When someone tells me they want to get into boxing, there’s something I try to explain.
At some point, you have to make a decision inside yourself. Your trainer can encourage you. Your mates can believe in you. But they can’t make that decision for you.
I remember when I made mine.
It was early in my amateur career. I was competing in the novice championships and had beaten everyone in my division. Next up was the London champion.
He came from a very good gym. I’d heard stories about the club and the fighters they produced. The more I heard, the more I started questioning whether I could beat him.
By the time I got into the ring, I’d built him into something bigger than he was.
He was good. But afterwards, I knew he hadn’t been beyond me. I’d gone in doubting myself, and I’d never given myself a proper chance.
That was what frustrated me most. I felt I’d given the fight away before we’d even started.
I came out of that ring and thought: either I quit boxing and do something else, or I never let that happen again.
I couldn’t guarantee I’d win every fight. But I could decide that I would never get into the ring having already accepted defeat.
I went back to the gym desperate for another fight. I needed to prove something to myself.
The next one was against a Marine down in Devon.
I remember looking across the ring. He was quite small and stocky, and we completely underestimated him. Even my trainer looked at me and said, “Ben, I just want you to look professional here. Do a job on this guy.”
I came out excited, trying to show everyone what I could do.
The first punch I threw was a jab. I put everything into it—and let my right hand drop.
He threw an absolute bomb of a left hook.
It caught me on the temple and put me on the floor. The very first exchange of the fight, and the first time I’d ever been knocked down.
I rolled backwards and got back to my feet, but the punch had hurt me more than I understood. My vision in my right eye was affected.
Looking back, it was kind of stupid to fight on knowing that my vision had been affected. I wouldn’t advise anyone to do that because, at the end of the day, your health is the number one thing in your life.
But back then, all I was thinking about was proving to myself that I meant what I’d said. I’d made a decision inside myself that I felt I couldn’t go back on. And in that moment, keeping that promise to myself mattered to me more than anything.
We fought hard, toe to toe, for three rounds. He could really punch—far harder than we’d expected. But I found I was stronger working on the inside. I worked at close range, defended his shots well and caught him with short punches.
That first shot had certainly got my attention. But after the knockdown, I dominated the fight.
I won.
But I’d also been taught another lesson. In the previous fight, I’d given my opponent too much credit. In this one, I hadn’t given him enough. Both times, I’d let the story in my head interfere with the job in front of me.
That decision I’d made mattered. So did keeping my right hand up.
That’s what I want people coming into boxing to understand. Commit yourself fully. Do the training. Respect whoever is standing opposite you. Listen to your corner. Give yourself the chance to use what you’ve learned.
You might lose. You might meet someone better than you. That happens.
But never ever surrender to the idea of losing before you’ve even begun.
For me, that was the decision: if I was going to do this, I was going to give it my full commitment.
And that commitment starts long before the bell.