With a glittering array of trophies behind him, testosterone and sweat hanging in the air, pro fighter Wes Lucas's mouth twists into a smile when asked for his thoughts on Nick Clegg's love of kickboxing.

"To be honest I thought it was hilarious when I heard, like 'Reeeeally?'. He doesn't hold himself much like a kickboxer, does he?" the gym owner says of the deputy prime minister.

Then barely skipping a beat, he adds: "But that's the beauty of the sport – anyone can do it. It doesn't matter what background you are from, in this gym we have millionaires and people with nothing. People think if you are wealthy and posh you can't fight, but you can."

The news that the privately educated Liberal Democrat leader is a kickboxer is treated with general amusement at Combat Company, a kickboxing, mixed martial arts (MMA) and training gym in Richmond where the air is punctuated with a never-ending soundtrack of grunts and thwacks.

Yet, in their own way, kickboxers are grateful. Clegg's love of the sport – which led him to suggest he could beat the shadow chancellor and renowned bruiser, Ed Balls, in a fight – is being seen as an unlikely secret weapon in the sport's battle to gain official recognition.

"At the moment kickboxing doesn't officially exist," explains David Jenkins, secretary of the British Kickboxing Council (BKC), who also works at the gym. "It isn't recognised as a sport by Sport England, which means clubs can't access funding, sponsorship or resources. So it's good to hear we've got friends in high places."

Without official recognition, clubs cannot get a Clubmark, which parents often look for as a sign of quality, and struggle to tap into local authority funding that could get the sport into schools.

Combat Company, housed in a three-storey building of padded rooms dedicated to the destruction of competitors, is unlikely to be where Clegg would don his new boxing gloves – apparently a Christmas gift from his wife, Miriam González Durántez. But it is at the heart of the fight to bring kickboxing into the mainstream and tackle people's prejudices=.

"There are so many misconceptions about kickboxing," says Jenkins. "People think it's just a fitness fad for women, or it's two burly blokes kicking each other in the head, but it's an incredibly skilful and tactical sport."

Another issue facing the sport is a chronic lack of sponsorship and prize money. When kickboxers reach the highest level they often move into MMA – the sport made famous by Katie Price's ex-husband Alex Reid, and which fans insist is the ultimate form of fighting even if to the untrained eye it can look like two disgruntled and slightly sozzled bruisers let loose in a child's soft-play area.

"That's where the money is," says Jenkins, adding that only a few kickboxing tournaments award prize money, and it is modest at that. In comparison, professional MMA bouts in the UK, though, can earn a fighter £1,000, or if they make the leap to the US, fighters can make far more serious money: last year a British fighter, Michael "The Count" Bisping earned £260,000 for his bout in the Ultimate Fighting Championship.

The BKC was set up in 2008 in an attempt to make kickboxing a viable career and provide an umbrella group for a range of clubs throughout Britain. It estimates that about 120,000 people kickbox in the UK and that numbers are growing exponentially.

The council also acts as a cheerleader for competing Britons, who, says Jenkins with pride, are pretty good. "We have some of the best fighters in the world. In the world championships, England comes away with a whole host of medals. The potential is definitely there, if we can just get our foot through the door the sky is the limit."

A children's kickboxing class at the Combat Company. Photograph: Martin Godwin for the Guardian

Clegg says he kickboxes for fitness rather than to improve his combat skills. He is not alone, says Jenkins, who adds that the sport - which is point-scoring, often semi-contact sport is great for boosting confidence, co-ordination and concentration. Jenkins himself took it up after being bullied at school.

One mother at the gym, whose son has ADHD and dyspraxia, says that it has changed the 12-year-old's life. Graham Faiola started going to the gym when he was four and in the early days found it difficult to sit through an entire session; now he is an assistant instructor helping the impossibly cute four- to six-year-olds in the club's Little Dragons class.

"If you get knocked down, you have to get up," he says. "So it's taught me that if you want something you have to persevere. Sometimes it's harder for me to achieve things but if I keep on going I manage to."

To appreciate what fans see in the sport, and get a taste for it myself, I pad up – shiny red footguards, shinguards, hand and arm pads plus helmet – and step into the ring.

Alexandra Topping squares up to David Jenkins. Kickboxing is a ‘skilful, tactical sport’, he says. Photograph: Martin Godwin for the Guardian

My opponent is a professional MMA fighter and kickboxer, Chase Morton. Seemingly going against what I have been told, his first words to me are: "Just try and kick me in the head – don't worry, you won't manage it."

As a fan of boxing, mastering the basic punches is relatively easy, but combining those with kicks while trying to protect myself from the blows coming from each of Morton's limbs proves trickier.

Pretending I am Clegg, with Morton as Balls, seems not to work, although success comes when the image of the chancellor, George Osborne, as a target comes into my mind. In a surprise instant I make unexpected contact, and an instinctive apology slips out.

"No apologies – give me 10 press-ups," barks Morton. "Apologise when you're dead."

There might be a lesson for the deputy leader in that.