With the Dublin Novices Championship weigh-in complete, it was time to switch focus to fight prep.
On Monday 24th March at 11am, I found out I was fighting Tuesday night. The news hit with a mix of nerves and eagerness — just over 30 hours to shift into fight mode.
I already knew my opponent. I’d watched him in the Intervarsity Finals at 67kg. A Southpaw — fast, aggressive, and confident, maybe even cocky. I believed I had more power and planned to break him down under pressure.
That day, I visualised what I wanted to do — move my head, cut off the ring, close the distance. I pictured arriving at the venue, walking to the blue corner, stepping up to the ring — left, right, left, right, left — and performing my ring ritual.
I trained that evening, drilling southpaw-specific distance work, lead hand control, and tailored combinations. Sparring experience earlier in camp had made the stance feel familiar.
At home, I topped up carbs and ran through a negative visualisation: making mistakes, adapting in real time, and staying composed under pressure.
I got to bed around midnight and woke up Tuesday feeling under slept midnight. My body felt achy with a little mental tiredness lingering. Breakfast included porridge, yogurt, banana, and berries to load up on carbs.
During work, I felt strangely cold despite everyone being in t-shirts. But I put on a jacket and thought no more of it. I took a half day at lunch, ate some pasta and chicken before walking home in the sunshine listening to Roy Ayers Ubiquity, Frank Ocean, and Jungle.
At home, I ran a full mental visualisation — arriving, warming up, walking out, and going through my ring ritual. I remembered a clip of Ethan Hawke’s advice on performance: “Preparation, preparation, preparation… let go.” And I did. All the work was done and I felt the weight drop from my shoulders.
I took a 20-minute nap, then showered to freshen up, packing my bag while listening to summer music: Empire of the Sun, Macklemore, Mac Miller. I ate rice pudding and a banana around 5 while watching Mad Men and called my parents for a chat.
At 7, I met my clubmates and headed to the venue. I watched one or two fights, then performed my final visualisation – the whole fight, start to finish, transitioning into the zone. With my headphones on, I disappeared into my own world, listening to Irish rock classics: Thin Lizzy, U2, The Cranberries.
I took a small 1x2 metre space in the corner of the packed dressing room, warming up while facing a mirror. With two fights to go, my coach brought me out for pads. Nothing existed except the task in front of me: get in the ring, fight, and win.
As I walked out to the blue corner, it all felt familiar — the crowd, the noise, and the nerves. I stepped up into the ring — left, right, left, right, left — and moved through the ropes, gliding across the ring and back. We approached the centre. I looked my opponent in the eye. He looked confident, but I was unfazed, I was ready. We tapped gloves and eased back to our corners.
Moments before the bell, I tapped the corner three times.
Playful. Snappy. Relentless.
I started round one static and reserved, getting the measure of my opponent. He managed distance by catching me with straight jabs.
Ninety seconds in, my nose began bleeding, the fight paused, and the doctor cleaned it up. I reminded myself, it’s only the first round, just move my head and loosen up.
In the next exchange, he threw a one-two. I slipped right, landed a lead hook to the body, followed by a straight cross. I remembered the look in his eye, he had felt it.
In the corner, my coach reminded me to move my head and work specific combinations.
In round two, I applied pressure, but still got caught. Midway through the round, he slowed. I cornered him and landed the same combination — slip right, lead hook to the body, straight down the middle — followed by a second cross that threw his head back. The ref stepped in and called for a 10 count, my opponent leaning across the ropes. The bell rang soon after.
Back in the corner, I felt in more control, but the fight was still up for grabs. I knew I had to push it home in the third.
In the final round, I landed a few hard shots, the ref paused the fight, now my opponent was bleeding and had to get checked. Throughout the round, we exchanged repeatedly, but I landed the cleaner, more visible shots.
At the final bell, I returned to my corner confident. I shook the hands of my opponent and his coach, and stood beside the referee. My arm was raised. I’d won by unanimous decision. I felt a thrill as I met my brothers and clubmates who came to support me.
Back home, the buzz of the adrenaline lingered, it felt like drinking 5 expresso shots. As my mind buzzed, I didn’t sleep until 2am. Another poor night of sleep.
I woke up the next morning and shook off the tiredness. But at training, my concentration was lower. As I worked on the pads with my coach, I messed up the combinations and became frustrated. Thankfully, coach encouraged me to keep at it which grounded me. Eventually I got into a groove, and ended the session strongly.
Before bed, my mind was exhausted but still had to plan out my meals for Thursday with my semi-final on Friday. My thoughts were disorganised and it took forever to cook and prep meals, and clean up after. Weight management was still on my mind as I was back up to 71. But I reassured myself it was natural. Focus on winning my fights now, worry about weight later. Once again, I didn’t get to sleep until around midnight.
I rested on Thursday giving me time to reflect. I knew I needed to improve a few things: allow more time for warm-up, start sharp, and maintain head movement. I’d gotten a lot of praise from Tuesday’s win, but I didn’t want to feel like I’d accomplished anything yet. The Dublin Novices was good experience, but my main goal was to win the Porto Box Cup.
My coach said it was possible I’d fight Friday and again on Saturday, so I needed food ready right after the fight to refuel for the next day.
I had planned another carb load. I aimed for over 3,000 calories and over 500 grams of carbohydrates, split across breakfast, lunch, an afternoon snack, and dinner.
On Friday morning, my energy was low. The sleep debt was building, but I pushed it aside again. By lunchtime, I slipped into the same rhythm as Tuesday — slow walk home with chill music in my ears, followed by a ringwalk visualisation. Then a nap, a shower, a call home, and television while eating my last snack.
On the way to the venue, I felt nervous. I didn’t know my opponent, unlike last time, and I could feel the butterflies flutter inside. After arriving, I did my final rehearsal. I went inside to warm up, listening to Irish rock. I took up the same 1x2 metre space, familiar now. I’d given myself more time for a warm-up, and by the end of it, I felt better than I had the previous fight.
I fell into flow when on the pads with my coach. Outside noise faded like we were alone in a quiet room. My eyes were locked in tunnel vision and I was switched on.
On the way out, I saw the back of my dad’s jacket and gave him a nudge as I walked past. Getting into the ring, the transition felt seamless like I’d been there all along. The ref went through the rules as I looked my opponent in the eye. As I returned to my corner, I tapped it three times.
Playful. Snappy. Relentless.
In the first round, we started light on our feet, measuring with our jabs. In the opening exchanges, I landed some strong shots and had success pushing him back. However, he countered and evaded many attacks with fluid movement. Halfway through, I blocked a shot and retaliated with a rear hook to the body catching him clean. As the round finished, I slowed and his control in exchanges – getting in, landing, and moving out and around – put him ahead.
At the end of the round, my coach said, “Diarmuid, if you try and out-box this fella, you’re going to lose. You need to break him down by keeping the intensity high. Don’t let him settle into a rhythm.”
Round two started with the same cat and mouse: me trying to corner him, him trying to counter and evade. But this time I was more measured and didn’t jump in too soon. In our first proper exchange, we went toe to toe, and I caught him a few times before he moved off. Then, in another exchange, I landed backhands and had success on the inside.
Halfway through the round, I had him in a corner. He was struggling to get out as I landed shots. Eventually, he escaped, but I stayed on him with jabs, never letting him out of sight. Pressing him against the ropes, I threw one-twos, then a hook-cross that raised his guard — exposing his body — and finished with a powerful lead hook downstairs.
The ref stepped in and called a 10-count and what happened next surprised me. He went back to his corner, dropped to his hunkers, and shook his head. He was struggling. The ref counted, but he didn’t stand up. Eventually, the ref waved the fight off and I’d won.
It was my first ever stoppage. I was shocked and proud. I’d outworked him. Back in my corner, I high-fived my coach. He looked at me and said, “Do I tell lies, do I?” I laughed. He told me to press him and disrupt his rhythm, and it worked.
Afterwards, my clubmates and my dad were there to congratulate me. It felt electric. We stayed to watch my teammate David fight next. He lost but held his own against an opponent well above the novice category, claiming to be Conor McGregor’s sparring partner!
Later that evening, I found out that the final wouldn’t be the next day. It was pushed out to Monday, the 7th of April, four days before my quarter-final fight in Porto. It wasn’t ideal, but I had to get on with it.
Getting sleep proved to be a much greater challenge. My brain went into overdrive trying to figure out how to handle the next two weeks; managing my weight, refueling, and training. My thoughts were jumping around. After my quarter-final win, I’d felt like I’d had five coffees. Now it felt like fifty.
I used everything I could: meditation, a walk, even splashing water on my face, some light exercise but my mind wouldn’t settle. I eventually got to sleep at 3 a.m., ending a hectic week with poor recovery.
I had one week to go until my final. One more after that until Porto was over. I’d already asked a lot of my body. Now I just needed to give a little more.
Next week, find out how my body responded during the week break before the final and how the Dublin Novices wrapped up.