the face.