I won that fight in the end. I was running on empty in the last round, but something in me kept going, and I think I held it together for long enough to be seen as the dominant boxer by unanimous decision. I had fantasised so many times about that moment when the compere would announce me as the winner, but it still felt better than I could have imagined. I attempted to climb the ropes, fell off one of them and ended up doing something which looked a lot like dry humping the ropes. I didn’t care.
The photo is of my opponent and I hugging afterwards (complete with surprised looks from both of our corners after such a brutal fight). The strange thing is that right after pummelling each other’s brains out, the first thing you feel for your opponent, if they are any good, is respect and affection. It is so rare to have an opportunity to show what you are made of in life. I have found it even rarer that another woman has given me this chance. Magical things happen when women let each other be angry, competitive, and even aggressive. I feel gratitude and loyalty towards anyone who allows me to show this side of myself, a side which goes on repressed in so many women, seeping out in bitchiness or passive aggression. Give me a straight up fight with fair rules any day over those silent wars. Competition is an element of life, and we should be allowed to test our mettle openly. If not, it will lurk there in the shadows anyway, looking to pounce.
My opponent had a fighting heart and had been through the same thing as I had, and that made us close. Last weekend, by coincidence we were both in the gym together for a class of boxing drills. My training schedule for Thursday’s fight has been manic, and I was exhausted. I have a tendency to put my head down and crumple when tired. “Look at me,” she said. Big eyes again, this time looking just as attentive but not because she was trying to kill me. “Don’t look down.”
What I wouldn’t give for a world where women could say that to each other every time things got tough.