Simon on Ready For Take-Off.
"Having fought at every possible range, from non-contact Karate to full-on Animal Day, I know how hard it is to prepare yourself for it, especially the mental side of things.
Whatever your level or style of fighting, the week running up to your bout (s) can really take its toll.
I hope Ready For Take Off, A Fighter's Tale does the fighter and the week some justice."
The day always starts the same. Actually, scrub that, the week does. The week starts the same. From the Monday morning when you wake up and find that your next relaxing weekend is many moons away and you have to live with is fight or flight, that is when it starts. The doubts, the occasional moments of euphoria, “At least I am trying, at least I am doing something,” the pats on the bag and the snidey, inevitable comments. “Who does he think he is?” This from one who knows of your efforts but belittles them as foolish nonsense. Not the things that dreams are made of. Though in answer to their question and as the week goes by you alternate, with your answers. “Yeah, who do I think I am?” is quickly, thankfully, followed by, “I’m the one good enough to do this.” And there is the knock of the door, the next set of shock to your adrenal system as you see yourself in six days from now, no idea who you will face, no idea how good they are. And herein lies your dilemma, your choices, your way out. Pack it in now and suffer a few days ridicule and then life goes on. Who remembers what anyone did a year later anyway? Too busy getting on with their own things. Or stay. Stay on for that nightmare week when fear and its chemical cocktails engulf you. Tuesday comes around and my God did you sleep last night? Of course you did because you spent the night sparring, wrestling, pushing. So you slept but the wake-up call was an early one as your conscious set the alarm. “Hello, remember where we are this weekend.” said friendly conscience as it places these words in your head. YOU…ARE…ABOUT…TO GET FUCKED UP. Still want to go on? Okay then. Go on but this will help. Replace those words with. NO…I’M FUCKING NOT. Get in the car, blast the music, anything, everything, all of it. Tuesday passes like a dream, but tick tok. The adrenaline has now bought it up a notch and you try to hide the tremor in your hands, so your loved ones don’t see, and you think… “Fucking hell. Nobody is making me do this. I am under no obligation.” But you are. You are obligated and it is to yourself. This, this could be life changing. These small but absolutely giant steps could be life changing. Suffer the fear, suffer it and deal with it because somewhere down the line, well, it is life changing. And then you realise that not everything about this is a Eureka moment. Some of it might actually be what you are supposed to do. You breeze through Wednesday, Thursday isn’t that bad but the then the dreaded Friday and my God, is it the dread. No work, no pub, no training because your body needs, no, demands rest and so whilst everybody else heads to the bright lights, you sit inside and watch a television soap that has never held much interest for you anyway. Just you and your friend fear. And of course, the other buddy, the other guy who looks on in the background. His name is hope. You know you have packed your bag, you know you have, but of course you are going to do it again and it isn’t because you are sloppy or isn’t in case you have forgotten something. It is just something to do, something to black out the voices. Something to bridge that gap between now and later. You are awake long before the alarm tells you to be and that’s okay, because the people who care about you were awake as well. The adrenalin has now reached a stage were only deep breathing (hidden, no need for anyone to see), positive self-talk, and crazy, loud music are the only things that will keep that beast quiet, at least for a bit. The journey to the venue feels like ONE MILLION FUCKING MILES, yet as soon as you arrive it is too soon. Now you don’t want to get out of the car, but also you do. Of course you do. The fear has now been reduced to just what it was all along and that is a natural response to what you are about to do. You are about to fight or flight. You choose, you make your choice. You decide to fight. Flight is for others, and God love them that was their choice to make, but still the body aches, and tremble, and wants to cry but instead delights in the absolute glory of what you are about to do. You are alone, you are alone in the changing room, and this is your feeling, only you can feel this. Your gloves are on, your headphones plugged in as you listen to one last song that will get you pumped enough for this. And then you move, your name called and whatever your arena, the mats, a ring, a cage, whatever. It doesn’t matter, because it is all the same journey. A journey through lots of failures, plenty of small victories, much heartbreak, much love, but mostly fear. And you look at the guy opposite you and you realise. He felt exactly the same. And then you are ready for take-off.
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