Sab’s Boxing Journey

When I first walked into a boxing gym over 20 years ago, I was terrified.

The gym was across the road from the fashion house where I worked. At the time, I was regularly spending 12 to 14 hours a day behind a desk. Like many people in creative industries, being overworked was (and still is) normal. Nobody seemed particularly concerned because I always met my deadlines and got the work done.

A colleague mentioned they’d been training at the boxing gym across the road, so one “lunch break”, I wandered over with her.

The experience was intimidating as hell.

I was completely out of my comfort zone. Everyone looked like they knew what they were doing. I felt awkward, uncoordinated and like I didn’t belong there.

But I kept going.

And somewhere along the way I made a promise to myself: if I ever had the chance to create a training space of my own, nobody would ever have to feel that intimidated walking through the door.

What started as stress relief quickly became a passion.

Over the years, I trained in boxing, Muay Thai and other martial arts. I spent countless hours learning fundamentals, hitting pads, working bags and trying to improve. I learned that no matter how experienced you become, there’s always value in returning to the basics. In fact, some of the most humbling lessons happen in beginner classes.

When I eventually started AMS, I hunted high and low for coaches with real experience. Coaches who had trained, competed, been hit, worked corners and understood what it meant to learn these skills from the ground up.

When we opened a dedicated martial arts facility with four training levels across boxing, Muay Thai and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, I was in heaven.

More importantly, I loved watching people discover what they were capable of.

The funny thing was that people would constantly ask me if they were “ready to go up a level.”

I spent countless hours talking with coaches, observing classes from the sidelines and listening to participants. What became obvious was that progression isn’t linear. Some people wanted to compete. Some wanted fitness. Some wanted confidence. Some wanted community.

Not everybody needed to climb a ladder.

Sometimes people just wanted to enjoy training.

We even held fight nights, cheering on those brave enough to step into the ring. There were creative fight names, costumes, gimmicks and whole groups of friends turning up to support each other. Those nights weren’t just about fighting. They were about community.

Eventually, watching wasn’t enough.

I started filling in as a coach.

Then I got my group fitness qualifications and started coaching regularly.

To be honest, finding my voice wasn’t easy.

Early on, I thought coaching meant being loud. Being intense. Constantly correcting technique. Playing the role of the drill sergeant.

There are moments from those early years that make me cringe.

I think I was trying to be the coach I thought I was supposed to be rather than the coach I actually was.

Once I stopped trying to be someone else and started coaching as myself, everything changed.

The years of training and experience were already there. I didn’t need to yell. I didn’t need to push people beyond their limits. I didn’t need to prove I belonged in the space.

I just needed to help people move.

That shift became even more important when I was dealing with my own health challenges.

For years, I trained through pain without understanding what was happening to my body. I loved Muay Thai. I loved the complexity of using more limbs, more combinations and more movement. But over time, the pain became harder and harder to ignore.

I tried everything.

I trained in hot climates, including Thailand. I trained outdoors through freezing Yarra Valley winters. I warmed up longer. I modified the training.

Nothing changed.

The fatigue was relentless. The pain was difficult to manage. Sometimes my body simply wouldn’t cooperate.

Eventually, I received my endometriosis diagnosis.

While it didn’t magically solve anything, it gave me answers.

I finally understood what I was dealing with.

I knew my leg wasn’t about to fall off. I knew I wasn’t broken. I knew there would be days when pain would interrupt training and that was okay.

If I had to stop mid-combination, I stopped.

If I needed a slower session, I took a slower session.

If I needed rest, I rested.

That experience fundamentally changed the way I coach.

People arrive at training carrying all sorts of things that we can’t see.

Stress.
Chronic pain.
Fatigue.
Injuries.
Grief.
Work pressures.
Life.

No one wants to walk into a class and be screamed at because they’re not performing at 100%.
This isn’t an 80s boxing montage.
This is real life.

As a coach, I believe people need to meet themselves where they’re at on any given day. Some days you’ll feel amazing. Some days you’ll feel average. Some days, simply showing up is the win.

These days, I prefer non-contact boxing. Give me shadow boxing, bag work and skill development any day.

There’s no need to prove yourself.
No need to risk getting kicked in the head by someone trying to impress the room.

No need to train like you’re preparing for a world title fight.

The goal isn’t perfection.
The goal isn’t looking fit.
The goal isn’t mastering every combination.

The goal is to show up.

Move your body.

Laugh.

Work up a sweat.

Switch off from the rest of the world for a little while.

Boxing has come full circle for me.

What started as an escape from work became a passion. Then a community.
And now it’s something I get to share with others.

At its best, boxing isn’t about becoming the next world champion.
It’s about finding a moment where you’re completely present.

For a little while, it’s just you, your movement and the next whack.
And sometimes that’s exactly what we need.