I volunteer with our local combat commission sometimes. It puts me right up close to the action as I oversee a locker room full of mostly amateur fighters looking to put themselves to the ultimate test. This past weekend I saw a number of young men step into the cage for their first time. I observed the pre-fight jitters that ranged from multiple trips to the urinal to vomiting in the toilet right before being called out. They were excited to put themselves through a level of challenge that most of us mortals would do almost anything to avoid. I could tell that they had the spirit of “what will be will be” but I could also sense their hunger to win.
It’s like, above all else, I hope to survive and reach the other side of that bell without injury but besides that I really want to have my hand raised. People don’t compete to lose and they certainly don’t risk their health unless they think there is a decent chance that they will end up on top. But of course, when it’s mano e mano, someone ends up on the bottom.
In my volunteer capacity I escort fighters and their cornermen to the cage, listening and observing to ensure regulations are adhered to and that the fighter’s safety is prioritized. It also means I get to sit in the front row for the fight. On this night, I witnessed spectacular knockouts, exciting exchanges, and one fighter go completely unconscious from a chokehold. What stood out the most for me though, were two specific fights in which I heard the unmistakable sound of a man reaching his limits.
Amateur MMA fights are composed of three, three minute rounds. That’s nine minutes total of fighting with two, one-minute breaks. To the uninitiated that might not sound like a very harrowing competition in comparison to say, a marathon or even 48 minute basketball game. There is something particularly taxing about fighting for one’s life in a cage though. Every muscle is engaged in order to keep your opponent from getting the best of you. Every sport involves the potential of losing but in this sport, if you’re losing, you’re getting hurt and there is a whole other level of adrenaline that kicks in to keep you tense and on your toes. That adrenaline is typically meant to get you out of trouble in a matter of seconds, not minutes. Fight or flight is a right now thing, not a pace yourself for nine minutes thing.
Even the most physically fit amateur fighter will likely succumb to an adrenaline dump a few minutes in and have the life drained out of him. Throw in the fact that getting hit and smothered by someone your size is extremely exhausting itself. In one of the fights that stood out to me, the fighter making his debut hit a wall in the third round after six straight minutes of being out grappled. He was pinned and smothered. He wasn’t taking much damage in terms of strikes and he wasn’t at risk of getting submitted either, nevertheless he was rendered immobile. He let out a visceral grunt as if he was hogtied and needed someone to come let him loose. He had run out of counters or the energy necessary to attempt such reversals and he was defeated. I saw the look in his eyes. It wasn’t shame for losing. It looked more as if he were a child in terror. Someone do something. Let me up. I can’t do anything about this. I can’t go on any longer.
The bell rang and it took all his might just stand up so that the referee could declare his opponent the victor via judge’s decision. The fight was over but it was still difficult for him to catch his breath.
His teammate faired even worse. This fight had no grappling, which is often what drains fighters of their energy but it did involve the young guy receiving strikes to the body dozens of times. He took significant blow after thudding blow to his solarplexes and remarkably stayed standing. No matter how tough you are, your body shuts down when it gets hit enough. The bell for the end of the second round saved him from further punishment but I could hear it in his voice as he spoke with his corner men. They asked him if he could keep going and with agony in his voice he recognized that he too had reach his physical and spiritual limit. He was at hell’s doorstep. I motioned to the ringside doctor that he was not able to continue and sure enough the fight was over.
In my capacity with the commission I oversee the hand wrapping and the preparations leading up to the fight. I ensure compliance with regulations during the fight and I also am present in the locker room after the fights.
I’ve seen fighters who expected to win but didn’t and leave with extreme disappointment. There is something sickening about knowing that you could have performed better but you didn’t. You prepare for so long just to be defeated in mere minutes.
The countenance of these young competitors was nothing like that. Despite being handed potentially embarrassing losses, these young men were both humbled in their defeat AND somehow proud of their efforts. After a fight competitors are often euphoric whether they have won or lost. All they want to do is talk about it. They act as if they were involved in the most exciting battle ever recorded in history. They immediately want to find their opponent and embrace them. Once you have gone to war with someone there is a bond that is forged not entirely unlike the bond after making love.
The two gentlemen who were utterly destroyed looked like they were on the empathogen drug MDMA post-fight. They were ecstatic. Everyone was getting a hug or a fist bump. They demonstrated their respect and admiration for anyone who dared go into the cage because now they knew what it was like.
I śaw no trace of disappointment in their losses. The guy who took the body shots was in pain but he was happy that he didn’t “get too seriously hurt”. They were both high on a euphoria that comes, I think, from being brought to their limits and surviving.
Neither competitor “tapped out” but they both reached the mental and physical breaking point where they couldn’t continue. For a brief moment they returned to a state of helplessness and vulnerability that they hadn’t experienced since infancy. And apparently it felt great.
Carl Jung argued there were three different kinds of happiness, one of which is the joy one feels when suffering ends. So perhaps there was some of that in this equation, but I believe there is actually something else psychologically beneficial to being pushed to one’s limits to point of submission, beyond just the relief that comes when it’s over.
Nassim Taleb coined the term “anti fragile” to describe things that gain from disorder and resistance. Getting stronger from being exposed to that which doesn’t kill you. But it’s much more than just being strong or tough. It’s not about withstanding one’s suffering but actually benefiting because of it.
It could be that these fighters were euphoric because they could sense they had just levelled up in their training as mixed martial artists and men. That their suffering was over and now they were going to be that much stronger, more skilled, and wiser. That’s not what I sensed in the locker room though. It wasn’t so much that they were inflated with a sense of improvement, it was more like they had just discovered something within that they didn’t know existed. Pema Chodron wrote in her book, “When it All Falls Apart”, that when we face extreme suffering and destruction we unveil the part of us that is indestructible.
In their humbling defeats their egos were stripped to their raw core and for a brief moment they saw within themselves the divine element that was indestructible.
Let that be a lesson to anyone who feels like they have been brought to their emotional, physical and psychological limits. You are anti fragile in the sense that you will gain strength from resistance. You are capable of surviving this storm. And then when you do, you will catch a glimpse of the part of you that can never be destroyed.