Life is a Fight

Why do silent rooms make the most noise at night? Not the rhythmic knocking of a ceiling fan or the vibrating hum of the air conditioner, but the noise that everybody hears but doesn’t actually make a sound. I hope my opponent is going through this torture too.

“Bobby I love you but, please quit over-thinking everything, you’ve been doing this your whole life so just do what you know how to do. Now get some sleep or quits shaking your legs so much so I can at least!”

My wife Brandy, loving and direct as only she can.

“You’re right babe, it’s just another fight”

I responded as I look at her soft, innocent face resting peacefully on a pillow covered slightly by the end of the blanket. I couldn’t help but give her cheek a gentle kiss. The pureness of her love motivates me. At the same time I am terrified to let her down. I also know how she is with a lack of sleep so I swiped my father’s old notebook off the nightstand and tiptoed to the den.

I told her it was just another fight but that was just another one of my lies that I’m not proud of. I prefer to call them secrets more than lies to avoid confrontation. You might find it laughable to hear professional boxer say he fears conflict but if you knew who I fight, why I fight, and what I fight for then you might begin to understand. What was just another fight to her was my whole life’s work being put on display. Sure the basics are the same, you fight an opponent, and the winner takes home the prize money and all the glory. That is the easy part. The boxing match is just a competition. Everything leading up to it; life outside of the ring is the real fight. Losing my father, who was my coach, two weeks before we got to share the most special moment of our lives together was the real battle. Now I’m stuck here alone, unsure if I can win without him there. If it wasn’t for this notebook I wouldn’t be able to connect with him. Lately I would thumb through the smooth, old pages for inspiration. Each page contained volumes of information. Every word was there for a reason and no word was wasted. Whether it was just a thought-provoking quote or an observation, it was deeper than the letters on the page. The notebook was a painting of what my father stood for.

As my eyes followed the lines of his writing like needle on a record player follows the grooves on a vinyl record his voice echoed inside my head. Each page was another song, another piece of art, that to anyone else would have been nonsense but to me was guidance and motivation. I thought back to times when he would make me write the same thing over and over until I filled the page, “Bobby, you’re a champion. Bobby, you’re a champion.”

Tomorrow was my chance to prove him right.

On the back was his favorite saying, “If you’re not dead you’re still in the fight.” That one never really spoke to me as much as it did now. I’m afraid of letting him, my wife, and all my peers down. Ironically all they want do is show their support, which I have, win or lose.

How is it that people that speak the least say the most? Even after death my father spoke me off the proverbial ledge. Tired, I humbly crept back in the room and slid under the covers as weightlessly as I could to not wake up Brandy. As I lay behind her I can smell shampoo as her hair softly brushes against my face and finally I’m in my happy place. Finally I can get some rest.

There’s nothing like the emotions you feel before a fight. Thinking about all possible outcomes, negative and positive, all day long. Did I train enough? Did my opponent train more? At the end of the day I have a job to do and I have the opportunity to make dream become a reality. Sleep, doubt, and other people have nothing to do with my ability to make it happen. The whole day is pretty much a blur. After stretching most of the morning I eat a light lunch then head to the arena to get ready for the big fight.

On the way I have to stop by my Dad’s resting place. I had to thank him for all the time and effort he put in to me. I let him know that I heard his words, listened to the lessons, and took away the wisdom he had scribed over time. I read him some of his favorite quotes. I told him while the battle is over for him, it still carries on with me and I’ll continue to fight.

The day goes on and it’s still like a dream leading up to the fight itself. Once I get to the arena I know it’s real. Screaming fans line the street, cameras flashing all around, and my face on the billboard serve as a reminder that there is still work to do. Instead of a fresh pressed pair of slacks I put on my flashy black and gold shorts with the name “Bobby Knuckles” on the waistband. Substituting tightly laced, ankle high boots for wingtips, and boxing gloves for cuff links, I’m finally dressed for work. I kiss my nervous wife before she heads off to her seat to watch.

Once again, I’m in a silent room full of noise. The knocking of the fan and the constant vibrating hum of all the people in the building was comforting. It was the noise in my head again that I couldn’t block out. That means there’s one last thing to do before I make the walk into the ring. I pick up my notebook to get one last boost of motivation. “You’re a fighter, fighters fight.” I can hear his voice booming in my head as I had countless times before while training for this moment. “Bobby, you’re a champion. Bobby, you’re a champion.” Time for the easy part.

Sometimes the loudest rooms can be the quietest. Thousands of screaming fans stomping their feet and clapping their hands but I hear no one. Thousands of faces but I only see my opponent’s. I have physically and mentally prepared for this moment. Once the bell rang instinct and preparation took over and I was merely a passenger in a body doing the job it was trained to do.

Once the fight ends the dream is over and all the silence turns to pandemonium. All the faces come into focus, the low rumblings became a deafening roar, the referee raised my had and all the emotions came pouring out. My wife came running into the ring, we did it. This was her fight to, she has been through everything with me. When they walked up with the $20,000 prize money I made sure she was the first to touch it because it still didn’t seem real to me. I wish my father was here to see this but I know he knew this was going to happen all along.