The text came through early this morning.
Mike: Do you have boxing gloves?
Me: I can get some boxing gloves. Pop into Kmart on the way home.
Mike: Excellent. See you at 7.30.
Me: I warn you. I used to train under one of Lennox Lewis's trainers.
Mike: Should I be worried?
Me: I'm pretty unfit. You'll be fine.
I used to box. I used to love boxing. I got very fit boxing in the 90s. But other than BodyCombat and a few boxing sessions over the years, I don't think I've done any boxing in five years.
I got a bit excited.
After work, I made my way to Rebel Sport and got myself a cheap pair of cardio gloves, went home, fed the cats, got changed and made my way to the middle gym to see Mike the trainer for half an hour of boxing.
Mike had a student shadowing him. Nice fellow. He introduced himself.
"Hi, I'm Scary," I told him with a big smile on my face.
Please remember. I do train regularly. I've strong - last night's string of personal bests last night with Chuck - Deadbugs, straight legs with a 10 kg plate anybody?
It turns out muscle memory is a great thing.
My body instinctively knows how to jab, punch, duck, uppercut, hook. I know how to use my knees, breathe, protect my face and keep going.
I did my 30 minutes without complaint. It was a brilliant session.
There is something very satisfying about the sound of a glove hitting a focus pad.
I am going to really hurt tomorrow. The magnesium drink has been drunk, a hot shower, 10 minutes longer than I usually take, is complete, and I'm going to go to bed soon.
But I'm officially in my late 50s next week. I've been going to the gym for a very long time. I've trained myself to be able to do this sort of thing without injuring myself.
I feel intensely proud that I have had a man tell me, "You punch. You punch hard. I really wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of you."
The gym work has paid off.