The stellar moments of boxing seem to take place in public, under blinding spotlights and thousands of eyes fixed on tense muscles. But it is not like that... everything begins to take shape much earlier. In loneliness. Sweating to exhaustion in gyms with the smell of "basement armpit", jogging in fields and parks, between shadows and silences of cold dawns. Weight, diet, rest, no nights out. Sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice.
That is where success begins to germinate. The staging is nothing more than the accumulation of effort and sacrifice almost always worked in solitude, almost always in the midst of incomprehension. Can a more similar metaphor to life be constructed than those offered by boxing?
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