There are nights as I drive from work, during a raging snowstorm, when all around me is black and white. The sky black, yet white and tranquil. As I warm my truck in the office parking lot I repeat my mantra "don't quit..don't quit..never give up..always get up". I see my breath, warm and moist as it exits my body having filled my lungs with life. The days are usually long and I am typically drained. Always having to give one hundred percent to stay focused in an intense position at work. The demons and agonizing thoughts always grabbing at my heals, promising to drive me insane if I just give them an ounce of my time. But I won't quit. Never will I tap to the demons that chase me.
So I sit as my truck warms and tell myself that I cannot go home to an empty house and just sit. There are times where that is just a relaxing end to my day and I actually look forward to it. Those times almost always fall on the weeks where my kids are with me, otherwise I try to stay busy, stay fit, stay focused, and continue the fight. I've looked in the mirror over the last 8 months and I have seen a transformation as glorious as any I could ever imagine. I have watched my body change into one that I am proud of. I have felt my heart pound out of my chest in utter sadness, and yet still it beats stronger each day. I have struggled to breathe at times, choked out by a nightmare unseen as it approached. So I sit on a cold snowy night, warming my truck, looking in the rearview at the clarity in my eyes. As I shift into drive, I sense the drive in my soul, knowing that my next stop is my home away from home. This home is one where I feel nothing but joy as I cross the threshold. Inside those doors are my brothers and sisters. My family. The ones I "roll with". The ones who "know". Warriors one and all. Their battles are their own, as mine is left to my graces, yet once through those doors, we are an army bathed in sweat, and often blood.
I know as I drive through the white darkness that my day has been long, my mind and body are tired, yet my foot is heavy on the pedal. I crave the sounds of leather hitting leather, of a beautiful take down and the ensuing smack of flesh hitting the mat. The smell of a gym is something few can appreciate. It permeates all within. The sweat that pours from our bodies is an intoxicating tonic, the adrenaline pumps through your veins like a junkies fix. I crave this, it is who I am, it is what drives me to keep on keepin' on. It is my fix. So I drive, heavy footed and anxious for the "beauty of the process", as a friend so eloquently put it. It isn't the smashing of bones, the popping of joints, or the spilling of blood. It's the process inbetween. It's the two guys in the locker room who just watched you get your ass kicked, yet they tell you that you did good. The same guys who hear your story and intently listen...you can see it in their faces..they "know". They know what I come for and I am sure they leave their own demons at the door. They become "family", as one put it. Suddenly the loss you suffered becomes an acquisition of an unforseen frienship. The brotherhood grows, and only those within know.
As I approach the gym I feel the tranquility of the dark, cold, snowy night. Few walk the streets. Most sane people head straight home and cook a hot meal, build a fire, and relax. The fire inside me keeps me warm, and the comraderie inside the gym feeds my soul. I travel down College Ave and as I pass the gym I see the frosted/etched windows. What isn't etched is fogged over from the heat within as it battles the cold outside, bitter enemies, only to meet and become one. It is a scene I see often when I close my eyes. This place has become home. That is where I belong. The family within those walls may dish out pain upon me, but it is a pain that heals, a pain that brings you back to where you need to be. A pain full of kindness and understanding. It is the only place that I know of where you can inflict, and have inflicted, this kind of pain and punishment and yet when you are done you wrap your arms around your oponent and sincerely appreciate the warrior they are and the battles you share. Only in this place can you look that person in the eye and know that NO MATTER WHAT they will be there to share the pain whether it is intangible, or deep seated in your soul.
As I park and grab my gear bag I suddenly realize that my worries from the day have all but vanished. Gone in the night. Taken away by the thoughts of what is to be before me. Snatched away on a cool, crisp, blustery night. As I walk the half block to the gym doors, snow and ice crunching under my feet, I feel my hair tingle. I open the front doors and life comes rushing out at me. The sights, smells, sounds, and smiles. That is why I come back day after day. The bonds we make on the mat cannot be broken by lifes simple, insignifcant, trivial, and mundane trials. The honor within those walls is something that most people only dream about. The friendships and support are often glorified, and fantasized about in movies, script, or fairytales...but here we find it. Here we live it. Strong, intent, and solid.
After changing and stepping onto the mat, I wrap my hands and begin my warm up. the music thumping and my heart pumping. The sound of heavy exhaustive breathing fills the room. The ropes slapping the mat, tapping to a rhythm that only a fighter could love. The timer sounds the rounds, we hit the floor and sprawl to the ground. The sharp, crisp sound of a sudden strong exhale as someone hits the pads, "hhhhsssssssssttttt", then the crack of leather to leather. Then on those nights when we trade punches with one another - that is where you find the peace within it all. The process suddenly comes to fruition. You move side to side, head moving, feet dancing, jab, cross, hook, leg kick. Nothing else is there. No divorce, no financial worries, no job stress, no bills to pay. Just you and a "mutual" combatant. Both there willingly and both holding their own destiny in their hands. Each move calculated, countered and recalculated. Methodical in your pursuit, you stalk one another looking for the opportunity to strike.
I know I cannot change the past. My mistakes are mine. I live with the fear, pain, and anger on a daily basis. Most nights are spent without complete sleep. The tears still come from a well that I thought had run dry. I often have to pull over and just catch my breath. I hate being alone. I miss the sounds of a house full of love and a "FAMILY" complete and whole. The monster(s) that took these things (or took part) are out there. They laugh in the shadows and continue their plight. But I have peace. I have a family again. They are not what I once had...but they will do. Retribution is not mine to give - God shall tend to that. In the mean time, I'll walk through those doors every chance I get and wage war upon those willing to grant me with the privelage. The blood I spill is freely given, the pain gladly taken. The body I build is for fighting. The spirit inside will never tap to the demons that surround me. My spirit may have been knocked to the mat..yet I will always get back up and continue the fight.
