I played the sax at school. I was in marching band.
They're hard workers, they're really smart but they're not very good about marching into their boss's offices and saying 'I need a raise!... Women tend to have the attitude that, 'if I put my head down, I work really hard, I'll get recognized.'
I've been written off. But I don't go about crying. Nothing is going to stop me. Not Chisora. We're marching on.
One of my first memories is marching with my mom. I was in kindergarten with with the Catholic ladies when Martin Luther King Jr. got shot. We wore the black armbands and marched downtown.
When I was in the marching band, I used to take my snare drum and turn it over and use my drumstick and scratch on the other side. That was just being creative.
I eat healthily and exercise, and I'm not giving up and saying I'm too old - I'm just determined to keep on marching with enthusiasm and interest and curiosity.
Gradually I became aware of details: a company of French soldiers was marching through the streets of the town. They broke formation, and went in single file along the communication trench leading to the front line. Another group followed them.
When I was growing up, in L.A., I went to these schools, Fairfax High School, Bancroft Junior High School, and they had great music departments. I always played in the orchestra, the jazz band, the marching band.
One of the good things about the way the Gulf War ended in 1991 is, you'd see the Vietnam veterans marching with the Gulf War veterans.
Everything was going my way. I was happily marching into the history books. Then it all just fell apart.
