A tale of an wannabe fighter.

The hours spent at the gym, punching and kicking pads, jumping and running like a lion is chasing you and when you’re feeling like you’re done, the trainer saying “20 sec rest, two more to go!” and you look thinking “are you fucking serious?”

I couldn’t complain, it was my choice to fight. But i couldn’t help it, doubts started to crawl in my mind: “Can i do this? Maybe i should fight next time. No, the fight is set, no backing down.”. Your gym mates talking to you, saying you’re good and capable of pulling this off, but in fact, instead of convincing me that i’m good enough, i thought: “Dammit, i can’t disappoint them now.”. Sure, no pressure. =)

Last day of training before the fight, the coach seemed to smell my doubt, and his solution was giving me the toughest training he could, putting me to jump rope, run, punch, kick without rest saying: “Don’t slack!! you’re going to fight! It will be much worse than this!”. “Wow, thanks for the info, coach.”. And when i began wanting to give up, he came at my side with a pad on his hand: “I’ll hit you if you stop. Do not stop.” After this training, i felt confident, and again, my mates said i would win. This wasn’t necessarily true, but at this point, anyone stepping on a ring don’t need truth, they need confidence.

Fight day. I didn’t knew who i was going to fight and i began to look for “potential threats” among the participants, but later i stopped. No use doing so. Instead, i started to try to keep my cool, even knowing it is almost impossible.

After seeing my fight was the #16 of 18 fights, i cursed, because what kills you inside it is not fight itself, it is the wait. Damn… it’s torturing, specially for an anxious guy like me.

Fight time. I became oblivious of the crowd, heck, i could barely notice my coach. The bell sang, and my blood turned into cold water. It is a strange sensation, your punches don’t “feel right” , like they haven’t any weight behind it, and things i’ve done with eyes closed at the gym, felt like trying to launch a rocket using an abacus, even breathing.

Round over. Poor me, thinking i wouldn’t tire so much because i could handle the training. At least, i remembered to clinch and knee, and truth to be said, that saved me. Last round, after landing some good blows, i heard from my corner: “He’s tired! Get him!!”. “Fuck, i’m tired too your bastard”- i thought. Ding! Fight is over. So tired that even trying to pay attention to the results announcement was hard.

But at the end, it was my arm raised. It felt good. =)