The workout doesn’t change much. At midday I swap pajama bottoms for shorts and go downstairs to the communal basement to meet my regular sparring partner. He doesn’t say much but he’s reliable. Jump rope, shadow boxing, burpees, stretches. I’ve got the Creed soundtrack going tinny on my phone, or maybe Led Zeppelin II. Put on the gloves and go to work: double jab and straight right, left hook and straight right, left uppercut and right hook. Get sweaty, do some pushups, hit some more. I don’t imagine anyone’s face; my opponent is abstract, inertial, myself. Down for the count.