Rise Again

 I recall with vivid and gory detail my first amateur Muay Thai fight.  I can still hear the crowd pulsating, moving, cheering, jeering and flowing to the walk out song of my fellow pugilists.  What was supposed to be a small “smoker” of local gyms showcasing their fighters turned into quite the ruckus and one hell of a bloodbath.  Unbeknownst to me, my very first (legal) fight ended up being the co-main event.  I’ll never forget the surreal feeling of sitting in the back of this huge gym in Fort Worth getting my hands wrapped and simply trying to melt into the façade of the room around me.  There were A & B locker rooms full of other fighters.  In the “A” room it was packed with fighters, coaches, cut men, and a few friends here and there.  I was alone, as I’d find myself many times in battles since then.  No family…no friends.  I didn’t want to tell anyone what I was doing.  It was a dream I’d step into with only my coaches and cut man.  The room smelled of adrenaline and sweat.  Pure anticipation radiated through that room.  I was more afraid than I had EVER been up to that point in my life.  I wasn’t afraid of pain, of being punched or even rendered unconscious.  I was 20 years old and I was petrified of failing.  I was afraid of getting knocked down and NOT getting back up.  The entirety of my life up to that point (and really all of it since) had been a battle.  An all-out war most of the time.  My path up to this point was a virtual battlefield of not listening to those close to me, making monumental mistakes, paying for said mistakes, and essentially doing whatever the hell I wanted to.  It seemed I’d eternally go against the grain of life.   I had learned to pick myself back up from the depths of hell but I was not in any way prepared for the fear I’d feel that night. 

  I had trained so hard to get to this point.  I was in the best shape of my life and completely immune to pain on so many levels.  Why was I so afraid?  It was/is simple.  I was afraid to let the few people close to me down.  I was afraid to fail in their eyes.  I never told my dad about this fight.  I am just understanding now that what I wanted to do that evening was prove to him that I was not a quitter and I’d never stay down no matter how low life got or how beat down I’d become.  I was nauseous as I got word that I was up next.  I remember my coaches firing me up..the slaps on the back..the last check of the gloves and the placing of the towel over my head to keep my eyes focused and the views of the crowd at bay.  I’ll never forget my coach looking me dead in the eyes and grabbing my face and pulling it close to him and those words… “I know you’ll never quit, take the war to him, Jim”.  It still brings tears to my eyes simply for the fact that this man truly believed in me.  He had seen me get my ass handed to me in so many ways over the prior three years.  He believed in me when I didn’t even believe in myself.  Suddenly there were two men in my life for whom I was willing to go to war for…simply to prove I was worthy of their love and admiration. 

  I stepped through the curtain and I distinctly remember feeling as if I would vomit right there.  My walk out song blared and helped drown out the crowd.  My blood began to flow freely laced with adrenaline and fire.  My opponent walked out first and stood in the ring staring right at me.  I engaged in the stare down and suddenly I was overcome with relief.  This man was here to inflict pain and I was there to reciprocate.  We were going to have a war!!!! I don’t remember the announcer, his words, or him even speaking.  I don’t recall the referee standing between us and going over the rules of war.  All I recall is his eyes and my unrelenting gaze straight into his soul.  I do however remember the bell ringing for the first of three two-minute rounds.  To this day I’ve never experienced such a beautiful, and yet brutal, six minutes.  The times in between rounds are still a blur and yet I remember my coach’s face and the excitement.  I don’t know what all he said in those moments and yet the look in his eyes said it all.  He believed in me.   Words were unnecessary at that point. 

  It was the middle of the second round where I learned one of the most valuable lessons of my life.  I was beyond exhausted, my eyebrow was cut and my shins, ribs, face, head, and every other body part seemed to ache and burn.  He was in no better shape.  We came for war and neither of us would give up.  It is to this day one of the most poignant memories of my life.  In the middle of that round, I was struggling to see from the blood pouring from my brow.  I was struggling to breathe from the blood pouring down my throat.  The doctor cleared my eye, and my opponents busted nose, just prior to this round.  We were in the midst of a battle of attrition when suddenly I dropped my left (and this wouldn’t be the last time in the ensuing years) and suddenly there was a shin impacting my skull.  For a few seconds, I couldn’t see, feel, or hear.  All I remember is opening my eyes and the gray flooring of the ring is all I could see.  I had been knocked out.  What felt like minutes would end up being less than a few seconds.  I’d later learn that I was clearly “out” as I fell but I hit the mat and popped back up.  My recollection of those seconds was the feeling of being “done”.  I felt I had nothing left to give.  That moment has remained a metaphor for so much in my life.  I wish I had footage from that moment to remind myself that NOTHING will keep me down unless I let it.  I remember the complete exhaustion and the feeling of being completely out of my body for a moment.  Being knocked out isn’t as bad as most people think.  Your brain shuts down to protect itself and your body, the pain comes later.  My recollection is as clear today as it’s ever been.  I truly had nothing left….but I thought of those two men and all the shit I had endured in my teens.  All I had put my dad through.  I only needed a spark to ignite something fierce within and those thoughts ignited a raging inferno.  Somehow I quickly popped up and made it through the round.  Each of us would be checked again by the doctor with me having no recollection of that break in my corner.  Again…I remember coach’s eyes and this time I saw tears.  I’ll go to my deathbed with that moment forever burned in me.  It was a pure pride and later he’d tell me it was absolute admiration.  I didn’t quit…I didn’t stay down…and I rose again.

  Of the 4 amateur fights I’d partake, this is the one I’ll never forget and I can see, hear, smell, and feel those six minutes like it just happened.  We’d get 45 seconds into the last round and I’d return the favor to my opponent.  He’d not return to his feet.  I imagine I was supposed to be elated, triumphant, happy it was over, but I was worried about him and dropped immediately to my knees by his side.  We had gloves on so I couldn’t hold his hand…I couldn’t do anything but sit and watch him find his own way back to the light.  I was horrified at the sight of another young man lying there completely unconscious.  He’d be fine and rise again.  I don’t remember the cheers, I don’t remember my hand being lifted.  I remember these moments described above and I remember kneeling in the middle of the ring and wrapping my arms around him and saying “this is the best day of our lives” and seeing the smile on his face.  We thanked one another and hugged again.  I never saw him again and often wonder if he has so many vivid memories from those six minutes. 

  I’d hide that night from my parents for the duration of my life…until now.  I lived with three roommates, bartended, and was a student so I went home and locked myself away as best I could.  I shared with very few what happened that night.  I was bruised, bloodied, and had stitches for weeks.  I’d not go by my parents’ house for fear they’d see their son as beaten, a heathen, or a disastrous mess.  And yet today I hold that evening as one of the highest achievements of my life.  Not because I beat another man.  I wasn’t the first or the last and I’d be on the receiving end just as many times…but I got the hell back up when I had nothing left.  All it took was the will to fight, someone in my corner, a purpose, and someone to believe in me.  We all get knocked down..sometimes to a place we cannot fathom and we cannot imagine how we will get up.  I’ve continued to be knocked down in my journey through life but I keep getting up. I will bend but I will NEVER break.  23 years later I am still a lover of the way of war…and I hope you can see why.  We all get knocked out…the question is…will you get back up and fight one more round?!  To a father who never gave up on me….that night was for you dad!