First MMA Fight On National Record
I had been up for a couple days doing finals and helping others with projects and such. I was drained. Unfortunately a friend’s birthday just happened to fall towards the end of that couple days of work and I really was not in the mood to party. All I wanted was sleep. It became clear though, that if I didn’t go to this birthday party I would never hear the end of it. So I agreed to go, under the conditions that I show up late, leave early, and not drink. The friend I was going with agreed she would do the same. Upon our arrival we were hounded with “just one drink”, and eventually accepted.
One turned into the entire night, which turned into morning. The sun was coming up, and I was still drunk. I got back to my place and saw I had a message on my recently obtained “house phone”. It was from the head coach at the MMA gym. Not good, I though; He doesn’t contact anyone. The message simply said “Fight. Call me.” I did. He answered the phone with “How much do you weigh!?” In my condition words were not coming easy, but I managed to say 180. “You’re fighting this weekend. Can you be 170 by Friday?” … yes. “Can you do it without killing yourself?” …yes. “Ok. I’ll get you the details later.”
Just like that it was over. I hung up and went to sleep. When I woke up I wondered if it had been a dream. It was not. Before I went to bed I scribbled some things about the fight on the dry erase board (though most of it was illegible). I went to go weigh myself. 185lbs. Damn. I like to have at least 30 days notice before a fight, have a training plan, and be sober that whole time. Finding out I was fighting with less than a weeks notice, drunk, 15lbs over weight was not ideal. I promptly began training.
Training intensely, yes, but not thoughtlessly. Thanks to years of college study in exercise science I was qualified and prepared to make the necessary adjustments to my training schedule to make the most of what I was given. Which wasn’t much. This was really not how I wanted the first fight to count on my national record to go down. Especially when compared against how it was supposed to go down a month earlier. A fight is a fight though, and I knew I had to take it. I wanted no more delays.
Days of university final exams combined with morning and nights of drills. Midweek I actually found out about my opponent. 6’1’’, coming from a gym known for its brawling kickboxing game. I saw a video of one of his gym mates/friend/coach fighting. It was just how I’d imagined it: tough, but slightly sloppy. “Well good. He may have a reach advantage, but I’ve got every other advantage. Not worried” I thought to myself. “I’m going to take my right shin and kick his right ear… via his left ear.”
I had spent the week rigorously preparing. The day before the weigh ins I weighed myself to make sure I was on track. “185lbs.” NO! I hadn’t dropped anything! I now had 24 hours to sweat out 15 lbs! I spend the next 24 hours in hell. The morning of the weigh ins not only was I still desperately trying to cut weight, but I didn’t even know where the weigh ins were! All I knew was that they were supposed to be at 6pm, which also happened to be the same time as a final exam I was to take that day. The coach said he would get the weight ins moved to an earlier time and to a location downtown only a couple minutes from the university so I could make the test. Around noon I received a message: “weigh ins – downtown. 4:30pm”. Good! This would give me time to focus on cutting a dangerous amount of water from my body.
Around 3pm I headed to a buddies house who lived right next to where the weigh ins would be held so I could relax until it was time. Needless to say I wasn’t thinking quite right with that level of dehydration. I knew I needed fluids as soon as the weigh ins where over, so on the way to my buddies I stopped at a grocery to get some so I would be prepared. Ever gone to a grocery when you’re hungry? It was like that but much worse. I came out of the store with gallons and gallons of all different kinds of liquids. I showed up to my buddies place with a big cooler (that I couldn’t drink yet) and passed out on their floor. “You look awful! Please don’t die on my rug…” Thanks.
4pm came and then a phone call. It was the coach. Not good. He began speaking with a pleasant tone and niceties; I could tell bad things were coming. He tells me my weigh ins have been moved to a location an hour away, but that they are still at 4:30. If I had had enough fluids to speed up my heart and become stressed I’m sure I would have done it, but as it was it was all I could do to write down the directions he was giving me. “Don’t worry” he said “you can weigh in up until 5:30”. Yeah, but I had to get there first, and that meant driving, in my current condition….
I passed the turn off for the place the weigh ins were at twice. I failed to be informed that there was so much road construction it blocked the sight of absolutely everything I was told to look for. By the time I made it to the satellite weigh in place it was past 5:30, barley, but they let me weigh in anyway thankfully. I MADE WEIGHT! I had successfully sweated out 15lbs in 24 hours! I felt like I would die, but I looked great. The whole weigh in process itself was dodgy as the official from the commission wasn’t even there, but they assured me it was ok. “It had better be!” was the only thought on my mine. “If this gets cancelled for some reason, I’m fighting SOMEBODY!”
With that I set off to go try and take some part of this test. I was driving as best I could, chugging as much liquid as I could get my hands on, but I was still thoroughly messed up from the dehydration. I stopped at a stop sign and spent about 10 minutes fading in and out of concussions blacking out. I finally looked up and shouted exasperated “This light is taking forever!” I though if it didn’t change soon I was just going to run it… except it was a sign and not a light… so I probably was not in the best shape for this exam but I showed up anyway, over an hour late, and left the test mostly blank. I’m lucky I was able to write my name on it. I still wound up getting a “B” in the class though, so I wouldn’t change anything.
After my “exam” I went back to my place, drank 3 gallons of fluid, and passed out. When I awoke, it was the morning of the fight. There was a big Brazilian Jujitsu tournament that day, and a friend’s pole dancing exhibition I would miss, so no one was coming to my fight. Just me. Even my coach was late getting there because he needed to help everyone at the jujitsu tournament.
Before the coach got to the site I wondered around the fight venue and that’s when I came across my opponent. Courtney Wolf. “You must be Nash.” How did you know? “You look like your picture on the fighter database.” Damn, I had forgotten about that. “Is your name really Nash Nash!?” Ha, forgot about that too. Just Nash. The fight commissioner entered it wrong, and I thought it was great so I didn’t say anything. They just put me down as ‘whatever’ Nash each time. They’ve got me down for this one as “James Nash”. We laughed.
As I talked to my opponent I discovered something: This guy was genuinely likeable. In order to stay focused I went walking around, far from him, before the rules meeting. Right before the rules meeting I had a bit of a run-in with some of the officials. “Says here your name’s Nash Nash.” Yeah, it’s supposed to be just “Nash” actually. “Nash what?” Just Nash. “We need two names.” Then put Nash Nash. “Two different names.” Match up list says James. Try that. “Two REAL names.” They’re all real, I said. Then the promoter came over. “Let me see some I.D.” I handed him some. “These have different names!” Pick on then. Nash is the important part. “What’s your REAL name?” Any of them. “What’s your Christian name?” …. And now I was in a fight with the promoter.
Around this time my coach arrived. He happened to be highly respected and carried a bit of clout amongst the officials. “This your guy?” Said the promoter. “Yes.” Was the reply.
Promoter: “He doesn’t even know his own name!”
Coach: “Yes he does, it’s Nash! One word. Get it right!”
And with that my problems were solved. Not before the promoter went in the database and changed my name from “Nash Nash” to something else though. Later I changed it back. No one tells someone what their name is! It has since been changed again… the battle rages on…
After my skirmish with the promoter there was the rules meeting, then some grappling / Brazilian jujitsu exhibitions, and then to the mixed martial arts fights, of which I was the first fight.
I waited backstage with my coach for my announcement and song, dressed in bright sparkly purple shorts and my American Top Team shirt. The announcer spoke: And now, fighting out of American Top Team, the man known only as Nash, The Wondering Warrior!” The loudspeaker blasted whitesnake's “hear I go again on my own” qued up to the rocking part about 1:30 in. That was my que and off I went with my coach. The walk down to the cage I stayed focused, but I noticed no one clapped or cheered. It didn’t matter; I was there to fight. I entered the cage and did my once over before settling to my side. The announcer called for my opponent to enter: The crowd gave a roaring ovation! It turned out almost every single person there was to see him! No one told me, but I was now the bad guy. Fine, I thought. I will revel in their opposition, and stand triumphantly over their champion. Except, it wasn’t as easy as all that….
It’s not that I expected a poor performance from my opponent; I just expected a far better one from myself. I should have been at focus level 8, but was more at a 5; my confidence proved dangerous when early into the first round my opponent caught me with a punch to the chin that knocked me right out. Falling back, the cage wall caught me and kept me standing. I awoke a couple seconds later in the middle of a terrible beating that put a big cut above my left eyebrow. “What the hell is happening!? This is not what usually happens!” where my only thoughts. I came to and fought for survival the rest of the round. The round ended and my coach came over to give me a “pep talk” that went something like this: “What the fuck are you doing!? Go out the and do what you do best!” With that, round two started. I put my intensity where it needed to be, but I was still discombobulated from the several concussions I’m certain I got the previous round. I fought hard, and was clearly the superior in the second round, but couldn’t score a knockout. During the break between the second and third rounds my coach came over to give me more warm thick coconut water instead of actual water. I was over heating and spit it out. “No more!” I said between gasps. The coach replied “You’re not giving up motherfucker! You’ve come too far!” No NO! I’m not quitting, I just don’t want anymore warm coconut water! I’ll never give up! I just need regular water! “Oh… ok, no problem.” The third round went the same as the second with me as the dominant force, though unable to score a K.O. The fight had gone the distance and had now come to a split decision.. with me as the victor! Despite my terrible performance I managed to score the win.
After the fight I was examined by the doctor and told I needed stitches. If I don’t get them? “Well... we could just glue-burn it.” Do that. (After a couple of days you couldn’t even tell my skull had been hanging out.)
I was pretty sure now that I’d beaten their golden boy the crowd would lynch me. Just the opposed happened though: I became instantly popular. Randoms from the crowd would find me throughout the night and, addressing me by name, congratulate me on my victory and awesome fight. They would buy me drinks through out the night and make small talk, ask for advice, ect. In fact, everyone seemed to be so enamored that we even won “Fight of the Night”. First fight that counted on my national record and I got a win and the “Fight of the Night” award!
Courtney came up to me later in the night and congratulated me, and asked “how did you recover from the beating I gave you in the first round!? I’ve never seen anyone able to do what you did!” I told him that that was my special ability: quick recovery and surviving ferocious ass-beatings. Part of the secret is having a jaguar skull I added half jokingly. “Well, I’m having an after party after the fights. You’re invited.” I talked to my coach later. “You’re not seriously considering going to your opponent’s after party are you?” Smash his face, smash his place; seems like a logical progression to me.
Not only did I go to his after party, I was something of the guest of honor. First though I went out to eat with him, his friends, girlfriend, and mom. We ate at IHOP. It was great, and the second time I’d been out for pancakes that day (recovery from cutting weight wreaks havoc on you). After the dinner we went back to his place and celebrated properly, our fight of the night. We hung out all night partying and talking. “Man, before I fought you” he started, “one of the guys who’d seen you before came up and told me to watch out. He said you were a tough as hell kick boxer. He was right!” I smiled “thanks for the souvenir” I said, pointing to the gash above my eyebrow. He went to the bathroom later and came back out yelling “Nash! Look at this!”. He came out with is shirt raised. There was a red mark over his liver, in the perfect shape of my left fist; I’d left my mark on him as well! I took a picture. Later, now in the morning hours, one of his friends said “Courtney, you limping?” “Yeah. My shin has a big dent in it from when Nash blocked my kick!” Good times.
We partied until the early morning hours. He told me he and his friend where going to Thailand for Muay Thai training in a week or so. They would be gone a month. They were actually going to one of the places I went, and they wanted some tips on things to do or not do, which I gladly gave them. We talked for quit some time before parting ways. It had been on fun short notice experience, despite my lacking performance, but at least I got what I wanted. I gained a victory, fight of the night, motivation to do better, and some new friends.
I left Courtney and friends in the early morning. I had some preparations of my own to take care of; in a week I was to be in Spain…
-Nash
One turned into the entire night, which turned into morning. The sun was coming up, and I was still drunk. I got back to my place and saw I had a message on my recently obtained “house phone”. It was from the head coach at the MMA gym. Not good, I though; He doesn’t contact anyone. The message simply said “Fight. Call me.” I did. He answered the phone with “How much do you weigh!?” In my condition words were not coming easy, but I managed to say 180. “You’re fighting this weekend. Can you be 170 by Friday?” … yes. “Can you do it without killing yourself?” …yes. “Ok. I’ll get you the details later.”
Just like that it was over. I hung up and went to sleep. When I woke up I wondered if it had been a dream. It was not. Before I went to bed I scribbled some things about the fight on the dry erase board (though most of it was illegible). I went to go weigh myself. 185lbs. Damn. I like to have at least 30 days notice before a fight, have a training plan, and be sober that whole time. Finding out I was fighting with less than a weeks notice, drunk, 15lbs over weight was not ideal. I promptly began training.
Training intensely, yes, but not thoughtlessly. Thanks to years of college study in exercise science I was qualified and prepared to make the necessary adjustments to my training schedule to make the most of what I was given. Which wasn’t much. This was really not how I wanted the first fight to count on my national record to go down. Especially when compared against how it was supposed to go down a month earlier. A fight is a fight though, and I knew I had to take it. I wanted no more delays.
Days of university final exams combined with morning and nights of drills. Midweek I actually found out about my opponent. 6’1’’, coming from a gym known for its brawling kickboxing game. I saw a video of one of his gym mates/friend/coach fighting. It was just how I’d imagined it: tough, but slightly sloppy. “Well good. He may have a reach advantage, but I’ve got every other advantage. Not worried” I thought to myself. “I’m going to take my right shin and kick his right ear… via his left ear.”
I had spent the week rigorously preparing. The day before the weigh ins I weighed myself to make sure I was on track. “185lbs.” NO! I hadn’t dropped anything! I now had 24 hours to sweat out 15 lbs! I spend the next 24 hours in hell. The morning of the weigh ins not only was I still desperately trying to cut weight, but I didn’t even know where the weigh ins were! All I knew was that they were supposed to be at 6pm, which also happened to be the same time as a final exam I was to take that day. The coach said he would get the weight ins moved to an earlier time and to a location downtown only a couple minutes from the university so I could make the test. Around noon I received a message: “weigh ins – downtown. 4:30pm”. Good! This would give me time to focus on cutting a dangerous amount of water from my body.
Around 3pm I headed to a buddies house who lived right next to where the weigh ins would be held so I could relax until it was time. Needless to say I wasn’t thinking quite right with that level of dehydration. I knew I needed fluids as soon as the weigh ins where over, so on the way to my buddies I stopped at a grocery to get some so I would be prepared. Ever gone to a grocery when you’re hungry? It was like that but much worse. I came out of the store with gallons and gallons of all different kinds of liquids. I showed up to my buddies place with a big cooler (that I couldn’t drink yet) and passed out on their floor. “You look awful! Please don’t die on my rug…” Thanks.
4pm came and then a phone call. It was the coach. Not good. He began speaking with a pleasant tone and niceties; I could tell bad things were coming. He tells me my weigh ins have been moved to a location an hour away, but that they are still at 4:30. If I had had enough fluids to speed up my heart and become stressed I’m sure I would have done it, but as it was it was all I could do to write down the directions he was giving me. “Don’t worry” he said “you can weigh in up until 5:30”. Yeah, but I had to get there first, and that meant driving, in my current condition….
I passed the turn off for the place the weigh ins were at twice. I failed to be informed that there was so much road construction it blocked the sight of absolutely everything I was told to look for. By the time I made it to the satellite weigh in place it was past 5:30, barley, but they let me weigh in anyway thankfully. I MADE WEIGHT! I had successfully sweated out 15lbs in 24 hours! I felt like I would die, but I looked great. The whole weigh in process itself was dodgy as the official from the commission wasn’t even there, but they assured me it was ok. “It had better be!” was the only thought on my mine. “If this gets cancelled for some reason, I’m fighting SOMEBODY!”
With that I set off to go try and take some part of this test. I was driving as best I could, chugging as much liquid as I could get my hands on, but I was still thoroughly messed up from the dehydration. I stopped at a stop sign and spent about 10 minutes fading in and out of concussions blacking out. I finally looked up and shouted exasperated “This light is taking forever!” I though if it didn’t change soon I was just going to run it… except it was a sign and not a light… so I probably was not in the best shape for this exam but I showed up anyway, over an hour late, and left the test mostly blank. I’m lucky I was able to write my name on it. I still wound up getting a “B” in the class though, so I wouldn’t change anything.
After my “exam” I went back to my place, drank 3 gallons of fluid, and passed out. When I awoke, it was the morning of the fight. There was a big Brazilian Jujitsu tournament that day, and a friend’s pole dancing exhibition I would miss, so no one was coming to my fight. Just me. Even my coach was late getting there because he needed to help everyone at the jujitsu tournament.
Before the coach got to the site I wondered around the fight venue and that’s when I came across my opponent. Courtney Wolf. “You must be Nash.” How did you know? “You look like your picture on the fighter database.” Damn, I had forgotten about that. “Is your name really Nash Nash!?” Ha, forgot about that too. Just Nash. The fight commissioner entered it wrong, and I thought it was great so I didn’t say anything. They just put me down as ‘whatever’ Nash each time. They’ve got me down for this one as “James Nash”. We laughed.
As I talked to my opponent I discovered something: This guy was genuinely likeable. In order to stay focused I went walking around, far from him, before the rules meeting. Right before the rules meeting I had a bit of a run-in with some of the officials. “Says here your name’s Nash Nash.” Yeah, it’s supposed to be just “Nash” actually. “Nash what?” Just Nash. “We need two names.” Then put Nash Nash. “Two different names.” Match up list says James. Try that. “Two REAL names.” They’re all real, I said. Then the promoter came over. “Let me see some I.D.” I handed him some. “These have different names!” Pick on then. Nash is the important part. “What’s your REAL name?” Any of them. “What’s your Christian name?” …. And now I was in a fight with the promoter.
Around this time my coach arrived. He happened to be highly respected and carried a bit of clout amongst the officials. “This your guy?” Said the promoter. “Yes.” Was the reply.
Promoter: “He doesn’t even know his own name!”
Coach: “Yes he does, it’s Nash! One word. Get it right!”
And with that my problems were solved. Not before the promoter went in the database and changed my name from “Nash Nash” to something else though. Later I changed it back. No one tells someone what their name is! It has since been changed again… the battle rages on…
After my skirmish with the promoter there was the rules meeting, then some grappling / Brazilian jujitsu exhibitions, and then to the mixed martial arts fights, of which I was the first fight.
I waited backstage with my coach for my announcement and song, dressed in bright sparkly purple shorts and my American Top Team shirt. The announcer spoke: And now, fighting out of American Top Team, the man known only as Nash, The Wondering Warrior!” The loudspeaker blasted whitesnake's “hear I go again on my own” qued up to the rocking part about 1:30 in. That was my que and off I went with my coach. The walk down to the cage I stayed focused, but I noticed no one clapped or cheered. It didn’t matter; I was there to fight. I entered the cage and did my once over before settling to my side. The announcer called for my opponent to enter: The crowd gave a roaring ovation! It turned out almost every single person there was to see him! No one told me, but I was now the bad guy. Fine, I thought. I will revel in their opposition, and stand triumphantly over their champion. Except, it wasn’t as easy as all that….
It’s not that I expected a poor performance from my opponent; I just expected a far better one from myself. I should have been at focus level 8, but was more at a 5; my confidence proved dangerous when early into the first round my opponent caught me with a punch to the chin that knocked me right out. Falling back, the cage wall caught me and kept me standing. I awoke a couple seconds later in the middle of a terrible beating that put a big cut above my left eyebrow. “What the hell is happening!? This is not what usually happens!” where my only thoughts. I came to and fought for survival the rest of the round. The round ended and my coach came over to give me a “pep talk” that went something like this: “What the fuck are you doing!? Go out the and do what you do best!” With that, round two started. I put my intensity where it needed to be, but I was still discombobulated from the several concussions I’m certain I got the previous round. I fought hard, and was clearly the superior in the second round, but couldn’t score a knockout. During the break between the second and third rounds my coach came over to give me more warm thick coconut water instead of actual water. I was over heating and spit it out. “No more!” I said between gasps. The coach replied “You’re not giving up motherfucker! You’ve come too far!” No NO! I’m not quitting, I just don’t want anymore warm coconut water! I’ll never give up! I just need regular water! “Oh… ok, no problem.” The third round went the same as the second with me as the dominant force, though unable to score a K.O. The fight had gone the distance and had now come to a split decision.. with me as the victor! Despite my terrible performance I managed to score the win.
After the fight I was examined by the doctor and told I needed stitches. If I don’t get them? “Well... we could just glue-burn it.” Do that. (After a couple of days you couldn’t even tell my skull had been hanging out.)
I was pretty sure now that I’d beaten their golden boy the crowd would lynch me. Just the opposed happened though: I became instantly popular. Randoms from the crowd would find me throughout the night and, addressing me by name, congratulate me on my victory and awesome fight. They would buy me drinks through out the night and make small talk, ask for advice, ect. In fact, everyone seemed to be so enamored that we even won “Fight of the Night”. First fight that counted on my national record and I got a win and the “Fight of the Night” award!
Courtney came up to me later in the night and congratulated me, and asked “how did you recover from the beating I gave you in the first round!? I’ve never seen anyone able to do what you did!” I told him that that was my special ability: quick recovery and surviving ferocious ass-beatings. Part of the secret is having a jaguar skull I added half jokingly. “Well, I’m having an after party after the fights. You’re invited.” I talked to my coach later. “You’re not seriously considering going to your opponent’s after party are you?” Smash his face, smash his place; seems like a logical progression to me.
Not only did I go to his after party, I was something of the guest of honor. First though I went out to eat with him, his friends, girlfriend, and mom. We ate at IHOP. It was great, and the second time I’d been out for pancakes that day (recovery from cutting weight wreaks havoc on you). After the dinner we went back to his place and celebrated properly, our fight of the night. We hung out all night partying and talking. “Man, before I fought you” he started, “one of the guys who’d seen you before came up and told me to watch out. He said you were a tough as hell kick boxer. He was right!” I smiled “thanks for the souvenir” I said, pointing to the gash above my eyebrow. He went to the bathroom later and came back out yelling “Nash! Look at this!”. He came out with is shirt raised. There was a red mark over his liver, in the perfect shape of my left fist; I’d left my mark on him as well! I took a picture. Later, now in the morning hours, one of his friends said “Courtney, you limping?” “Yeah. My shin has a big dent in it from when Nash blocked my kick!” Good times.
We partied until the early morning hours. He told me he and his friend where going to Thailand for Muay Thai training in a week or so. They would be gone a month. They were actually going to one of the places I went, and they wanted some tips on things to do or not do, which I gladly gave them. We talked for quit some time before parting ways. It had been on fun short notice experience, despite my lacking performance, but at least I got what I wanted. I gained a victory, fight of the night, motivation to do better, and some new friends.
I left Courtney and friends in the early morning. I had some preparations of my own to take care of; in a week I was to be in Spain…
-Nash