It was a disaster, and at least the referee called for the headgear as I saw a couple guys at the edge of the gym scramble for it. I had a good three to four minutes of waiting, which worked against me since my mental edge was slowly dissipating while I stood in the corner waiting. My muscles were slowly cooling down, so I started bouncing around, wasting more energy. They finally got the headgear into the ring, my corner helped put it on, and it was time to touch gloves and go to war.
I do not remember my corner saying anything during the beginning of the fight, as I was so focused on what was happening inside the ring, but toward the end of the round as I loosened up, things seemed to be right. The rest is history as you already know, (see Chapter 1), and I have been asked on numerous occasions if I would have changed anything even though I was put there as a lamb for the slaughter. No, I wouldn’t, and I think I learned a lot about fighting that day—but more so about myself.
After the fight, when both of our hands were raised in a draw, my corner made me feel better. I had finally done it. Regardless of the outcome, I had gone into a rough sport, and held my own, in a way. I did not get hurt, used some of the things I practiced so many times, and showed my heart. I had established a base from which now I could build upon, to which I could better myself and be better prepared for the other times to come. It is pleasurable to prove who is the better man and to experience the primitive instincts in the ring or cage, with the only the basic tools that we are given—our “eight limbs.” In the back of his mind, the winner knows that, if this had been a dark alleyway, he could have ended the other.
Once the emotions were settled after the fight, which included happiness, nervousness, relief, and a sense of accomplishment all rolled up into a tight ball, I was on the outside of the ring where Beata was wiping the sweat off my face and body. Walking around the club to gather myself, I saw one of the club champions that did the fight demo. He shook my hand and congratulated me on the fight. “Thanks, but I could have done better, and may I add that he kicks like a mule.” I chuckled, but he quickly remarked “No, no, you did really well, you showed heart kid, I know Jason [my opponent] has crazy power in his kicks, he makes the big Thai bags sway!” I looked with open eyes thinking to myself, either he’s trying to make me feel better or maybe he saw something, but either way my heart swelled, and it was just what I needed.
I was sore for a couple of days, but nothing serious. I was walking perfectly fine, I had no bumps or bruises, and I gained a lot of experience. Most of all, I realized that this game is tough and you have to really work hard and put your heart, sweat, and tears into training if you want results. I learned that I have heart, that no matter how hard I get hit, how hard it gets to breath, that I do not quit, that the four-letter word does not exist in my vocabulary.
As the weeks passed, I had less time and will to practice, and rumors were circulating that Milton was looking to sell the gym. With the factory life taking its toll on me and just taking more time to be with Beata, I had months on end of no training, except for some strength and conditioning in my garage.
I had picked up a squat rack with an Olympic bar for a good price, to add to my punching bag, free weights, and pulley system. The truth is that I was doing routines better suited for bodybuilders—not conditioned MMA athletes. Doing signature curls, benching, and squats for the typical six to eight reps with long rest times made me feel good but was not doing very much for my MMA conditioning, particularly because I always had a hard time with cardio training. I came to understand that there was a big gap I had to fill when it came to my strength and conditioning program. Little did I know that it would fall into my lap in the near future.
I would later learn from famous IFBB pro bodybuilder Scott Milne—owner of Pump’d Supplements London Ontario, and a complete hulk of a man who competed at the peak, weighing 302 lbs shredded—that my nutrition knowledge was lacking as well. He empowered me with some great advice years later that I wish I could have absorbed much earlier, rather than running my body and immune system into the ground due to lack of proper replenishment.
In regards to recovery and performance, he taught me that “the big thing is making sure your protein levels are high—without protein you cannot repair. What a lot of people—especially for MMA guys—forget about is all of their amino acids. They could really stand to take certain aminos before they train, such as creatine hydrochloride for increasing strength and athletic performance, and beta-alanine, which buffers lactic acid so you can train longer and harder without getting fatigued. Also, arginine, which dilates your blood vessels so you transport more oxygen and nutrients to get a better pump. Afterwards is the recovery portion, requiring loads of amino acids; glutamine is the main one for muscle recovery and repair. All of those aminos can help one perform longer and harder, and to recover in order to train again sooner. Without that you will stress your immune system and get sick.”
Milton sold the gym months after my fight, and I was definitely feeling an itch to get back to some good old-fashioned training. I was also starting to take a look at the Team Tompkins gym, which was the biggest and most popular gym in London, for a change of scenery. But before I did, my friend and an acquaintance convinced me to train at Suffer System in the mornings, as I was working the night shift at the factory. This way, we had the octagon ring to ourselves, and it was great for me at that point in time, as we would work on all the things I needed to address.
That was the first time I learned the Brazilian jiu-jitsu technique known as “the teepee,” which is an alternative to the triangle where your feet shoot straight into the air once the opponent’s head is squeezed between the thighs, without the traditional trapped arm. You lock it up by hugging the legs and trapped head with your arms until your hands clasp together, then squeeze with your thighs and arms, and “voila,” the opponent has so much pressure projected on his neck that he will either tap from pain or fall asleep from the lack of oxygen going to the brain. This move is not commonly used or even known and is quite easy to implement for someone like me with long legs and arms. It would prove to come in handy throughout my training sessions.
We had a lot of fun pumping our loud metal, rap, and techno music as we pushed ourselves to the limits. Given that no one wanted to stop before anyone else, we sometimes ran into three-hour training sessions. One day, my acquaintance had an idea. He had finished watching the Sean Sherk and Brock Lesnar training session on the UFC All Access show on Spike TV, which gave fans a glimpse into the training regimen of a top fighter before a big fight. They had aired a marathon and showed how Sean Sherk, who would become UFC champion, was steam-rolling through countless reps and exercises of some the most abstract and MMA-oriented strength and conditioning programs that anyone had ever seen, at a gym called API—Athletic Performance Inc., located in Minnesota.
They also aired the heavyweight monster Brock Lesnar’s training regimen. He was once a pro wrestler and had quite a fan base, which he brought over to MMA. They showed him doing similar exercises and unbelievable circuits that were exhausting just to watch, also at the famed API gym. Our acquaintance suggested that we take a trip to train in Minnesota at the API gym and at the Minnesota Martial Arts Academy, which was located right next door.
The idea more than intrigued me, as the timing could not have been any more perfect. My career at the factory was coming to an abrupt halt as the economy had hit its bottom and all of North America was in the grip of recession, especially the automotive industry. There were rumors circulating around the factory for months until we finally received our letters that the factory was officially closing and that we should look for employment elsewhere.
I was beginning to get used to layoffs, as within my five years at the factory, I had been laid off four times, ranging from a week to months, but this was different. I knew I was not coming back this time. As scary as it was, on the flip side it was a blessing, as I could move on in my life and career, away from the factory. I only meant to work at the factory for one year, but I got sucked in, and the months flew by because the checks were enticing, so one year turned into five and easily could have ended up to be a lifetime. However, now there was no excuse for not stretching my
