“Fight Day- Let’s Go!”
It’s 4 am and I find myself sitting at the window of our hotel room in Sandton, Johannesburg. As I watch dozens of workers walk down Grayston Drive on their way to work before the sun has even risen, I am reminded of how blessed I am.
Whenever I feel overwhelmed before a fight or a competition, I remind myself that I don’t have to do this, I get to do this. I could be getting ready to clock in at my corporate marketing job right now, or worse sleeping off a hangover after an all-night bender. Instead, I get to wake up in the shape of my life, excited to test myself at the highest level of African MMA!
Hair braids, check. Fight gear, check. Sponsor banner, check. Wraps and gloves, check. Final equipment checks and after lunch, it’s time to head down to the venue.
The event is already in full swing when we arrive at the EFC Performance Institute at 4 pm. I’m slapped with a sensory overload walking through the dark and loud space. We are shown to our warm-up area and I am directed to meet the medic for a urine test.
As he hands me a small styrofoam container, I realize that I have never “peed in a cup” outside of an OBGYN appointment before. I walk my warm cup of urine from the lady’s cubicle to the young medic stationed around the corner. The test is to check hydration levels, but I can’t help but feel nerves around what this guy may find when swabbing. Am I dangerously dehydrated and at risk of the fight being pulled? Could I have accidentally taken tainted supplements and am about to get flagged for doping? Maybe I’m pregnant? He watches his swab change colour and gives me the thumbs up. I’m cleared.
Back in the warm-up area, it’s time to start wrapping my hands. Mike starts the wrapping ritual with a prayer as he massages my hands. Finger by finger, he straps supporting gauze and tape around my digits and weaves it around my hands and wrists. Once my hands are wrapped, it’s game time.
We try to carve out some mat space for a warm-up, but the fighter before me, has his entire gym and family warming him up and dancing around him! Every time I get into a warm-up zone, I’m dodging a falling body from slamming into me or tripping over a groupie’s feet. It’s hard to stay focused and I can’t help but wonder if the lack of respect for my space is because I’m a woman or he’s a douche. Probably both.
Pacing up and down moments before the fight, I think about the two other fighters on this card who threw a hissy fit about a debutant being on the main card instead of them. I think about my kids watching on TV live. The watch party in Cape Town and those who travelled all the way here to support me live. I think about how we have sacrificed time away from our kids for me to do this. “Imagine the anti-climax for everyone if you lose,” I say to myself. “ It’s simple, just fucking win!”
After waiting for what feels like forever, I hear my walk-out music. I went with a feel-good song for this one, “Oh the Larceny, Let’s go”. I pull back the black curtains that reveal the lit up the cage at the end of the passage. “Let’s go,” I sing.
Stepping into the EFC hex for the first time, felt like coming home. Sitting in the crowd for all these years -and more recently in the corner, my nerves were always running high thinking about what it must feel like to be inside. As I turn to Mike to slurp up some water through the fencing, I realize that somehow being out there watching one of your own competing, is way scarier than actually being inside.
The fight starts and I immediately move to the centre, the rough sponsor paint on the canvas gripping feet. We trade punches, she lands and I don’t. She throws a hard low kick that stings my IT band. “That hurts more than sparring,” I think. “You need to move or counter that,” I tell myself. She kicks again, I eat it again.
We trade back and forth for a bit as I try to close the distance and look for a takedown. She lands a hard blow that forces a huge exhale from me. “She’s tired! That’s all she has! She’s finished.” her coach shouts.
“F#&k, am I tired?” I think.
“Forty seconds!” Mike shouts.
“Forty seconds! I’ve got 40 seconds in me! I thought there were at least two minutes left. I’m not f#&king tired!” I shoot for a double leg as the round ends.
The second round starts and I feel energized and clear about what I need to do next. My cardio feels great and all my concerns about the altitude playing a factor in this fight melt away. I look at her across the hex, “who’s tired now?” I think.
I got my first professional victory via my first ever submission finish! It’s surreal! All the work and hundreds of hours spent drilling pay off! Mike lifts me in his arms and we kiss in the centre of the hex in what feels like a Disney movie ending- our kind of fairytale anyway.
