Tonight at boxing I sparred with a guy much smaller than me. He was slim and was no taller than 160cm – it felt like I was going against a child.

The round started and I landed a cross to the body.

“Sorry,” I said, feeling bad. He grinned sheepishly.

Out of nowhere, he unleashed a combo on my ribs that I could barely see. As I tried to counterpunch in desperation, he was already out of striking range. Frustrated, I began trying harder and harder to hit him, but he would effortlessly dodge my punches and hit me while I was vulnerable. When the round ended, he was barely sweating, while I was physically and mentally drained. My one punch at the start was the only punch I had landed.

After class, I approached him.

“You’re pretty amazing,” I said. “Must be hard being shorter than everyone else.”

He stared at me for a while and laughed.

“I think my size works to my advantage, actually.” He waved at the other people. “I’ve always been the smallest guy in class, and have had to adapt to keep up. So I think my speed is actually because of my size, not in spite of it. If I get hit, it’s over. So I’m much more cautious than other boxers.”

In David and Goliath, Malcolm Gladwell wrote, “Giants are not what we think they are. The same qualities that appear to give them strength are often the sources of great weakness.” While true, he could have also added the converse: “Underdogs are not what we think they are. The same qualities that appear to limit them are often sources of great strength.” That the Davids in the world don’t succeed in spite of their disadvantages, but because of them.

As we left, the small boxer revealed he was competing in a competition next month.

“Good luck,” I said.

“Thanks,” he replied. “But I think I’ll be okay. People always underestimate the small guys.”