I’ve spent most of my life being devoured by heart-exploding anxiety. “Doing scary things” has meant stuff like being out after dark and calling someone on the phone. It has never, for one minute, meant fist fighting in front of a crowd of people.
But a while ago I decided to try countering the anxiety by doing new stuff. With that in mind, I went to a boxing class. At worst, I figured, I could write a column about being a middle-aged mother in a young man’s world.
