It’s late June and I’m sitting across the desk from Gavin (gym founder and former Australian middleweight champion) as he tells me what a journey I’m in for over the next 10 weeks…
He says there’ll be times where I’ll question myself and want to quit – but so many guys come back again to train after Fight Night because of the transformation they experience along the way…
He speaks glowingly of the main event – Fight Night – saying how it’ll be “One of the best things I’ve ever done”…
We go outside and I shoot a quick video with Gavin for my YouTube channel to announce what I’ve just signed up for. Later this evening I’m due to back for my group photo with the rest of the students and trainers…
I already have fighting experience (as a 7th Kyu in Goju Kai Karate) and while the idea of learning boxing appeals to me, I’m not entirely sold on Gavin’s vision of what the coming 10 weeks will be like for me. I figure he’s giving the whole Fight Like A Pro experience the big sell – and why wouldn’t he?
I’m just keen to learn a new form of combat and get my fitness levels up. See, my year to date has been a difficult one. Like an endless trek up a mountainside, and any time I want to stop and rest I have less than a minute to do so. But it hasn’t pushed me to the point of quitting and neither did any challenge I faced in the dojo. I doubt this is going to be any different…
But as I’d discover soon enough, I was wrong. Over the next 2 and a half months, like expanding sunshine through grey clouds there were some big personal revelations that shone through…
So, how do I find the first few weeks of training?
Not too bad.
Learning the techniques to stance, jabbing and punching all require a bit of adjustment from the karate techniques I’m grounded in- but aside from that, all this new training and information feels like more of the lessons and challenges I’ve gone through all year to date. Why would I want to quit this? You’d have to be hopelessly out of shape or of weak character to think about giving up.
But then it’s time for sparring…
Gloves on, head guard strapped up tight, mouthguard in, stepping into the ring to go face to face with an opponent. Dealing with the other students is fine. But then I’m pitted against experienced guys. Before I can even think to throw a punch, seven land on me in mechanically fast blows-
BAM! BAM-BAM-BAM!
Gloves pound into both sides of my head and my stomach. I’m backed in the corner of the ring with nowhere to retreat. Belted with nothing in return.
But soon enough, time’s up. I suck in deep breaths, heart pounding, sweat burning.
I’m thinking of Fight Night…
If people I know give up their Saturday night and pay to come and watch me put that kind of fight up, I’ll feel so guilty. To get beaten here is one thing – but to get my arse handed to me with an auditorium full of people watching? People who know me? People who don’t know me and just want to see somebody get a beat-down?
Who am I kidding? Why am I bothering with this? Stuff boxing, I don’t need to do this…. What’s the point? I’m so far off that Fight Night will be a complete anti-climax. Surely even my opponent is going to feel disappointed that I’m such weak opposition for him. If he’s anything like me, he at least wants the victory to be challenging…
All of this going through my mind in less than a minute, with the idea of being competent at fighting (let alone good) like a mountain peak beyond my reach…
But-
I still managed to finish the session. Headgear off, unfastening the strapping of my gloves, pulling my slippery mouthguard out. As I stand there unwinding the wrapping from my knuckles, it occurs to me: even if I felt like a human punching bag, in some small way I’m better than when I began this evenings’ session:
Either my stance improved, or my jabs and hooks got more power behind them, or I’d be quicker at ducking or slipping my opponents’ punches and hitting him with the counter. It was like this after every training session without fail. That’s why I kept coming back: the idea that Hey, I might still be far off but I just got better at this. Let’s keep going and see where this leads?
This leads all the way to Fight Night on September 24th: 3 rounds and 6 minutes to show everybody how much I’ve improved since the day I first stepped into the gym…
Lesson #1. “Did I Get Better?”
If you’re going to go there and do that, you definitely want the t-shirt as well…
There were other lessons to come:
I trained 4 times a week: Tuesday afternoons, Wednesday and Thursday evenings – and also at the crack of dawn on Saturday mornings.
At 5:10am my alarm awakens me. I throw on my trainers, shorts, singlet and zip up my jacket, get into the car and drive in the winter darkness to our 5:30am rendezvous point at Currumbin.
We all stretch as the sun peeps up over the horizon, go on a light jog for a few k’s and then return for the big slog: 20 minute circuits, up and down the steps of Currumbin Alley. Even for someone who won medals at rep level in Highschool Cross Country, this is an uphill battle in more than one sense of the word:
When you’re expected to jog for 20 minutes straight and every step- going up or down- jars your knees, hips and ankles – you’re quickly asking why you should keep going? I think Stuff this, I don’t have to bother with this! How will it make any difference?
Then at last Kevvie, (one of the trainers) is down at the landing, calling out “Come on guys, finish up strong!” in his Kiwi accent. One final blast (especially once in view of the trainers below) and then pull up on the grass sucking in deep breaths hands on hips sweating in the cool morning air.
What a relief it is to be over!
But then something happened-
5 minutes later while stretching down, I thought of how I could’ve done more. How I could’ve gone harder. Despite how much I resented every step and silently cursed the trainers every time they’d call out for us to “Push harder!” I regretted knowing I could’ve done more. That feeling like I’d conserved something, not pushed myself just a couple of percentage points further?
It felt like a wasted opportunity.
After that realisation, I always gave everything during those morning sessions. Whether it was running those 20-minute cycles or doing sprints, burpees and crawls down on the beach, I kept asking Is this the best I can do? Because I knew that stronger than the will to back off, would be the feeling of regret afterwards if I had something left over and could’ve done more…
Lesson #2. “What more could I have done?”
The positive of waking up at the crack of dawn to run circuits is getting to enjoy views such as this first-hand…
At last- it’s Fight Night…
Gavin brings us all together in the ring before our friends, family and guests arrive. He addresses us for about 10 minutes, at one point telling us if we step into the ring tonight and don’t feel scared and wonder What am I doing here? then there’s something wrong with us.
As it turns out, I am drawn to fight second. Before the opening bout of the night has begun, I’m already off in the dressing room with my cornerman Tony and my other trainers, warming up. Soon enough, the time comes to walk down that corridor, out towards the packed auditorium and await my big entrance. Standing behind the stage, out of view of the crowd, I get last-minute reminders:
“Keep moving, go in and throw a few quick jabs then back out again.”
“You’ve got the reach- use it to your advantage!”
“Remember to back away, don’t be afraid to back away and catch your breath then go in again. If you stay in close range he’ll get to you- make him come to you and wear him out, let him use up his energy coming towards you.”
I’m tuned out to everything except what they’re telling me. Otherwise I’m completely indifferent about the fight I’m about to step into. No emotion, no anticipation. Nothing except committing every instruction given by Tony and my trainers to memory, adding that last possible drop to my training so far before it really matters…
Then a tap on the shoulder. It’s time to go. The announcer introduces me, fighting in the red corner. I hop up the steps onto the stage, into the fluorescent beams and flashing cameras. I strike a pose and shadow box as Stan Bush blasts through the auditorium- just as I’d requested:
You got the touch! You got the poweeeeeeeeeer- yeah! After all is said and done, you’ve never walked, you’ve never run- you’re a winner…
I move to the beat as I stride out, making my way through the crowd, ducking under the ropes and climbing up into the ring.
I pace back and forth. Bounce up and down on my toes.
No nerves.
No gripping fear.
No wondering what I’m doing here. I’m here because I trained for the last 10 weeks to get here, that’s it. An auditorium full of people are ready to watch me slog it out for 3 rounds against my opponent, Glenn. I’ve sparred him a few times already. I knew he’d be a difficult fighter to match-up against because no matter how red-faced he got, no matter how gassed he was, he’d go hard right to the end. Then we got matched up on Thursday night…
He makes his entrance, as Bon Scott’s voice booms through the sound system to guitar riffs that are machine-like in their precision:
Jaaaaail-break! And I’m lookin’ towards the sky….Gonna make a jaaaaaaaail-break! And I wish that I could fly…
But I zoom back in to the task at hand. In that moment, it’s the only thing to exist in my conscious mind.
Headgear on, gloves strapped tight. The referee brings us together and makes the rules clear. Then we return to our opposite corners. A pause.
Ring-aling-aling-aling-aling
That’s the bell. This is it.
I recall what follows only in small flashes: the dark void outside the ring. Sizing up Glenn. Voices from my corner calling “Ben- double jab cross!” or “Ben- move away, move away!” Somebody lands a few hits and cheering surges.
Then the bell sounds. Back to my corner to sit down and listen to Tony. Just one minute ceasefire until the fight resumes.
60 seconds pass and nothing exists in my world except:
- a) Getting my breath back and,
- b) Every word Tony says
I barely drink from the water bottle held at my mouth, because even that is a distraction.
I feel no emotion- positive or negative. For me, there is only the will to listen. Then the bell rings – up to my feet again.
By the third round, I yearn for that final bell to come and finish everything. It’s now a grim, exhausting slog. I’m more agile than Glenn and can throw quicker punches – but he has fists like mallets and if I let my guard down even a moment, he’s in my face throwing sledgehammers. He’s tiring quicker, but he won’t let up. As a result, neither can I. Sweat pores from Glenn’s bright red face. I’ve tuned out to anything but Tony’s voice or the announcer counting down the minutes or seconds left. Meanwhile, the crowd cheers and yells out incoherently. I feel a brief flash of resentment for them, watching us for their entertainment like trained circus animals. So few of them know what we’re going through. I want it to end and I know Glenn wants it to end – but neither of us can do a thing about it. So we have to keep going…
Ring-aling-aling-aling-aling!
At last! It’s over!
The next 45 seconds are the worst feeling of the entire 10 weeks. I stagger to the corner and slump over the ropes. My legs feel like they’re made of pipe cleaners. One of the trainers has to peel off my gloves for me, someone pats me on the back and someone else squirts the contents of a water bottle into my mouth. Somewhere in the background, ‘What Do You Mean?’ by Justin Bieber plays (that was not my choice). I am rigid on the spot.
It hurts breathing.
It hurts moving a muscle.
It hurts doing anything…
Some energy slowly returns to me in the following minute. The referee brings Glenn and I together, either side of him in the middle of the ring. Glenn got a few solid shots on me right at the end and barged me up against the ropes – but I’d given him good measure over the whole three rounds.
Then the referee takes my right arm and holds it aloft.
Winner!
I am handed the trophy, but it feels like nothing more than a formality. In every bout, somebody wins. Tonight, the win is mine. The announcer comes over to me with the mic and asks for my thoughts. I can’t manage a lot more than saying how tough it was to fight Glenn and how buggered I was.
That’s it. I make brief chatter with Glenn and pat his young son (who he’s now cradling) on the head. Then I step down from the ring, trophy in hand. My only feeling is relief, nothing more.
But then Tony and my cornermen come over to me and they’re full of praise- because I’d gone out and done exactly what they’d told me to do.
At that moment, a great rush surges through me. Like I said, I felt no emotions going into the fight, focusing only on what I needed to do to win, on saving my best fight for when it counted. Despite the overwhelming fatigue- I’d gone and done exactly that. I’d been given a plan to follow in order to stand my best chance of winning- and followed it every step of the way.
For me- that was the real victory.
Leading into that fight- and throughout it – I’d felt on a different level of focus. The intensity was crazy. The crowd, the occasion, how I might feel about stepping into the ring? I’d shut it all out, shut out everything except for the key objectives of the fight.
If I could tap into that level of focus in other areas of my life – working, writing, meditation – what new level of results could I unlock?
Lesson #3. “What’s The Most Important Thing Right Now?”
I’ve definitely gone up a weight division since then…
***
In the following months, Gavin would call me back. I was happy to return and resume training amongst familiar faces. I began sparring a new guy there, named Rory. I took him aside one evening and gave him some pointers on his technique, with no idea that (in the end) I would be the one drawn to step into the ring on Fight Night and face off against him…
On the night itself, utilising what he’d learned, Rory saved his best fight for when it counted- and got the win. In every bout, somebody wins. This time, the win was his.
But to the point – my Fight Like A Pro experience gave me some valuable lessons:
I learned that even in getting knocked around and feeling as if we failed, the question that really matters is: Did we do better this time?
Even if we’re getting knocked about and failing, are we still getting better?
I realised that as tiring or frustrating as a task might be, making that extra 1 or 2 percent effort is worth it to reach the other side and know there was nothing more we could’ve done…
When this moment passes, will we know that at least we gave it that last 1-2% of effort?
And I discovered the power of tapping into a new level of focus – where nothing exists apart from the task at hand and what I need to do to reach its’ desired outcome. I discovered that zoning in completely on an objective – where everything else ceases to exist – is where you cast off emotions or distractions that would otherwise hold you back from reaching your peak.
When time is blurring and the pressure feels weighty upon us to deliver and to come through the other side – what is that one, most important thing to focus on right now?
On that note?
I want to say thanks to Tony. Thanks to my trainers. Thanks Glenn. Thanks to everybody who helped me on my way to that one night in September.
And thanks also to you, Gavin-
You were right after all! (And I never did get my DVD from Fight Night #34 – you bet I’m keen to watch it back so if any of you have it- contact me ASAP!)…
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