It is a relentless period of writing, blogging, interviewing, building relations with delegates and media personnel, sourcing photos, travelling on buses, eating, and occasionally getting a run or some chill time if you are fortunate.

The bus journey to the venues or the press rooms are usually the best places to become acquainted with your fellow writers, photographers, videographers and communications members; as well as all the in-house staff you meet along the way.

Particularly, being British - or in this case Scottish - can lead to a mutual kinship with others from your home country.

While I have become pally on two trips to the World Boxing Championships with the commentators and coaching team of the Home Nations, the one that stuck from my most-recent trip to Istanbul for the Women’s Championships were a group who were venturing into the world of boxing with fresh eyes.

Fellow Scot Sarah Drummond, executive producer and managing director of LS Productions, was the first to notice the accent and became a friendly face to chat to.

A standard question asking why she was in Turkey led to my intrigue being captured neck deep into the live blog I was covering. 

Sarah explained they were following the story of Johana Gomez, a Venezuelan boxer with dreams of going professional, moving to Edinburgh and representing her nation at the Paris 2024 Olympic Games.

It all came from speaking to former Scottish welterweight boxer Gary Young, who she befriended on Instagram and soon fell in love with the country's capital.

Soon, I was introduced to Paul Sng, the director of this documentary Pequeña Guerrera. 

One of the cardinal rules in media is to be friendly - it should come second nature - because you never know when someone might help you out. 

In a day when one of my stories was moved to the top of the website meaning I needed another to fill our World Championships section, I offered to write a piece on the documentary. 

It was mutually beneficial and led to a close relationship with the team. 

If ever a perfect example of "just say yes", I was cheeky and asked for a lift into the city centre on my rest day, with the team planning to film at the Grand Bazaar. 

My plan was to hang around the shops, head onto a boat to do the journey between Europe and Asia, finished off by eating some local food.

I got as far as the Bazaar in the end before deciding to stick with the team. 

I missed the boat.

On the minibus there were the five boxers and their coach Omar Coffi as well as the filming crew of Paul, cinematographer and Spanish translator Priscilla, sound technician Sara, producer Nadja and Turkish translator Amir.

A humblebrag perhaps, but I got an A in Higher Spanish in high school, before forgetting it all and picking it all back up thanks to the help of the little owl on the app Duolingo. 

After a couple of years of no interaction with Spanish-speaking people - and straight off the back of four days in the most English part of Spain, Benidorm - I was ready to show off my broken language skills.

Listening is still a major issue for me, meaning I could string together some sentences, before being utterly dumbfounded by the responses of the boxers, who were treating me as the second-string translator when Priscilla was not there. 

Filming moved from one of the busiest places in the city - the Grand Bazaar - to a relaxing rooftop bar at the Grand Hotel de Londres. 

The hotel once welcomed famous writers such as Agatha Christie and Ernest Hemingway; with views that could inspire the greatest novels. 

It was there that I learned more about the boxers' interests and we were all able to enjoy ourselves with a beer.

I was no longer "el periodista" at the back of the bus hitching a lift, I was speaking to them about several topics. 

We got onto nicknames on the bus after visiting the Grand Bazaar, which lead to Krisandy Rios - the best English speaker in the group - objecting to her team-mates calling her "Little Raisin".

Johana went by "Mona" or monkey in English; Ninoska Pérez - the oldest member of the team and the captain - simply went by "Nino"; Omailyn Alcalá, the quietest of the five, is referred to as the "Hurricane"; while Tayonis Cedeño was called "La Niña Ora" or the Golden Girl. 

It makes sense, Tayonis progressed further than any of the rest of the team before elimination in the quarter-finals.

Yet Venezuela came away with no medals, with the Golden Girl falling at the last hurdle. 

A victory in her last match would have guaranteed a bronze and the nation's first Women's World Championships podium. 

Against the average citizen, the boxers are fortunate to receive training funds in preparation for the competition, but they still face issues related to hyperinflation in their home nation. 

According to the National Survey of Living Conditions, three quarters of Venezuelans live in extreme poverty - measured as living on less than $1.90 (£1.40/€1.77) a day.

A bronze for Tayonis would have seen her leave Istanbul with $25,000 (£20,000/€23,300) in prize money - a life-changing amount of money. 

Yet, it is clear that money is not the influencer among this team. 

This whole documentary is about Johana, who turned down the chance to go professional this year only to stick it out with the national team for another two years. 

She could have financial certainty, yet chose against it. 

Whether she is successful or not, the documentary continues on the road to Paris. 

Joy and heartbreak is expected, while the future of Johana's boxing career remains unknown. 

All that is certain is, I'm glad I missed the boat.