Oof, we had the hardest boxing class last night. It was led by a new instructor, this deceptively tiny little Irish girl who morphed into freakin’ Mike Tyson whenever she was demonstrating our combinations. I was feeling pretty good thoughout, despite sweating so much that I looked like I’d been caught out during that freak downpour yesterday afternoon. (Thanks, hypnotherapist!) Afterwards the Snook and I went down to get changed, but once I hit the locker room I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to barf. It was like in high school when they work you so hard on a hot day that you can’t help but throw up. I sat there for ages willing myself not to yuke. I finally made it out to meet the Snook, who took about two seconds to diagnose the situation: “What’d you eat for lunch?” “Salad, fruit, muesli bar…” “When?” “11:30…. Oops.” Luckily I had a banana in my bag which I sloooowly began to eat on the walk home. Within a few blocks I was feeling better. Note to self: Don’t go seven hours without eating before a boxing class ever again. I’m still feeling the effects of the workout today; my shoulders are killing me! The interesting bit is I’m pretty sure I heard the instructor in the locker room afterwards (through my haze of nausea) saying that she’d mixed the music herself. I wonder if I could persuade her to try one of Max’s mixes next time?