~ Mary Anne Radmacher
Testing your own limits and conquering what you fear brings about a huge sense of accomplishment, even if you’re not completely successful in the endeavor. It’s the fact that you faced it and gave it your best shot that makes you swell up with pride and gives you the feeling like anything is possible.
The journey that you take to get there gives you a sense of purpose, something to strive for makes ever day feel as though you’re living on purpose, and not just wandering aimlessly through the world, doing this and that with no real end goal in mind.
I went from 158 lbs to 151.8 lbs on the dot in 2 and a half days and I felt like crap. I felt about as strong as a 90 year old woman, and combined with the fact that I was sick, I was in no mood to fight. But what was I going to do, quit?
I barely warmed up for the fight, and I’ll admit, I was a bit scared.
“Just dance around, don’t get hit with anything, you don’t have to give it your all, you’re sick, no one’ll think badly of you.” I kept telling myself this bullshit as I walked into the ring. I think its human nature to make excuses and I was coming up with every one in the book. But as soon as I stepped into the ring, that little annoying voice in my head shut up and I focused on the task at hand.
Ding, Ding. Round 1 began and my opponent rushed for me throwing punches with everything he had. He wasn’t too patient which sucked, but it was good at the same time, more on that a bit later.
I threw a couple punches that had nothing behind them. My arms felt like 2 spaghetti noodles, I felt useless, but I did my best not to get hit with anything solid.
As the round progressed I began to see a bit of a pattern, he’d throw 2 or 3 jabs, a straight right and a left hook most of the time. Every now and then he’d change it up but I could tell when the combo was coming, I just didn’t have enough speed or power at the moment to do anything about it.
Ding, Ding. Round 1 is over.
I sit back in my corner and my coach knows the deal. He’s not too choked at me because he knows I’ve got nothing in the tank, he just tells me to “relax, be patient and knock him out when the time comes.”
Ding, Ding. Round 2 starts and my opponent rushes out to meet me again, I think he thinks that he smells blood, and maybe his corner told him to try and finish the fight because he’s going nuts, and I’m playing possum conserving what I have in the way of energy, not throwing anything in the first few seconds of the round.
He’s throwing the same combo as the first round, but he’s swinging for the fences. About 15 seconds in, he throws 3 jabs, a straight right and BANG! I hit him with a right hand on the chin before he could get the hook in. He goes down like a ton of brings. His head is the first thing to hit the canvas, followed by the rest of his body and he’s out.
The ref begins to count, then sees there’s no point and calls it off and I win by KO.
Man that felt good.
It wasn’t even the knockout, although that felt amazing, it was the fact that I didn’t give in to those stupid excuses I was making before the fight.
If life were a cake walk, it wouldn’t be too exciting. And there wouldn’t really be any point to it either. It’s the tough times that make the good one’s feel special, and it’s the things we fear that make us proud when we accomplish them.