FIght Night

Miles Cook

Fight Night

"Bend your knees; bend your knees. Bob, weave, jab... jab-jab. Follow it up, cross, hook, cross. Bob, weave, counter cross, work the body.  Keep moving, step right, step right. Stay calm, be aggressive.  Ahh, there it is; wide open. Pow!! Left cross, right on the button.  His knees buckle, his hands drop..."  I've spent a lot of time visualizing this fight, and this is the plan.  It's a good one.  Now, I just have to execute it.

It's a strenuous process to prepare for a boxing match, but, now, on fight day there is no more physical work that can be done.  From here until the opening bell the preparation is all mental. I show up at the venue, hoping there will be someone within 10 pounds of my weight for me to fight.  It's hard to commit my brain to fight mode when I don't know if I'm going to get a match yet.

...Ok, I've been matched ..."POW, POW, POW!!"... "Stop it! Get a grip. You have to keep those thoughts out of your mind.  Just because he is covered in tattoos and looks like he's 10 years older than you, doesn't mean he can beat you.  Looks can be deceiving. Focus on yourself, not him."

I'm fight number 17 so I settle down to watch the earlier matches. My nerves are still calm early in to the fight card, but I can see the tension starting to build in the boxers around me. Even people in the crowd seem to be getting wound up as a street fight breaks out right in front of the venue. I'm unfazed by the commotion; I'm slowly but firmly sharpening my focus on the brutal task that lies before me. It's as though I've been driving on a long stretch of highway watching everything around me, but as night falls everything peripheral fades in to the darkness. Now I center my attention on the lighted road ahead.

I'm usually a very peaceful, easy going guy, but as I get my hands wrapped, suddenly I'm starting to feel anxious. This ritual is my transformation. The adrenaline flows, my heart races, my whole body starts to get tight, my patience gets shorter, even with the people closest to me. Once my hands are wrapped I feel invincible. I've turned from Jekyll to Hyde.  This process is draining.  I feel like I already fought. With the fight still an hour away, I turn my focus entirely to relaxing and conserving my energy.

15 minutes to the bell:
          Shoes
          Cup
          Head gear
          Gloves
          Mouthpiece
I'm a warrior ready for battle; all of my armor is in place.

Finally, here we are in the ring. I look across at my opponent and all I can think is, "Damn, this dude is hairy as hell. This mofo looks like a gorilla!"... "Focus, focus. You have a job to do, now go out there and fight your fight." 

Ding, ding, ding.

"Keep those knees bent... Bob, weave, jab-jab. Follow it up, cross, uppercut... bob, weave... counter hook, work the body.  Keep moving, step right, step right. Stay calm, be aggressive."  Uppercut, left cross, right hook... "good night!"

The announcer's voice booms, "The winner, by TKO in the third round, MILLLLLLES COOOOOOOOK!!"  My visualization worked perfectly. It was a critical component to this success. I couldn't be more relaxed; all the tension has melted away. It's time for me to go home. Mr. Hyde is safely stored away in my gym bag not to be unleashed until his next bout. Until then I'll be happy with just being Jekyll, my true self.