Читать книгу The Fighter Within - Christopher Olech - Страница 9
ОглавлениеChapter Three
THE DOG DAYS OF SUFFERING
“If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put foundations under them.”
—Henry David Thoreau
There I stood, hunched over the dirty yellow railing, hypnotized through the smoke by the automated movements of expensive welding robots. Despite the treacherous locale, I was mesmerized by the solitude of my thoughts when I was ripped back into reality. “Hey, Chris. Let’s go.” It was my close friend Jeff Phillips, keeping an eye on me so that I would not get reprimanded by the lazy supervisors if they happened to leave their air conditioned bear cave offices, as they did once in a blue moon. “Here we go,” I motioned as I turned back to the production line. Looking at the truck frame that this robotic pulley line fed us from a seemingly never-ending supply, I had the duty of inspecting and patching up all holes, imperfections, and/or deficiencies in the frame.
No customer wanted to buy an award-winning heavy-duty truck only to have the part of the truck that needed to be the strongest fail due to human error. Picking up the weld gun in heat in excess of 100°F (40°C), wearing my mandatory long-sleeved uniform, work boots, heavy gloves, and a welding helmet, I welded 380 to 450 frames in one shift. I took a deep breath and thought to myself, “Man, there’s got to be more to life than this crap!” Given the forty-five-minute drive to and from work and the dreaded midnight shift that I was privileged to work, I was like a zombie living in a hell on Earth.
I thanked Jeff, palmed the button to let the frame proceed down the never-ending line, and went back to the railing, which, sadly, was my safety zone where I could talk to Jeff; this was one aspect that helped make work better. Jeff was 5' 11" with dirty-brown hair, and he did well with the ladies. A world of knowledge was hidden within his eyes, and a very friendly demeanor made him the popular guy. He was one of my best friends, and was a self-made man to say the least. When he had an idea, he dreamed big and went for it, regardless the thousands of miles or obstacles he had to surpass in order to accomplish his goals.
He had traveled the world, and I do not mean that he stayed at five-star hotels, but in the jungles of Thailand riding on elephants and the wild rainforests of Costa Rica for months on end. He, too, viewed our current employer in the same light; it was great for a lot of people, and we could not complain about the wages or benefits. When it came right down to it, that’s what kept us there, but we felt like wild birds that needed to soar and capture prey to feed our innate animal instincts. Instead, we were completely locked in a cage in which we could not even stretch our wings.
There I was, standing in a factory, not pleased with the work or safety of the place, and I would learn that things could operate better. I read about a massive union, called LIUNA, that encompassed over 500,000 members in North America and ran like a well-oiled machine, covering the construction and waste management sectors. I had learned that they actually cared for their members, as business manager for local 1059 Jim MacKinnon would later tell this author, “We listen carefully to our members’ needs, our representatives have direct connections to the many new Canadians that form our union. We are very pragmatic and work closely with our signatory employers for the health, wellness, financial remuneration, pensions, and benefits that our members need.”
They ran a tight ship, in contrast to what I was used to, and safety was paramount. While we received our training for welding at the factory out of a barn (yes a barn!), LIUNA on the other hand had state-of-the-art buildings to train their members. They also would give back to the community, as Jim added, “Ontario locals give between one and two million dollars per year to charitable organizations and also perform work with their members for charities.” There was contrast in safety, unions, and production, but I did not know any better.
Jeff told me that he had been planning a big, three-month endeavor to Thailand. He read books about Buddhism and travel during lulls while we waited for the next frame to arrive. He told me about the culture, land, people, and scenery, and about Muay Thai. I was mesmerized by a world so different from the one we were used to, which consisted of work, my beautiful wife (fiancée-to-be at the time, who kept me sane), television, and the incessant day-in, day-out cycle. Here was something new and revitalizing, something that captured my imagination, and I ran with it a mile a minute. He told me about his plans for a trip into the jungle where he would ride elephants, ride down the river on floats constructed of bamboo, and reach an Indian village that 99.9% of the outside world had never ventured to.
He then started to tell me about Muay Thai, the art of eight limbs, where you may box or kick box, and if that is not enough, you can use your sharp elbows and knees to release a melee of strikes on your opponent. He told me that Muay Thai originated in Thailand and that kids, bred to be fighters, could have over 100 fights already under their belt by the age of fifteen!
I knew a little bit about the sport, as I had been watching the Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC) since the first event when Royce Gracie did the unthinkable by winning a tournament in no-holds-barred fighting when he was the skinniest competitor, representing the art of Brazilian jiu-jitsu against many other forms of martial arts and against some bigger, more muscular guys. I remember being young, still living in Toronto and watching the first UFC fight, glued to the TV. Being a fan of professional wrestling since I was able to watch television, it was natural to transition into a fan of mixed martial arts in which any martial art was fair game in competition, including Muay Thai.
I vividly remember driving home that morning from work, not being able to get the art of Muay Thai out of my head. Once home, I couldn’t sleep, I jumped onto the Internet, searched for Muay Thai, and was bombarded by millions of pages worth of info and videos. I kept coming across a legendary kickboxer by the name of Rob Kaman. As fate would have it, both Jeff and I would be in his company for days on end, years later.
I was continuing to work through the same tedious cycle of life, getting five-minute heat breaks when the smoke-filled factory reached over 113°F (45°C), creating a sauna-like setting. All I could think about was my escape: Muay Thai. The days seemed to flow together like water as the dog days of summer weighed heavily on my shoulders. I needed an “out,” some kind of yin to the yang that I was living, something of import to supplement my great family life and to counter-balance the tedious hard labor I was accustomed to. Close to the end of summer, I picked up the local newspaper; little did I know, it would change my life forever.
I read about a local mixed martial arts club that was putting on a big seminar for a local women’s charity with Matt Hughes, who at the time was the reigning welterweight champion of the UFC. Matt Hughes was a force within the UFC, a devastating wrestler who was known for his vicious slams, crafty ground game, and sheer power. He was a farmboy who had taken that farm strength and mentality and really imposed it on his craft of MMA. He had beaten some notables such as Georges St-Pierre, Royce Gracie, and Carlos Newton, among many other great warriors. I knew of Matt from television, but I figured that it would be quite an honor to meet him and train with him in my hometown of London, Ontario.
Beata, who had become my loving wife, agreed that it would be great for me to take another healthy step forward in joining the MMA gym that was bringing the champ down to London. The wheels in my mind were spinning; it was a great idea, as I had yearned for something physical and as I was getting chubby, my health deteriorating with each passing day. There was 243 pounds on my 6' 3" frame, which was mainly composed of fat cells. Not only did I aesthetically not look great, but also I felt sluggish to the point that I was sleepy all of the time. A very bad diet coupled with stress from work and strange sleeping patterns contributed to a round, soft version of myself staring back at me in the mirror each morning. Given all of the variables, I came to the realization that the astute decision was to stop thinking about it and just sign up!
The next day, I called the gym and spoke with the owner. He had a very calm demeanor and asked me to come in to check the place out. Beata and I ventured up the narrow steps to Suffer System, which was a newer club making a name for itself with a lot of up-and-comers on the MMA scene. The doors at the top were closed with fight posters showing upcoming club fighters posing against their opponents. Before entering, all we could hear were shrieks and grunts behind the door. As I pushed the door open my eyes scanned the entire gym, observing my new-found love: mixed martial arts.
The first thing that hit us was the heat and humidity accompanied by the strong odor of sweat and old leather, which I would later learn was a staple scent at any good training facility. The gym was narrow and long with a huge octagon crammed right at the front. There were mats starting at the cage and proceeding all the way to the end of the room. I can honestly say that this gym looked like it came right out of the Rocky movies, with heavy bags lining the walls around the mats, ending at a small kiosk counter stocked with gym wear from the club. A narrow hallway led to the washrooms/changing rooms. It was “old school,” and that is exactly what I liked and needed.
There were at least forty practitioners present in a room that likely should not have exceeded thirty. They were holding and hitting pads with their partners in boxing style, working jabs, uppercuts, hooks, and overhands, making fierce “wahhh” and “psssss” sounds immediately before each impact with the pads. The sounds they were making actually had meaning; it was more than just a psychological war shriek, but it actually helped get air out of their lungs faster to keep them fresh. The fact that everyone present sported sweat-soaked shirts looking as if they just took a dip in a pool meant they were training hard. It is a sport in which the other guy is looking to take your head off or submit you with the thousands of moves available to him or her; you’d better be training smart and hard.
Milton began to talk about the gym, then he asked me if I was looking to do this for fitness or to actually compete. I quickly looked at Beata and then back at Milton with a smile. “Definitely compete.” I’ve always felt something deeply rooted within me: the drive, the ambition, and the fight, and this was my way of nurturing it. Milton said that once I was ready, he would put me into competition that was appropriate for my skill level and that he would never use one of his team members as a lamb to feed a lion fight. On the other hand, if I wanted to participate in higher competitions at some point in the future, he could also set that up.
Milton is a short, stocky guy, with broad shoulders and a square face accompanied by a granite jaw. He looks like a typical wrestler, but he has trained in many forms of martial arts. He was a straight shooter, and I respected that. The way I looked at it was this: if you’re looking for a lemon car for $400 and want your ego stroked by a Las Vegas-style car dealer, you know what you’re getting yourself into. But, when you are looking to compete in boxing, kickboxing, jiu-jitsu, and MMA, where your bodily organs are at stake, I would rather go with the “no B.S. approach.” Milton has a very calming presence, which definitely came from years of training. He is a nice guy but you wouldn’t want to get on his bad side, as he could do some real damage.
I began attending as many classes as I could, each one focusing on different components of the fight game, usually with different instructors. There were a bunch of jiu-jitsu instructors, a judo instructor, boxers, and kickboxers. We always started with warm-ups and then proceeded to the technical aspects of the game, to rolling (ground grappling) or sparring to finish off the hour or two. I loved rolling, which essentially meant practice grappling while trying to submit your partner. We took each other down to work on our wrestling skills. Then, we would go in for the kill with some form of submission, a joint manipulation or choke to make the partner tap or nap. Although we never went hard enough to hurt each other, we would push enough to know that we could have done some damage if we wanted to.
It was an exhilarating feeling, a primitive awakening that could occur in any of us in one way or another. The technical aspects were fun, too, as I was soaking up knowledge like a sponge. It was back to school for me, except this time in a fun way, in the school of hard knocks.
On the Tuesday of my second week, I was contemplating not going to class, as I was sore from training and tired from work. I mustered up some energy and dragged myself to class. I had learned an entire four jiu-jitsu moves by then; in this fifth class, I learned the rear naked choke. As we practiced on each other, I seemed to get the hang of this move quickly, unlike some of the other moves that were a little too advanced for me at the time.
In the class, we rolled for five-minute rounds with the goal of getting verbal or physical taps. After the five minutes, we received a quick minute of rest before changing partners.
I was partnered with a 6' 6"-tall cop who had been training on and off for a year, and I was amazed at how quickly I could get his back, and “boom,” I clamped the rear naked choke and he quickly tapped out. I thought that he must have been taking it easy on me. We regrouped and just as quickly I found myself on his back with my hooks in, and seconds later I got another tap! Two taps within one minute, I was ecstatic, while he was not. He slammed his fist on the mat as his face turned red. I figured he was just being hard on himself with no disrespect aimed at me.
We regrouped again, but this time he was really putting some pressure on me in side mount, which meant that while I was on my back, he was situated sideways with his chest on mine, pinning me down. It was definitely not where I wanted to be. With a grunt, he had the Kimura on me, a shoulder lock that can shred the deltoid muscles if one does not tap. My reaction was to straighten my arm straight above my head; little did I know, it was one of the better escape methods to get out of the Kimura lock. With an explosive thrust of my hips, I jolted him into the air and scrambled, taking his back and submitting him once more. He was livid at this point. He stood up and left for the change room. I looked at the clock and noticed there were two minutes left to go, so I took a break before the next partner came up. That day really left an impression on me. This sport takes humility, self-control, honor, and a willingness to evolve and overcome obstacles to truly reach one’s potential.
As the weeks went by, I got used to getting choked and tapped out, but worst of all hit, and hit hard. I dreaded sparring sessions, as I would enter the cage with many training partners ranging from novices to pros. Some guys were lenient toward my lack of knowledge, while others saw a great opportunity to use me as a punching bag. I would get bloody noses regularly, but never black eyes for some reason. I quickly learned that the toughest opponents were small, quick guys who seemed to have a never-ending gas tank. Guys over 200 pounds were better to face off with, as they were slower and I seemed to find rest opportunities in the rounds, giving me time to better formulate my attacks.
Some days, we had “king of the mats rolling,” which meant that we were split into two groups in a tournament-style set up. If you lost against any opponent, you were disqualified and did not proceed. Winning let you proceed to the next round until one man stood out as the king. I regularly did well but never won. My day came; I won the first round with a guillotine, which is a type of head lock submission that puts strain on the neck and chokes you at the same time. My second opponent was a big guy, about 250 pounds, and he was strong! He slammed me on my back. I guess he wanted to win just as badly as I did, and I knew I was in for a hard round.
I had him in my guard, which meant that while on my back I had my legs wrapped around his torso. It’s not the worst place to be, but also not the best, and we both knew it. He was trying hard to pass the guard and lock me in a submission to gain the advantage. But the beauty of jiu-jitsu, literally translated from Japan as “the gentle art,” is that technique will always conquer strength in the grappling realm. I went for an arm bar, swinging my leg across his face while holding his arm, which put tremendous pressure on his elbow joint and forearm.
He lifted me off the mats and slammed me down in a last effort to save his place in the tournament, and it worked. The intense slam made me loosen my grip on his arm and he took the opportunity to pull his arm out. Within the scramble, I got my guard back and kept him close as I sucked in his head to my chest to catch a breath. From there, I saw the perfect opening to my favorite move. I reached around his arm and pushed it across his face with my left hand as I sucked in his head with my right hand to lock it in, known as the “head & arm triangle.” From this point, there was a lot of pressure on his neck, choking him out, but I took it a step forward to gain more leverage. I popped my hips and twisted to the left to roll him on his back to reverse our positioning so that I was on top, keeping a lock on the head & arm triangle. I simply proceeded to the side mount, where I went to the same side of the choke to apply extra pressure, and I knew he was done. About two seconds later, he tapped. I immediately let go of the choke and he took a big breath of air deep into his lungs. I just made my place in the finals.
In the finals, my opponent was a really athletic guy that I knew would be a handful. He was boney and technical, my nightmare. I kept my mind on track; I wanted this win too much to let him get in my head. We circled for a good twenty-five seconds before I went in for the shot, a single-leg takedown, where I lunged in on him with one knee on the mats with the rear leg following to the front while I grabbed his front leg, placing me in a squat-like position. This kept the momentum moving to his side, which made him lose his balance and fall.
“Wow,” I thought in revelation. “I took this guy down.” It gave me a huge boost of confidence. I knew that if I could use my strength to offset his speed, I could finish this. I used my elbows to put pressure on his inner thighs to the point that he opened up his guard, just what I needed to pass. Once I was in his side mount, I was having difficulty keeping him down. He had squirmy hips, which meant he was not half bad on the ground. I had to work twice as hard to keep my position. I was breathing really hard while he stayed composed. The lactic acid was really starting to set in at this point, my muscles were burning and I was having difficulties getting a good breath in. But, one thing I was beginning to learn through all of my MMA training was that I had heart. My arm could have stopped working from all of the lactic acid built up in my shoulders, but I would still keep going with one arm. There was no way in hell, in my mind, that I was not going win.
I tried going for a key lock, but he got out of it quickly. From there, I transitioned to trapping his arm with my leg, getting him in the crucifix position. Now I had his arm and head pinned so I could use two hands to submit him, or so I thought. I was trying to transition, looking for a Kimura, but he almost actually threw me off of him. I managed to maintain position in the side mount. He was trying to push my head with his inner hand against my jaw, and I figured that maybe I could get an arm bar; but, before I could collect my thoughts, my instincts took over and I put his hand across his face, placed my weight on it, clasped my hands around his trapped hand and head, and squeezed. I had him in the head & arm triangle. I squeezed as hard as my weakened muscles could and with only one minute left in the five-minute round, he tapped. I felt a surge of emotions, followed by complete fatigue, coupled with happiness. I had finally done it, and against some tough seasoned competition.
The next morning, I made my way to the Carling Heights Community Centre with a sense of anxiety of what was to come. Once in the building, which was a newer, modern center for almost any sport imaginable, there was a long line waiting to enter the gymnasium for a seminar. Over 200 spectators and practitioners filled the oversized area, with mats in the center and large bleacher-style seats surrounding the area. I bought a Suffer System long-sleeve shirt from the merchandise table, as did most people there, and awaited the champ. Matt Hughes walked in from a side room, with a half-smile and wearing a Suffer System shirt himself. He walked with confidence, his stocky image mirroring what I was used to seeing on television.
We started with warmups, running around the mats, changing directions, and incorporating jumps and stretches; nothing too taxing, but enough to get the muscles warmed up and the heart pumping. Next, we got paired up and the seminar started with Matt Hughes showing us some of the techniques that helped him attain—and keep for an impressive period—the UFC belt. I learned how to properly perform a single-leg takedown, how to stuffone, different variations of takedowns, punches, and jiu-jitsu moves. To be honest, I cannot remember most of them now, as seminars tend to be that way. You are bombarded with so many moves and detailed descriptions that by the next day you only really retain ten to twenty percent. It was a long seminar, so we had a lunch break, during which we could get pictures and autographs with Matt, or we could opt to wait until the end of the seminar. The line was short, so I decided to meet the real-life UFC champ for the first time ever.
As I waited in line, I had no idea what to expect. I thought it was a cool experience. When I was fourth in line, a guy in his mid-twenties was amped as he spoke to Matt and asked him if his picture could be of Matt choking him out. Matt seemed laid back, but at the same time a complex guy. He menacingly smiled and said “Sure, let’s do it.” As Matt put his hand around this guy, you could tell there was a mismatch between a kid off the streets with a small belly and this machine of a man—a world champion. Everyone in line was laughing, and just as my first calculated thought processed, the guy went to sleep; he got choked out by Matt Hughes. To be honest, Matt did not actually try to choke him out, and he seemed perplexed as he prevented this guy from slamming to the floor and slowly laid him on the gym floor. Seconds later, he came to, smiled as he got up, and asked his buddy if he got the picture. His friend was put on-the-spot and turned red, and said “Man, I don’t know how to use your camera.” It was like a comedy sketch done live, absolutely everyone in line started laughing and clapping. You just cannot make this stuff up.
It was finally my turn to have my picture with Matt, I shook his hand firmly and asked if I could get a picture with him, to which he replied “ I don’t know, can you?” I just smiled and stood there while he laughed out loud to himself, and then a weird silence ensued. I honestly did not know what to say or even if I should say anything to that as he just stood there. But I got my picture with Matt, thanked him for coming to our city, and wished him luck in his upcoming fight. I did get to hold the UFC belt that he brought with him for the pictures, which to my surprise was much heavier than I had imagined and quite shiny, too. My first meeting with a UFC champ was a bit lackluster. Maybe I just built up the day more than I should have.
The second half of the seminar was faster paced. Milton and the guys did a great job organizing the event. Matt was a really good instructor, as he was very detailed and knew how to put things together to make us understand the moves and techniques.
Then, just like that, it was over. I guess the old adage is right; “time flies when you’re having fun.” The training was over, but we still had a question & answer period with Matt. He was more outspoken than on television and opened up about his training, diet, and thoughts about the UFC and other organizations. It was really refreshing. I tried to take everything in, from his runs he did every morning at 6:00 a.m. to the whey proteins he took after training. He spoke to us about his amateur wrestling career and that it was a natural transition to MMA fighting. He was a true farmboy, and that was evident as he could not leave that subject out, speaking about how he still farmed on a daily basis and how his father instilled that hard-working mentality in him as a young boy, which easily translated to his MMA training. He was even contemplating buying more farm acreage at the time, which I believe he ended up doing.
It seemed easier to go to the club each day to train after that, as I felt my game getting better, especially the jiu-jitsu portion. When it came to striking, my leg kicks were accelerating at a steady rate. They had good power and snap. I was starting to contemplate competition, but there was a lot that needed work, from my non-existent conditioning to technique and speed, but I was definitely getting the itch to compete. One of the trainers, Rob Haynes, was doing well in his MMA fights. He was a monster of a man, standing 6' 3" with a muscular build as a successful heavyweight. He had a European face, lanky hair, and a world of experience as a judo and jiu-jitsu champion. I would also learn the hard way that he had very heavy hands. I was lucky that in a sense he took me under his wing when we trained at the same times. He pushed me to my limits, and I have always been thankful for that.
He had the warrior mentality in the gym. “Train hard, wear your heart on your sleeve, and never give up.” This was beginning to be the only way I knew how to train, thanks to guys like Rob. Every time I came home after training with Rob, I knew I had just come back from war, which was really toughening me up mentally and physically. I guess the grind from work coupled with the rigorous training was good for my mind.
Mentally, I felt good, but as for my conditioning, I honestly did not know what to expect. With some of the other amateurs I felt I could hold my own, while with some of the more experienced fighters I would get dazed and roughed up. I spoke to Milton, and he said that I might as well give competition a try, and just as casually as that, I had a fight to prepare for against an unknown opponent at a card that would take place in Grand Bend, Ontario, forty-five minutes from London, and a hotspot in the summer because of its beautiful beaches. I remember going home that day and thinking ”What the hell did I get myself into?” I figured that everyone starts somewhere just like this, and then I started visualizing the fight in my head, and it felt great. My partner ended up dropping out due to a back injury, which I later learned was a common occurrence in the fight business; to have cards change at the drop of a dime.
I would get my chance a short time later, and yet again I had no idea what I was doing when preparing or what I was getting myself into. I did the same thing leading up to the fights, only by now I had lost some weight, and I was feeling good at 216 pounds as a heavyweight. This time, my fight would be at the MAS Thai Boxing gym, and it would be unsanctioned, unlike the previous event where my bout was canceled. There would be a referee, but they just dubbed it as “hard-sparring.” Some of the coaches were showing me moves that I was trying to integrate into my technique so that they would become natural reflexes instead of having to think so much during the fight.
Some of the coaches were not always around, and we had a rotation of some new trainers in the gym. They all had different styles and techniques, and I did not notice that I was beginning to get overloaded with all of the information. So, instead of working and building my fundamentals, I was good at nothing and working on everything. I still felt confident; I thought that I was unbreakable, and all I needed was that opening in a fight and I would get my knockout through my natural power. I was still a little inconsistent with my training due to my work schedule and could not believe how quickly time had drawn me closer to fight day.
The morning of the fight I was experiencing a mild level of anxiety, so I did not eat a big breakfast that morning and stuck to drinking only water. I was really hoping Milton would be able to make it. He was a great coach, and I was used to hearing him in my corner.
We arrived at our destination. It was still morning and we managed to park across the street in a grocery store parking lot. We were early, and the gym was already busy, but the yellow, rundown building gave off an eerie feel, making us all the more anxious. MAS Thai Boxing was located on the top floor of an older industrial-style building. We proceeded up the rundown dingy stairs, and they squeaked in protest as we climbed each step slowly. Once upstairs, we removed our shoes and were led through the large doorway into the official gym of my first Muay Thai fight, which turned into a war.
As I turned the corner into the gym, that familiar leather and sweat smell hit me. The walls were old industrial brick, which gave it a nice old boxing gym feel. Right away, I noticed the ring situated on the left side at the end of the room and the metal folding chairs set up to the left and right of the room for the spectators. There was a wall dividing the gym in half. As I walked in, I went up to a guy holding a clipboard who was weighing all of the fighters. “I’m Chris from Suffer System.” He glanced at me momentarily, then flipped through his pages and replied, “Yup, I got you here, just step onto the scale, please.”
I put my gym bag down and stepped onto the medical-style scale, “216 pounds, thank you. You can get changed in the room at the right.” As I proceeded to a changing room, I remember my mind racing, thinking that all of this was happening very quickly and nonchalantly, making my emotions swirl a bit deeper. I vividly remembered that even though it was not cold outside, the gym seemed to have a chill to it. I changed quickly and started doing what all the other fighters were doing, stretching and getting to know each other.
People were really filling the seats at this point, and there were sixty to seventy people there. My coaches were at the doorway and seemed pretty agitated for some reason. My heart sunk when I saw that they were leaving. I went out to the hallway to see what was going on, as curiosity got the better of me. They informed me that coaches had to pay the ten-dollar fee to get into the show regardless of whether they were cornering a fighter and that they had refused to pay the bill. So, there I was, at my first Muay Thai fight, unprepared and without a single coach to help me in my corner.
We were called to a separate room for a fighters’ meeting, and the club owner went over the rules, which included knees, kicks, and punches but excluded knees to the face, elbows, and spinning back fists/kicks for the amateurs that were fighting, including me. He told us that this was not sanctioned and that we should not try to completely kill ourselves but that we should have fun with it, just like sparring. “Yeah, right!” I figured, any time I was going into a fight that was not in my own gym and hometown, it would be a war regardless. I have heard stories from Thailand where they loved to beat down foreigners to prove they’re the best, and this would be no different.
Our names were written on a board with our designated opponents along with the fight order. I noticed that my club comrades were all in the lower portion of the fight club where the amateurs had been situated, while my match was closer to the end, sandwiched between the pro fights. I initially wrote it off as a mistake and that I would find my match as one of the first ones.
Then came yet another obstacle: my opponent, walking through the door fashionably late. Standing about 5'11", he sported dreadlocks reaching past his shoulders, a thick Viking beard, a barrel chest, and a stocky build. He weighed in at around 242 pounds and seemed relaxed for an amateur as he strolled into the gym with ease. One of the club’s fighters came over and smirked as he confirmed that the newcomer was to be my opponent. I just shrugged and said “Lets do it,” but in my psyche I was starting to panic more than a bit. I managed to stay positive as much as I could and recalled why I was there, while I maintained my train of thought that I would knock this guy out!
I went to the Suffer System corner, where the other guys from my gym were sitting with Beata. One of the guys turned to us and said, “Oh shit, look at that guy!” as he pointed to my opponent. I rolled my eyes and told them he was my opponent, as they all laughed in a stressful manner, probably fearing for my safety. I wouldn’t let him get in my head any longer, and I sat there trying to conserve my energy taking deep breaths. They then made the official announcements for the start of the fights. Just like that, the first match was over, and I had no idea when it even started. My opponent had these big bamboo-style drums that he would bang on instead of the traditional Thai music. “Great, the guy not only looks like Rob Zombie on steroids but he’s also some Amazonian,” I chuckled to the guys. But, I was hoping that he was wasting needed energy for the fight and that it would work in my favor as he beat the drums mercilessly.
The third fight showcased my novice friends. As our coaches were not present, the leftover Suffer System guys went to the corner. I helped get the gloves on him and reiterated “Stay calm and kick ass bro; it’s all you,” as he pumped himself up in his corner. The fight started, and they went at each other like wild animals. Both being lightweights at 150 pounds, they had plenty of energy to burn. It seemed as if all technique went out the window and all that remained were wild round hooks and overhands. It was an old style barn-burner to say the least, and once the first three-minute round had concluded, both practitioners were drained of energy.
When he came to the corner we gave him water, asked if he was all right, and tried giving him a strategy as best as we could. I was telling him to circle right, away from the power hand as he got tagged hard a couple times. My other training partner was telling him to throw more kicks and so on. Again, I told him, “Remember, it’s all you in there,” in a stern voice to get him to focus.
The second round started wild and fast, as our teammate landed a nice “superman” punch that I had been the recipient of the week before in sparring. In that split second, I started yelling “Superman! Do the superman, it works!” And a second later, he landed a perfect superman punch, rocking his opponent.
The third round seemed to mirror the second, and our corner was sure he had the win. It was up to the judges now, and there was no way that the combatants could sway it the other way. I was right; our club got the first win that day, and it was a great feeling, especially having been in his corner.
The fights came and went, and the pro fights had already started; I was still waiting. I made my way over to the jiu-jitsu room to stretch and get my head ready for what was to come. I was warmed up, so, doing some stretches, I went over scenarios in my mind— visualizing the entire fight. According to the board, my turn was next, so I put my mp3 player on with my usual song list to get pumped. To my surprise, they did not call us up, but instead called the demo fight that was supposed to be after us. They had their two best guys, who were champions, demonstrate an MMA demo match for the crowd.
They finished with everyone clapping, and through my mp3 player I could hear my name called, saying that I was from some club other than Suffer System, an error on their part, I guessed. So, I made my way to the ring with my hands already wrapped up, I bounced back and forth on my toes as I proceeded to the ring, amazed at the ovation I received. To tell you the truth, it was quite nice, and it helped get the adrenaline pumping.
I maneuvered my way into the ring and my teammates put on my gloves which were disgusting in the sense that they had been the same gloves used by everyone else before me in the red corner. By the time I had them on, they had a foul odor and were drenched with everyone’s sweat. My opponent was already in the ring too, and he was all ready to go as the referee called us into the middle of the square ring.
Something wasn’t right, but I could not put my finger on it. I glanced at my opponent and saw that he was wearing his headgear, while I was not. No one gave my corner the headgear, and to add to that, my inexperienced corner thought nothing of it! It was a disaster, and at least the referee called for the headgear as I saw a couple guys at the edge of the gym scramble for it. I had a good three to four minutes of waiting, which worked against me since my mental edge was slowly dissipating while I stood in the corner waiting. My muscles were slowly cooling down, so I started bouncing around, wasting more energy. They finally got the headgear into the ring, my corner helped put it on, and it was time to touch gloves and go to war.
I do not remember my corner saying anything during the beginning of the fight, as I was so focused on what was happening inside the ring, but toward the end of the round as I loosened up, things seemed to be right. The rest is history as you already know, (see Chapter 1), and I have been asked on numerous occasions if I would have changed anything even though I was put there as a lamb for the slaughter. No, I wouldn’t, and I think I learned a lot about fighting that day—but more so about myself.
After the fight, when both of our hands were raised in a draw, my corner made me feel better. I had finally done it. Regardless of the outcome, I had gone into a rough sport, and held my own, in a way. I did not get hurt, used some of the things I practiced so many times, and showed my heart. I had established a base from which now I could build upon, to which I could better myself and be better prepared for the other times to come. It is pleasurable to prove who is the better man and to experience the primitive instincts in the ring or cage, with the only the basic tools that we are given—our “eight limbs.” In the back of his mind, the winner knows that, if this had been a dark alleyway, he could have ended the other.
Once the emotions were settled after the fight, which included happiness, nervousness, relief, and a sense of accomplishment all rolled up into a tight ball, I was on the outside of the ring where Beata was wiping the sweat off my face and body. Walking around the club to gather myself, I saw one of the club champions that did the fight demo. He shook my hand and congratulated me on the fight. “Thanks, but I could have done better, and may I add that he kicks like a mule.” I chuckled, but he quickly remarked “No, no, you did really well, you showed heart kid, I know Jason [my opponent] has crazy power in his kicks, he makes the big Thai bags sway!” I looked with open eyes thinking to myself, either he’s trying to make me feel better or maybe he saw something, but either way my heart swelled, and it was just what I needed.
I was sore for a couple of days, but nothing serious. I was walking perfectly fine, I had no bumps or bruises, and I gained a lot of experience. Most of all, I realized that this game is tough and you have to really work hard and put your heart, sweat, and tears into training if you want results. I learned that I have heart, that no matter how hard I get hit, how hard it gets to breath, that I do not quit, that the four-letter word does not exist in my vocabulary.
As the weeks passed, I had less time and will to practice, and rumors were circulating that Milton was looking to sell the gym. With the factory life taking its toll on me and just taking more time to be with Beata, I had months on end of no training, except for some strength and conditioning in my garage.
I had picked up a squat rack with an Olympic bar for a good price, to add to my punching bag, free weights, and pulley system. The truth is that I was doing routines better suited for bodybuilders—not conditioned MMA athletes. Doing signature curls, benching, and squats for the typical six to eight reps with long rest times made me feel good but was not doing very much for my MMA conditioning, particularly because I always had a hard time with cardio training. I came to understand that there was a big gap I had to fill when it came to my strength and conditioning program. Little did I know that it would fall into my lap in the near future.
I would later learn from famous IFBB pro bodybuilder Scott Milne—owner of Pump’d Supplements London Ontario, and a complete hulk of a man who competed at the peak, weighing 302 lbs shredded—that my nutrition knowledge was lacking as well. He empowered me with some great advice years later that I wish I could have absorbed much earlier, rather than running my body and immune system into the ground due to lack of proper replenishment.
In regards to recovery and performance, he taught me that “the big thing is making sure your protein levels are high—without protein you cannot repair. What a lot of people—especially for MMA guys—forget about is all of their amino acids. They could really stand to take certain aminos before they train, such as creatine hydrochloride for increasing strength and athletic performance, and beta-alanine, which buffers lactic acid so you can train longer and harder without getting fatigued. Also, arginine, which dilates your blood vessels so you transport more oxygen and nutrients to get a better pump. Afterwards is the recovery portion, requiring loads of amino acids; glutamine is the main one for muscle recovery and repair. All of those aminos can help one perform longer and harder, and to recover in order to train again sooner. Without that you will stress your immune system and get sick.”
Milton sold the gym months after my fight, and I was definitely feeling an itch to get back to some good old-fashioned training. I was also starting to take a look at the Team Tompkins gym, which was the biggest and most popular gym in London, for a change of scenery. But before I did, my friend and an acquaintance convinced me to train at Suffer System in the mornings, as I was working the night shift at the factory. This way, we had the octagon ring to ourselves, and it was great for me at that point in time, as we would work on all the things I needed to address.
That was the first time I learned the Brazilian jiu-jitsu technique known as “the teepee,” which is an alternative to the triangle where your feet shoot straight into the air once the opponent’s head is squeezed between the thighs, without the traditional trapped arm. You lock it up by hugging the legs and trapped head with your arms until your hands clasp together, then squeeze with your thighs and arms, and “voila,” the opponent has so much pressure projected on his neck that he will either tap from pain or fall asleep from the lack of oxygen going to the brain. This move is not commonly used or even known and is quite easy to implement for someone like me with long legs and arms. It would prove to come in handy throughout my training sessions.
We had a lot of fun pumping our loud metal, rap, and techno music as we pushed ourselves to the limits. Given that no one wanted to stop before anyone else, we sometimes ran into three-hour training sessions. One day, my acquaintance had an idea. He had finished watching the Sean Sherk and Brock Lesnar training session on the UFC All Access show on Spike TV, which gave fans a glimpse into the training regimen of a top fighter before a big fight. They had aired a marathon and showed how Sean Sherk, who would become UFC champion, was steam-rolling through countless reps and exercises of some the most abstract and MMA-oriented strength and conditioning programs that anyone had ever seen, at a gym called API—Athletic Performance Inc., located in Minnesota.
They also aired the heavyweight monster Brock Lesnar’s training regimen. He was once a pro wrestler and had quite a fan base, which he brought over to MMA. They showed him doing similar exercises and unbelievable circuits that were exhausting just to watch, also at the famed API gym. Our acquaintance suggested that we take a trip to train in Minnesota at the API gym and at the Minnesota Martial Arts Academy, which was located right next door.
The idea more than intrigued me, as the timing could not have been any more perfect. My career at the factory was coming to an abrupt halt as the economy had hit its bottom and all of North America was in the grip of recession, especially the automotive industry. There were rumors circulating around the factory for months until we finally received our letters that the factory was officially closing and that we should look for employment elsewhere.
I was beginning to get used to layoffs, as within my five years at the factory, I had been laid off four times, ranging from a week to months, but this was different. I knew I was not coming back this time. As scary as it was, on the flip side it was a blessing, as I could move on in my life and career, away from the factory. I only meant to work at the factory for one year, but I got sucked in, and the months flew by because the checks were enticing, so one year turned into five and easily could have ended up to be a lifetime. However, now there was no excuse for not stretching my wings and soaring out into the world.
Beata saw going to Minnesota as a great opportunity because with more research, we found out that API was certifying instructors and that class would start the day after my last shift at the factory. Fate could not spell it out any clearer for me; this was definitely something I had to do, but more importantly, something I wanted to do more than anything else. Just like that, I packed my locker, said my farewells, and was ready for the drive down to Minnesota, where once again I had no idea what to expect—all with a big smile on my face.
