It is up to the people and boxing fans to give me the respect I deserve once I have finished my career. I personally do not think about my legacy.
Grief is a bad moon, a sleeper wave. It’s like having an inner combatant, a saboteur who, at the slightest change in the sunlight, or at the first notes of a jingle for a dog food commercial, will flick the memory switch, bringing tears to your eyes.
If I am 100% prepared for the fight, my opponent has no chance to win the fight. I am saying what I mean: He has a 0% chance to win the fight. There is going to be no luck involved; there is going to be nothing else to stop me from winning the fight.
Consistency for me is everything.
Radiation doesn’t recognize borders. A meltdown in Japan or India, say, is a danger to the whole world. Wind circulates the radiation everywhere. Water quality is affected. We all eat the same fish. We use products from all over the world – if something is contaminated, it will cause harm.
I wasn’t prepared for the fact that grief is so unpredictable. It wasn’t just sadness, and it wasn’t linear. Somehow I’d thought that the first days would be the worst and then it would get steadily better – like getting over the flu. That’s not how it was.
People aren’t really afraid of my views. They are just afraid of the word ‘nationalism.’
After Chernobyl, thousands and thousands of people, if not millions, were given a death penalty and had to pay the price, our father among them.
Politics is traditionally a male domain in Russia. Until now, women have only been accessories. Now, female protest groups are emerging – not because men came up with the idea, but through their own efforts. That’s something new for Russia.
The first thing I learned in boxing is to not get hit. That’s the art of boxing. Execute your opponent without getting hit. In sports school, we were putting our hands behind our backs and having to defend ourselves with our shoulders, by rolling, by moving round the ring, moving out feet.