Ethan it was test, a sort of trial to prove he truly was a fighter, that he was penitent enough to even set foot in the cage.
Eight years after setting foot in the gy m, he had transformed from a young kid with too much time and energy, into a respected professional. Amassing a dozen amateur fights, he turned professional when he graduated from college. Five wins against overmatched opponents made him largely regarded as one of the region’s top rising stars. But 27 was old—for a prospect. And he certainly felt it. The kid who could bounce back workout after workout—four hours a day, six days a week—that kid was gone. Ethan needed his sleep, needed a rest day in the middle of the week. The young kids at the gym seemed faster, slicker than they had two years ago. Some of it was that they were getting better, and learning his style; learning how to beat him in the gym. But maybe, he was getting slower too. Ethan worried, in his quiet moments, how much longer his body would let him do this.
The sad reality of a professional fighter in the local circuit is that money doesn’t really exist. A few hundred bucks to show up, a few hundred more if you win. It seems nice to see all at once, but three months of gym dues, sparring equipment, health food, missed shifts at work—taking a professional MMA fight was always a net loss. The only fighters making real money were the big show fighters; guys fighting for national organizations on televised shows. It was what every fighter dreamed off—getting “the call”. A call from a big-time promoter to come up from the small time and prove you have what it takes to hang with the best fighters in the nation. For Ethan, it would mean the dream of a lifetime made real.
For years after college, he lived in a house with four other fighters, struggling to make it in the brutal fight game. He worked part time bouncing in bars and doing concert security. He taught the beginners class at the gym—enough to make rent and pay his bill every month, and not much else.
One day, he looked in the mirror and realized he couldn’t do it forever. The day would come when he had to walk away. And he needed a fallback career. So, he caved and took an entry level position with the small publishing house, tracking sales. It paid better than bouncing, and it had health insurance—no small perk for a professional athlete. Still, taking the job meant that he had to admit he might never be a famous fighter. He used the word maturity, be in his heart it just felt like selling out.
He was offered a fight two weeks ago. Against a true veteran of the sport. His prospective opponent had three times as many fights as Ethan. This guy had been on the big show, under the lights, but a losing streak saw him cut from the promotion. Now he was looking to cut through contenders like Ethan at small shows, and fight his way back to the top. Ethan believed in his heart, if he could beat this guy—prove he had the skills to hang with the best in the world—he would get the call.
* * *
Sara stuck the plastic container into the microwave. Leftover eggplant parmesan from this weekend. Being a vegetarian had been a surprising change for her. She had switched two years ago, more out of curiosity than anything else. She had never been much of a fan of meat, so the transition came easy to her. She felt better, had more energy. It was earth shattering to see that such a simple change—what she ate—could have ripple effects through her life. She started walking, since she finally could get through her day without feeling like a zombie. Between 30 minute walks every day and her newfound diet regimen, she began to lose weight, slowly, only a few pounds a month, but two years later she was nearly 50lbs lighter. Her coworkers regularly chastised her, bringing in her leftovers. “Cat food” they teased her. A steady diet of microwave meals, fast food, and Chinese takeout had left them with little room to criticize her.
Eight years after setting foot in the gy m, he had transformed from a young kid with too much time and energy, into a respected professional. Amassing a dozen amateur fights, he turned professional when he graduated from college. Five wins against overmatched opponents made him largely regarded as one of the region’s top rising stars. But 27 was old—for a prospect. And he certainly felt it. The kid who could bounce back workout after workout—four hours a day, six days a week—that kid was gone. Ethan needed his sleep, needed a rest day in the middle of the week. The young kids at the gym seemed faster, slicker than they had two years ago. Some of it was that they were getting better, and learning his style; learning how to beat him in the gym. But maybe, he was getting slower too. Ethan worried, in his quiet moments, how much longer his body would let him do this.
The sad reality of a professional fighter in the local circuit is that money doesn’t really exist. A few hundred bucks to show up, a few hundred more if you win. It seems nice to see all at once, but three months of gym dues, sparring equipment, health food, missed shifts at work—taking a professional MMA fight was always a net loss. The only fighters making real money were the big show fighters; guys fighting for national organizations on televised shows. It was what every fighter dreamed off—getting “the call”. A call from a big-time promoter to come up from the small time and prove you have what it takes to hang with the best fighters in the nation. For Ethan, it would mean the dream of a lifetime made real.
For years after college, he lived in a house with four other fighters, struggling to make it in the brutal fight game. He worked part time bouncing in bars and doing concert security. He taught the beginners class at the gym—enough to make rent and pay his bill every month, and not much else.
One day, he looked in the mirror and realized he couldn’t do it forever. The day would come when he had to walk away. And he needed a fallback career. So, he caved and took an entry level position with the small publishing house, tracking sales. It paid better than bouncing, and it had health insurance—no small perk for a professional athlete. Still, taking the job meant that he had to admit he might never be a famous fighter. He used the word maturity, be in his heart it just felt like selling out.
He was offered a fight two weeks ago. Against a true veteran of the sport. His prospective opponent had three times as many fights as Ethan. This guy had been on the big show, under the lights, but a losing streak saw him cut from the promotion. Now he was looking to cut through contenders like Ethan at small shows, and fight his way back to the top. Ethan believed in his heart, if he could beat this guy—prove he had the skills to hang with the best in the world—he would get the call.
* * *
Sara stuck the plastic container into the microwave. Leftover eggplant parmesan from this weekend. Being a vegetarian had been a surprising change for her. She had switched two years ago, more out of curiosity than anything else. She had never been much of a fan of meat, so the transition came easy to her. She felt better, had more energy. It was earth shattering to see that such a simple change—what she ate—could have ripple effects through her life. She started walking, since she finally could get through her day without feeling like a zombie. Between 30 minute walks every day and her newfound diet regimen, she began to lose weight, slowly, only a few pounds a month, but two years later she was nearly 50lbs lighter. Her coworkers regularly chastised her, bringing in her leftovers. “Cat food” they teased her. A steady diet of microwave meals, fast food, and Chinese takeout had left them with little room to criticize her.
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