Have a Nice Day by Mick Foley

ropes, and as a result, took the force of the cable on my liver instead of my latissimus muscle. By the next morning, I was peeing blood, but I went through it all again the next day. I was so banged up that I could hardly move.
    Dinner following my first session in Freedom stands out as a particularly memorable occasion. There was a Bonanza steakhouse about seventy-five yards from the Admiral Perry, and despite the sure eight dollars I would have to spend, I decided I deserved it and headed out the door. I was so weak that I could hardly hold the heavy oak door, and nearly tripped and fell onto the marble-tiled floor. Actually, it was a cheap pressboard door and a dirty rug, but it was difficult nonetheless. Without exaggeration, the seventy-five-yard walk took me at least ten minutes, as every fiber in my being throbbed with pain. The porterhouse on my plate did nothing to soothe me, as “What the hell am I doing here?” became my question of the day. Actually, I would ask myself that same question every day for the next several weeks, whenever I wrestled in Western Pennsylvania.
    I was both physically and mentally exhausted when Dominic asked to speak to me after my Sunday workout. “Kid, we need to talk about money,” he said flatly. “How much ya think you should pay?” This was uncomfortable to me, especially the part about me suggesting a price. Even today, I hate to be asked how much money I want. I would rather shoot down an offer and make a counter offer for much more than flat-out request the same amount. I had heard that DeNucci’s school was $100 a day. I didn’t even have $100 period, let alone per day, so I decided to shoot low with the veteran and said, “How about fifty?”
    He thought it over and shook his head. “No,” he said, “I can’t do that.” My heart sank, before he continued his dismissal. “It’s too high-how about $25?” I couldn’t believe it. Next he said, “You gonna need some boots, these are brand-new-you want them, give me $25, okay?”
    “Yes sir,” I quickly answered, as even in my wrestling infancy, I knew a bargain when I saw one. Those $25 boots would go on to see ceiling (lose matches) in some of the finest arenas in the country-as well as some of the emptiest armories and parking lots.
    Even at the discounted rate I had so shrewdly bargained for, I knew that I couldn’t continue to throw money around like I had. So I began skimping on certain things like food and lodging. The Bonanza was out, as was just about any place that charged for food. The era of the jar of peanut butter and the loaf of bread was ushered in. Even at $16 a night, I knew I couldn’t afford both Friday and Saturday night in a motel, so Fridays officially became car night. I threw two sleeping bags into the backseat of my Fairmont, where they stayed for the next year and a half. I would leave Cortland at 10 P.M. every Friday night for the eight-hour trip to Freedom-giving myself six extra hours to rest. If I made it all the way, I would park at the gym and sleep in front of it. If I got tired along the way, I would simply pull over at a hotel and park in the lot, curl up, and catch a nap.
    Sometimes the guys would get to the school and have to wake me up. Often the car would be covered in snow, and I would emerge like a bear from hibernation, ready to rumble. I actually enjoyed my backseat bed, as I was very aware that this was part of my paying my dues, and as I kept reminding myself in ten-degree weather, it was building character. It seems to have worked, and I can honestly say that one of the great comforts in my life is that I feel completely deserving of all the good things that have come my way in the last few years. I know for a fact that I earned them.
    Not all my car memories are happy ones. About a year after starting at DeNucci’s school, I set out for another weekend of training. I would alternate driving the New York State Thruway west to Erie, Pennsylvania, where I would turn