To Be A Fighter

To be a fighter almost always indicates something’s wrong with you.  Everyone I train with/have trained with has some sort of demon whether they recognize it as such or not.  All you “normal” people should thank God and pray every day that boxing, kickboxing, mma, wrestling, judo, jujitsu and any other form of competitive/stylized fighting remains legal.   Allowing us to train and compete apart from the more refined and conformed branches of society maintains order.  We get our fix, we wear ourselves out, we shorten our life expectancy, and the rest of you have a fighting chance of avoiding anyone who has the will or ability to give and receive a beating. 

Fighting is engrained in nature.   Almost every species has a way of showing who’s the baddest mofo around, and like most animals humans have developed ways of doing so without anyone getting (with exception) seriously injured or killed.   Some people believe that pugilism is only around because some people have no other means of making a living. They’ll tell you we’re a bunch of animals and savages getting in a cage because we enjoy hurting people.  Any tested fighter will tell you that’s complete bullshit (other than being savages).  It wasn’t until recently that any real living could be made fighting.  The fact of the matter is even if the fighter never saw a dime, you’d still have countless venues with cards filled.  This is because fighters celebrate a higher level of competition and self-discovery than can be found in any other sport.      

A martial artist is just that, an artist.  Instead of a brush or instrument we wrap our hands, throw on pads and beat each other senseless. The sweet science of fighting allows us to refine our techniques and even more importantly find what we’re made of.  We break down each individual exchange and how to most efficiently respond to the point it becomes automatic.  We spend countless hours finding a way to implement our own styles into the fundamental framework. It takes a very special person to take a beating every day, get broken and bruised, get rejected by society and the moment you leave the gym anticipate the next day of sweat, blood and tears.  

I know so many fighters who gave up their jobs and literally lived at the gym.  I know so many fighters who lost their families and homes pursuing their dream and apart from eating sent all their money for their kids.  I moved to California, trained every day, sometimes twice a day, spent every dime I had until I finally found a job teaching kickboxing to little kids.  No more than a few weeks later while preparing for a jiujitsu tournament I snapped my arm at the elbow trying an escape I just learned.  For the first few moments I convinced myself it wasn’t broken and when it finally soaked in it wasn’t the pain or seeing my arm bent the wrong way that hurt most, it was knowing that everything I worked for was gone.  I no longer had a job, money, or an arm to fight with.  For most people that might seem like enough to quit, for a fighter it was enough to piss me off and ultimately conclude it was an opportunity to work on my left arm and kicking power anyhow. Six months of recovery later and I was back on the matts. 

A wise man told me not to be a slave to the sport.  That if I was going to fight or train fighters to make sure I was doing it because I wanted to not because I had to.  Ultimately that translated to earning my degree and saving money. Sunday I try out for Team Ambition in Columbia, Missouri where I recently returned to school.  For me fighting makes more sense than studying, training more beneficial than homework, competition more revealing than test scores. However, I want to maintain the confidence that no one will ever have more say over my financial stability than I do.

Fighting is a way of keeping my demons at bay. Anxiety, depression, stress, anger and ego get beaten out of me every time I put on my gloves.  In the cage no one can help you.  In the cage there are no shortcuts, there is no faking, there are no timeouts.  In the cage you discover what you never knew you had in you, that last breath before you pass out to make your escape, that extra push to get back to your feet, the final calculated attack you can manage before the blood in your eyes, nose and throat separate you from your senses.  I fight because I love knowing my body will be defeated long before my mind.  I love knowing heart takes you beyond the physically possible.