Post by lucasbalkan on Jul 24, 2020 5:12:14 GMT -5
Thud.
I heard the sound of pads being struck as I walked into the shared apartment and I knew that they’d started training on time, not waiting for me. That was probably a good thing as I was now very late.
I walked into the bathroom to wash my hands, my knuckles were a little swollen and there was a little blood still on them. I’d cleared the rest of with a rag in the car on my way back here and thrown it into a dumpster after I’d parked up.
“Lucas? Joining us?”
“Yes. One minute.”
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and splashed some water in my face. I had a stress headache but thought it’d be simpler just to get on with things than to open up about where I’d been, why I was late and why my knuckles were red. Just keep moving.
I walked into the room that we’d kitted out to be a practice space. Old crash mats on the floor, gloves, pads and weights strewn around the room. The other three were sparring but didn’t really look like they had broken a sweat. Boxing and kickboxing were really my area for these peer to peer coaching sessions. Others brought other skills.
I stood with my back to them, wrapping my hands, and thought about how harsh I should be, all the while trying to get the bloodied face of “Frank” out of my mind.
“OK. Enough sparring. Burpee pyramid. Two of you pair up and the other with me. Keep your guards up at all times.”
I don’t know if there’s really a name for what I was making them do. It was always just forced upon me by other coaches.
30 seconds of hitting pads or the heavy bag then one burpee.
30 seconds of hitting pads or the heavy bag then two burpees.
All the way up to twenty burpees and all the way back down to one. It would help as a cardio workout to stop them blowing up in the ring and it would train their technique too, especially when tired.
About halfway through, the strength of the hits starts to fade a little but it doesn’t matter as long as their guard stays up.
With only a few rounds to go, I left my training partner and instructed him to use the heavy bag for his remaining rounds as I walked over to watch the other two. They looked exhausted. As I arrived, one of them noticed me and made a point of holding his guard up higher but the other didn’t. I walked around past her and as she dropped her guard gave her a – what I thought was – gentle jab on the jaw. She didn’t agree.
“Fucks sake Lucas.”
“Keep your guard up.”
“Yeah, alright, but still… that fucking hurt.”
I walked away and caught myself starting to smirk ever so slightly. I walked over to watch my partner on the heavy bag for the remaining few sets. Another who was struggling with the fitness and his arms were dropping as a result.
“Your guard is dropping. Don’t fade now.”
“I… can’t… I’m…”
He didn’t finish, just shook his head and brought his arms up properly. He did two burpees and was back on his feet. I rolled my eyes as the guard dropped again.
“Come on, don’t fucking fade, it’s not over until it’s over.”
He raised it again for a few seconds and then was down to do his last burpee. 30 seconds to go now and he was on his feet but his guard dropped again. I was frustrated now but there was not long to go.
With only a handful of seconds to go, I stepped over and punched him in the kidney from behind. He crumpled to his knees, breathing heavily and his face bright red.
“It’s not over until it’s over. Don’t fade out. And keep your fucking guard up.”
All three of them were on the ground recovering, panting and grimacing. I walked over to the side of the room and started to take off my hand wraps. I couldn’t help but notice that I was smiling widely.
That was one way to forget all about Frank.
You ask if there’s anything that brings me joy, Emerson. Does anything make me smile? Sure. I am not heartless, friend. I don’t care for pizza or have fond childhood memories that do it for me but there are things that do. Things that bring a rush of endorphins and give a moment of joy much like that January evening in 2019.
The first draw of a cigarette in the morning, it’s a moment when the day starts anew and as I exhale the smoke I can expel anything that has plagued me overnight.
The sound of a kick to a Thai boxing pad that connects correctly. I assume that when I train with the others around me, I look demented as I smile but there’s little more satisfying than that sound.
When I see Kadi and her partner living their life together. The seconds between when I arrive and can see them and when they notice me. Despite the barriers and the pains, they are just living their normal life. Those seconds before they notice me and we have to address the charade that we created for others, they make me smile.
Do I wish that I had a normal life?
You ask an intriguing question, Emerson. Do I wish that I had not experienced the things that I have? Do I wish that I had not lost the people that I have lost? Do I wish that harrowing things and exceptional circumstances had not continually found their way to me?
Maybe.
Perhaps I wish that I could have led an unremarkable life. Maybe I wish that I was not black while racism still exists in every country that I have lived. Maybe I wish that I was not raised Muslim in a world that treats almost 2 billion people with suspicion because of the actions of a few thousand maniacs. Maybe I wish that my sexuality and love life were more straight forward, that I would be with someone that I loved and be comfortable doing so. Maybe I wish that my parents, my neighbours, my friends and others that I lost along the way would have grown old peacefully and gracefully, watching my normal life unfold.
Then again…
Maybe I don’t.
I’m not a sociopath, Emerson. Of course, I know that all of these things would make my life easier, happier and would make for less darkness on my soul. I listen to your stories of caring for your child, of being a better man than your own father and I know that this is what we’re all meant to aspire to. This is the life that I should want to lead. Happier, more wholesome, more fulfilling.
However, I am who I am. Every one of the moments, the experiences, the losses and heartbreaks, every drop of blood spilled and broken bone… They made me who I am. I did not choose to be who I am now. I was made this way by the attitudes, words and actions of others, friend and foe.
Do I have friends now? No, I don’t think so. There are people in my life who I rely on in some ways and those who rely on me but I don’t know if friendship is how I would describe them. Kadi, for one, is someone important in my life but we are effectively using our connection for our own ends. The others around me? Those who I live with, train with, plan with? I don’t think that we consider ourselves friends. Allies perhaps. A spirit of solidarity and shared purpose over companionship. I’ve had friends in the past, I’m sure. But many of them were simply friends based on proximity than genuine friendship, their memories are tainted by my experiences in each place where I stayed long enough to make those connections.
Do I have friendship in my life? No, probably not. Do I have friendship or an interest in friendship in SFT? Certainly not.
So, Emerson, I will politely decline your offer of your hand in friendship. I have something else.
I have something that so many of faith crave. Not closeness to any God, not a snow-white morality, not redemption or everlasting life… No, I have clarity.
The person who I am now is the person that I need to be. For each one of the steps and missteps along the way have led me here. Were I a luckier or more normal person then there’s every chance that I would not be standing here, on the verge of another World Title reign.
I am perfectly clear in what I want. I am no longer searching for who I am, Emerson. I have found him and I am comfortable in my own skin.
It’s because I am so comfortable with who I am that I can be honest about who others are. You are great at many things, Emerson. A caring family man, a supportive father, a great fighting champion. Maybe had I had a different path leading me to here, I would be more like you. Maybe that would be better.
I believe that you have grown significantly as a man and in your professional stature since the first time that we met, even more so since you took my title from me in 2017. We live in a world in 2020 that is continually tough on us all, unbearably full of death and inconceivably difficult to navigate. Yet, in spite all of that, you remain relentlessly positive and good.
Or you did, it seems, until recently.
I do not believe that you are not fated to fade away, Emerson. To allow yourself to believe that as you may lose the World Title suggests that you have forgotten the most important thing about our business. It’s not the belt that makes the man, it is the man who makes the belt. You say that retaining or losing the title will not make a difference to you but I get the impression that there is something else at play.
You talk about your strength in caring for others, for me even. That strength in caring for others can only be wielded by someone who is comfortable in their own self. I was sure that you were. You were the good guy. The ying to my yang. Regardless of the fact that I aim to take that title from you, don’t lose sight of who you are. It’s important to know that.
I know who I am.
Make no mistake, my friend, that I will stop at nothing when we meet in the ring to take your title from you. If I am wrong and the fate of the great champion Emerson Embry is to fade away into the background because he loses his title, I won’t hesitate for a moment to play my part in that final act.
Because, while one story is ending at the end of our match, another is beginning. It has taken me a long time to be back here, physically and mentally, and I have not done it alone. I am ready to close the book on the journey back to the top of the mountain and begin writing the next chapters.
Those chapters and tales will involve a champion who is comfortable in his own skin and who is burning bright, not fading out. One who accepts life and death, light and darkness, pain and joy as part of the story and does not run from them.
Once upon a time, I ran. I ran from men with guns, I ran from teenagers with sticks, I ran from police, I ran from my past and who I was. No more. I am done running.
On Tuesday night, I will not run but I will walk out with the SFT World Title belt and I will begin to write the future.
