I’ve always sat on my high horse when it comes to boxing. I’ve had no problems expressing my oh-so-middle-class distaste at such an aggressive, thuggish and dangerous sport. Of course, I’ve never actually been to a match, or even done a boxercise class, never mind stepping into the ring itself. Boxing is one of those things – like Marmite or Noel Edmonds – that people either love or hate. But those who hate it are often like me: largely ignorant of what it involves.

However, it isn’t any sense of moral obligation that has inspired me to find out more – it is the promise of a flat stomach and a tight butt (‘butt’ seems appropriately sassy and tough). To achieve these goals, I am prepared to leave my reservations at the battered front door of Islington Boxing Club.

It’s not just the front door that is battered – the whole place is shabby, straight out of The Wire. The testosterone, palpable in the air, has permeated even the décor. Other gyms might boast fluffy towels or free shampoo; here you get peeling wallpaper and a sweat-wet floor. Maybe there is a company that specialises in making new punch bags look worn; spangly clean ones just wouldn’t cut the mustard. This is a man’s place with a capital M, and it’s arranged just the way men like it. It’s also the least intimidating gym that I’ve ever walked into.

I am greeted by Enzo Giordano, the club manager and a former super-middleweight contender. He has just the right mix of gentle gruffness to satisfy my idea of what a boxer-turned-trainer should be: a kindly father who would kill any boyfriend who stepped out of line. As he straps up my wrists with bandages I imagine myself as Hilary Swank in Million Dollar Baby.

Islington Boxing Club has a long history. Established nearly 40 years ago, it lost funding in the 80s and has nearly been shut down several times by councillors keen to ban boxing altogether. I ask Enzo about the club’s battle for survival and his justification for a sport that is undoubtedly dangerous.

“People who have never boxed don’t appreciate the level of skill and training involved. Boxing teaches self-discipline and acts as a vent – for young men particularly – to relieve aggression. We’ve had boys over the years who I’m sure have avoided prison or street violence by coming here. The good that boxing does far outweighs any harm.”

As well as running the club in the traditional way – as a place for real boxers to train and fight – Enzo runs daily sessions aimed at improving fitness and boxing technique. My session is taken by Gemma Ridley, a personal trainer who is evangelical about the power of boxing for fitness. She used to run a boxing school in Thailand and is convinced there is no better workout than boxing training.

“You want to know what muscle groups are worked? All of them – and especially the ones girls want to work most – the waist, the abs, the bum. If you want weight to drop off you – box.” I am happy to take her word for it – she looks fit enough to bounce a 10p off. But Gemma doesn’t fight. “For me, boxing isn’t about hurting someone. It’s about getting the stance and footwork right to optimise the fitness benefits.”

For beginners, the first half hour is given to the basics of throwing punches while the rest of the group pair up and practise pad work. The basics turn out to be quite complicated. The most important thing to get right, apparently, is the swing in your hips and the swivel of your feet. The weight exchange from back-to-front and front-to-back is much more difficult to master than it looks, but essential to good technique.

Following our brief introduction we are paired up and join the rest of the sweaty gang for some circuit training. Each stage of the circuit is a three-minute ’round’, with the bell signalling when it is time to move. The circuit includes bag work; weights; skipping (little girls deserve respect – this is tough), abs work; step (using the side of the ring); cycling; and shadow boxing. It is here, as I stand in front of a mirror dripping with sweat-induced condensation, that I begin to realise I do not look quite as good as I think I do. Instead of tough and intimidating, I look more like I’m doing the hand motions to The Wheels on the Bus … I’m less Hilary Swank, more sweaty loser.

But now it is my turn in the ring. As I pull on my gloves and climb through the ropes, everything seems to move in slow motion. I hear Enzo calling to my sparring partner “No blows to the head.” And then the bell rings and my three-minute round begins.

Don’t worry, there’s no ridiculously implausible ending to this story where I miraculously plant a knockout punch. My sparring partner treats me much like an amusing toddler. He allows me to go at him full force, while agilely sidestepping each blow. He lays the occasional one on me, just to remind me of what he could do, were he so inclined. But it is so much fun! I love the chase, I love the way I already find myself trying to think strategically about how I can land a punch. I even love the thrill of the fear that this could actually hurt me. I come out of the ring feeling pumped up and exhilarated – and surprised.

I’m not for one moment comparing my ring time with that of a real fight – I was never in any danger. But I realise this is true for most of the people training here. They are not fighting to hurt each other; they are testing their skills in attack and defence. There is no aggression here – it feels supportive. There is a genuine mix of men from all cultures and classes, and I honestly believe the only poser in the room is me. There may not be many women, but I don’t once feel uncomfortable. I’m willing to bet I was made more welcome here than any man in a legs, bums and tums class.

It’s not over yet. Gemma calls the room to attention and begins a loud and sweaty 30-minute killer climax. She has us doing star jumps, scissor jumps, press ups, sit ups … I forget what else as a haze of exhaustion descends.

I’m not sure if the joy I felt at the end of the class was due to the exercise endorphins I’d released, or simply because it was finally over. Either way I left the club on a high, with a real sense of achievement. I had pushed myself, but I had enjoyed it.

I’m still sure I wouldn’t want to sit ringside at a fight – I don’t like the idea of people trying to hurt each other and boxing is, no doubt, a dangerous sport. But for keeping fit I am sold, and I will definitely be returning to Enzo’s club. I’ll buy my own gloves next time though, as the stench of other people’s sweat is quite hard to wash off.

• Classes at Islington Boxing Club are £7-8 for members and £15 for non-members. Membership is £50 per year.

Want to try?

With the popularity of boxing on the increase, classes are popping up all over the place.

Find information about Islington Boxing Club and Enzo’s new club in east London at Boxing London

Fight Fit run six-week boxing courses at various gyms – check the website for course dates and locations

Some branches of Virgin Active run ‘Punch’ classes that include twelve three-minute rounds of sparring and pad work.

Soho Gyms run a series of boxing courses, some of which are women-only.

View London lists gyms in the capital that offer boxing training

Do you box for fitness – or for real? Or is it a dangerous sport best avoided? Let us know in the comments section below

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