#virtualboxing

http://instagram.com/@dgboxingcoach

Firstly, what the actual eff is a number place grid? I didn’t sign up to be a maths teacher. I am neither qualifed nor am I equipped to field such questions as, “Mummy, why do we move the counter one place down in a Gattegno chart?” A Gatty.... what, darling? Give me strength (or a gin and tonic).

In all honesty lockdown could be a lot worse for us; we live in a house with a garden - there’s no great hardship. But for the love of god, if I have to navigate my children through a mathematical minefield of number arrays and fraction lines for the remainder of lockdown then I may have to lock myself in the downstairs loo (with the Gordons) until we’re given the all clear.

During my low spells there’s only one thing that shields me from all-out meltdown, and that is boxing. Boxing has always been my therapy and it is now my trusty companion once more, seeing me steadfastly through this very surreal situation. Admittedly there are fewer nosebleeds now (blood is difficult to draw from a distance of two-metres) but we’re all making sacrifices.

Like everybody else, I’ve had to adapt. I’ve had to find new ways of working, of parenting, and of structuring my day. Those attending my virtual classes are now separated from me by a 16-inch computer screen but amazingly there’s still that same sense of community that we shared in the gym (perhaps even more so now now that we’re all undeniably linked by this singular traumatic event). It seems that the fighting spirit cannot be dulled just because we’ve all been reduced into bits and bytes.

After a month of quarantine I’ve come to the conclusion that there will be two types of people to emerge from lockdown: the fit, the healthy, and the well-rested (albeit with a touch of germ OCD), and those who crawl out of it (in unwashed pyjamas) as lethargic couch-potatoes, sporting a slight drinking problem and presenting mild symptoms of institutionalisation.