when I received a phone call from the hospital while I was getting ready for my afternoon shift at the factory. The nurse on the other end said “I’m not sure how to say this, but I really think you should be here with your mom. She’s not doing so well, and we had to take her to the intensive care unit.” I remember a million thoughts racing through my mind, but I knew my mom was the strongest person I had ever known, so it could not be so bad, could it?
At the hospital, I was told that my mom had lost eight pints of blood and that they continued pumping more into her. She was losing blood at an alarming rate. A medical device was her one last hope. I was a complete mess; it all seemed like the worst nightmare in the world, and it honestly felt unreal.
My dad and aunts, accompanied by cousins from Mississauga, came to the hospital. Of course, Beata was by my side from the beginning. I spoke to my mom on the hospital table for as long as I could, thinking that maybe she could hear me. The doctors asked if they could switch off the machines that were keeping her alive. Nothing had helped, and it was only a matter of time. I would never agree to it and thought that maybe she would still wake up; maybe by a miracle everything would be fine, just maybe. I clung to the hope with every part of my being as I prayed for her. After all we had gone through, the mother who had given me life and taught me all that is good could not leave like this... no way.
No matter how badly we want something, God often has other plans. The electrocardiographic heart monitor showed that she had flatlined; Elizabeth Olech had passed away from this Earth to the next. I lost my mom. I thought I knew sadness, defeat, anguish, and pain before that point, but I quickly learned that what I felt previously was nothing compared to this. As if by calling, it had been raining that day, and I believe that it was a sign of a great human being, a messenger, and soldier of God leaving our human existence. I knew that angels were crying over her departure that day.
The strangest thing about it all was that I felt an emotional boost for some reason. I think it was my mom’s way of giving me strength. I took time to grieve and organize my mom’s townhouse and funeral. I had been calling work to let them know I would be out, but through the grapevine I heard that even though I was a hard worker, they were thinking of letting me go, as I had being calling in for over a week. I was supposed to fill out a bereavement form, but no one had told me that. I was nineteen and not well-versed in labor laws. I was learning that when a person is at their most vulnerable and down, people tend to take free shots and kick them. I filled out the form and proceeded forward through this entire mess that had ravaged my life.
Hundreds of people attended the funeral to pay their respects, and it made me feel good that she had affected so many people. My cousin approached me afterward and told me that my mom was in a better place and that her time on Earth had a bigger meaning, which was me. She also told me that I was destined for something big and that everyone saw it. I thanked her and started thinking differently; maybe there was something good I could do in her name.
Years later, as I write this, I believe that my mom is in a better place, where she cannot feel pain or hurt. I think she watches over me and gives me the strength needed here on Earth. I cherish all the good moments we had together. I try to make her proud of me through my everyday actions, using all of the lessons she taught me.
I began volunteering a lot more, taking on many activities to help people and animals whenever I could. I was not only a board member for a few organizations, but also helped out with many volunteer days whenever my calendar allowed it.
Every one of the events I went through in my life, good or bad, shaped and molded me. My good nature, respectful approach toward people, mental strength, and never-say-die attitude are all attributable to my upbringing and milestones in life. We all have a story; we all have a battle to fight and goals that we are striving for in the rat race of life. I had many forces pulling me to martial arts and pushing me to uncover the mixed martial arts (MMA) world as I set out in search for the truth.
Why do we do this? What is it that draws us to something that can hurt us? Why do we deliberately put ourselves in the path of danger? What makes us different from so many others? I believe that this is rooted in the many layers of both the psyche and the heart. The same questions can be posed to great soldiers that volunteer to participate in wars around the world, fighting for our freedom. From the adrenaline junkie to the deep camaraderie built within your team, you give time, sweat, and blood for the mats. There is respect and a bond with your opponent, regardless of whether you win or lose. They too had a path that led them to stare at you once the buzzer or bell rings; you will both leave it all in the fight to see who is better that day. The feeling of getting that win and of having all those bumps and aching muscles pays off. Finally reaching the top of the mountain makes it all worthwhile.
So, I ask you: what is your fight? What is your place in life? Truly ponder this question; use it and the humility of martial arts to create a better you, whether it be with your family, your friends, your work, or anything else. Let it take over your thoughts and use it to set those goals that you can systematically achieve over time. By the time you reach the final chapter of this book, you will see that these processes hold true for some of the best in the world. I’ve traveled the world to train in many areas of mixed martial arts with some of the world’s greatest names and champions. Their stories are shared here.
This is a journey that, as a fan, makes me giddy with excitement. I have done my best to shed light on these people that we idolize on television, along with detailing who they actually are, how they train, why they train, and what they do to be the best. Peer into them as individuals as well as martial artists. I sought the answers to the questions posed above and attempted to uncover the information that every fan wants to know. I also trained myself as I prepared for fights and competitions, rolling and sparring with the best, changing cities, even countries in search of the best fighters, coaches, and gyms the world has to offer. I invite you to take this journey with me. I am prepared to fight—no one has said that life is a bed of roses, right?
Chapter Three
THE DOG DAYS OF SUFFERING
“If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put foundations under them.”
—Henry David Thoreau
There I stood, hunched over the dirty yellow railing, hypnotized through the smoke by the automated movements of expensive welding robots. Despite the treacherous locale, I was mesmerized by the solitude of my thoughts when I was ripped back into reality. “Hey, Chris. Let’s go.” It was my close friend Jeff Phillips, keeping an eye on me so that I would not get reprimanded by the lazy supervisors if they happened to leave their air conditioned bear cave offices, as they did once in a blue moon. “Here we go,” I motioned as I turned back to the production line. Looking at the truck frame that this robotic pulley line fed us from a seemingly never-ending supply, I had the duty of inspecting and patching up all holes, imperfections, and/or deficiencies in the frame.
No customer wanted to buy an award-winning heavy-duty truck only to have the part of the truck that needed to be the strongest fail due to human error. Picking up the weld gun in heat in excess of 100°F (40°C), wearing my mandatory long-sleeved uniform, work boots, heavy gloves, and a welding helmet, I welded 380 to 450 frames in one shift. I took a deep breath and thought to myself, “Man, there’s got to be more to life than this crap!” Given the forty-five-minute drive to and from work and the dreaded midnight shift that I was privileged to work, I was like a zombie living in a hell on Earth.
I thanked Jeff, palmed the button to let the frame proceed down the never-ending line, and went back to the railing, which, sadly, was my safety zone where I could talk to Jeff; this was one aspect that helped make work better. Jeff was 5' 11" with dirty-brown hair, and he did well with the ladies. A world of knowledge was hidden within his eyes, and a very friendly demeanor made him the
