Head Down, Hands Up

The light’s too bright, and I can’t see. There’s a crowd on all sides that’s cheering, and I don’t know if they’re cheering me, him, or the blood on the floor. A blurred shape makes its way towards me, and I duck my head down and put my gloves on my temples. He swings a hard left hook that catches me on the ribs. I pop a glove over and drive his head between his shoulders.

Then the bell rings.

* * *

I woke up that afternoon like any other. Ate leftover pizza, worked out, took a shower. I had no idea what was coming that night.

Sometimes opportunities like this one drop on your lap, and you’re not sure if you can cut it, but you got to give it a shot, right? It’s frightening. There’s consequences for failure and no gold stars for effort. Sometimes, you’re not even sure if there’s going to be any reward for all you put into it.

That’s about how I felt when KB came knocking on my door.

He let himself in and yelled, “Hey, you home man?”

I shuffled out of the bathroom still half asleep, “Yeah. Just a sec” and changed clothes in my room.

“You know it’s five, man, right? You just waking up?” KB said.

I grumbled something-something about altered sleep schedules and biological clocks. He cut me off and said he had something for me.

“Another fight. Well, a few. You down?” he said.

I sat back and rubbed a knot on my head, “Who are they and when? Do I know’m?”

He inched his way toward the door and goes, “Two hours. Fifty a pop. You in? I already signed you up.”

I waited a second, stretched my back in the chair, and go, “Alright.”

* * *

So I’m doing three fights in a row-tournament style. KB puts his hands on my shoulders and squeezes hard. He rolls around to the front and checks my wraps and gloves.

The announcer comes in sketchy over the microphone, “In this corner, Nelson…. In that corner….”

KB puts his hands on my cheeks, “You ready? You got this?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I do” I say while nodding.

“You just go in there and do what you do best, baby. Head down, hands up. Take a hit to land a hit and don’t go down.”

With that, the bell rings.

Fight 1: Skinny guy pops a few at me. It takes about three swings to put him down. I sit down for two minutes, the bell rings for the next fight.

Fight 2: This one is bigger than me. Slams one right over my eye and cuts it open. I duck down, weave, and come up under him–a hard cross to his jaw sticks it sideways, and he goes down. Two minutes. Ring.

Fight three. I’m tired. Blood’s in my eye. He keeps throwing punches, top bottom body face. I can’t even keep my hands up–he busts my nose. I circle around, get a little wind in me, and put everything I got into a body shot. Knockdown. The ref checks him when he gets up–he’s good. Bell rings, I swoop in and pop another one. Knockdown. Stay down. Two seconds. Ring. Before I know it, I’m in the chair, and KB’s over me saying something. The ref comes and checks if I’m still good to fight. I don’t know what they’re saying, but I clap my gloves together and nod.

I get up and think about laying down, wipe the sweat and blood off my eye. He comes in and catches me hard on the ribs. The lights are too bright. I can’t see anything. I swing blindly and land one right on his head. I felt his knees go weak as he collapsed under my glove. The bell rings.

I’m standing there still, head down, hands up. KB carries me under my shoulder off the ring. Cleans me up.

He puts a wad on cash in my shirt and goes, “Good job man. If you write like you fight, ain’t nothing going to stop you.”

So that’s what I did. I told you all of that to tell you one thing: if you’re going to be successful in what you do, you have to do it like it’s a fight for your life. You can’t make mistakes and let opportunities slip by. Whether you’re looking for jobs, doing jobs, or whatever you need to do–go into it head down, hands up, and give it all you’ve got. Nothing can stop you then.

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