Diary 
Daphne Beal
I was throwing punches into my boxing trainer Bob’s hands in a basement gym down the block from City Hall when he gave me some advice that had nothing to do with shifting my weight back for the hook. ‘You do know, don’t you, that if you’re within range of a chemical bomb, you have to cut your clothes off? If you pull them off the regular way, you’ll get the stuff in your eyes and mouth.’
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