London

Sparring practice makes perfect

‘I know this’ll sound funny,’ she continues, ‘but the gym is like my church. My mum’s a Catholic, d and she’s very involved with her church. She can’t stand it that I box. I’ll go to Germany and fight in front of thousands of people and it’s not mentioned at home. But I’ll do a 120km run [in stages] for charity and they’re dead proud. It goes in the church newsletter. I tell my mum this is like my church. It’s my community, I feel at home here.’

Laura Saperstein was a successful corporate lawyer when the boxing bug bit her at the age of 31. ‘My boyfriend was a boxer,’ the Australian who now lives in Tufnell Park says. ‘From the first moment I tried it, my body just decided that this was what it wanted to do, and it took my brain with it.’ As with Brown, it is the ‘community and the incredible fitness’ of boxing that she enjoys. Feature continues

Saperstein is currently applying for her pro licence from the BBBofC, having fought and won ten amateur bouts in the last year. She has no regrets about leaving the law to train full-time: ‘Boxing is the most satisfying thing I’ve ever done, though it’s been bloody hard getting the fights I needed to turn pro.’ Fed up with matchmakers not finding her bouts, Saperstein took matters into her own hands and launched a website, boxergirl.net, two years ago, which she hopes will form a database for women boxers.

When asked why boxing’s regulating bodies seem so tepid in their support of women fighters, Cathy Brown answers that it is partly sexism and partly fear. They worry that, were a woman to sustain a serious injury, the press outcry might place the entire sport in jeopardy. Measures introduced to protect women from injury include breast protectors, plastic cups worn inside a sports bra, and a groin protector which, in Saperstein’s words, is ‘worse than useless’. In America, pro fighters also have to sign a legal document before each bout stating that, to the best of their knowledge, they aren’t pregnant at the time.

Saperstein trains in Chris Hall’s London Boxing Academy in Tottenham. Hall is a trainer of the oldest of schools. Every inch of metal, mirror and canvas in his gym is covered in a thin film of dubious moisture. Hip hop blares from an old stereo, and the sound of leather hitting leather fills the air. Above the doorless toilet in the impressively unscrubbed bathroom hangs a sign that reads: ‘If you’re too tired to aim, sit down and pee like a girl.’ But despite the masculine atmosphere, Hall is more than happy to train women: ‘The ones who come in impress me; they’re diligent, they listen, and they can fight.’