It’s more or less a fitness universal: high-risk, low-risk, intense or mindful, you don’t really want your children around. All exercise is solipsistic and kids drive a coach and horses through enjoyable self-regard. On the other hand, Kobox is running boxing for children through summer, and my stepdaughter, C, is a natural. Not a natural pugilist, and her death stare is like being given a dirty look by a really cute cat, but a natural mover, naturally determined, highly appreciative of costume and cinematic situations, with a strong inclination towards anything girls in sitcoms don’t do. That’s how I ended up in a ring with a 10-year-old and Ollie Lee, who is so serious about boxing’s benefits that he’s teaching his own daughter to do it, and she’s only four. “It’s great for discipline, self-esteem…” he says. These are the advertised benefits to children of most sports, but in this context, raise the droll prospect of teaching a child to get really good at disciplining other people.

There’s a lot of Rocky fandango, as you’d expect: rolling bandages round your wrists in a precise way, getting your gloves on. It’s quite theatrical and dress-up, which you don’t realise until you see a child do it. Even in your nursery moments, learning the basics of punching, shielding and ducking, you look infinitely more convincing. The jab – a straight punch with your lead hand – is number one (we’ve been through this before, I know, but it’ll help when I start yelling “One! Three! Six! Five!” At you). The cross – straight punch with your rear hand – number two; the hooks, circular sideways punches with lead and rear hands – are three and four; the uppercuts, vertical punches from below, five and six. That takes about four minutes to learn, then who knows how many years to remember.

We spent a good while throwing punches into the air to get the numbers and fix the principle of keeping your inactive hand against your face. It’s basically inversely related to your age. C got it in about 60 seconds, and I didn’t. Then we started punching Ollie, which was especially amusing when he put his full body armour on, pretending to fear our ferocity. “Imagine you’re punching your homework”, he said, and C gave me a “Huh, why would anybody punch their homework? That would be so self-defeating” look, before indulgently attacking him like the devil. The best bit about this escapade is watching a child have a fight with an adult, but you’re not really allowed to loaf about; while the other person is punching, you’re meant to be doing stomach crunches. Or, if you prefer, doing Pilates in another bit of the studio.

The point of footwork is to move as fast and far as you can without wearing yourself out, so not high-impact from a cardio perspective. It is engrossing, though counterintuitive – your back foot always catching up with your front rather than overtaking it. You’ll pick it up faster if you haven’t already been walking in the regular way for four decades. C loved it; she wanted to do it every week; she wanted to do it again immediately. If you find enthusiasms hard to resist, but don’t want to end up living with Million Dollar Baby, I suggest you try something else.

What I learned

For the perfect jab, they say close-the-door, turn-the-key; it reminds you to punch forward and finish on that twist that looks so pro.