A few years back I was in Brooklyn, NY, with one of my fighters. It was a Friday evening and we were fighting the next day at an event in the city. Waiting is often the hardest part of the process for many fighters and many times the night before a big fight it’s hard for them to relax and get the rest they need. Often times, when they are really tense, I’ll take them to a local gym to “shake-out” and to work off some of their nervous energy.
The promoter put us up in a hotel in Jamaica, Queens, and on this particular night the promoter sent a car to our hotel and the driver took us to a local gym to get an easy workout. Typically, we’ll do some shadow boxing and light aerobic activity just to allow the fighter to take the edge off things. As he works I like to stay close constantly whispering in his ear and filling his head with strategy, affirming our game plan, building his confidence and drawing a clear vision for the fight the next day. It’s a communion between coach and fighter and when I’m done pouring myself into these kids they are ready to walk through fire, if need be.
Anyway, on this particular night we went to a local gym/club near our hotel where we were staying. It was about 10 PM and the gym was still alive with activity. It was perfect! It was small, cramped, and had the smell of sweat and stale clothes. Everything in the gym was old, weathered and tattered. In the back was a fighter hitting the speed-bag pounding out his endless rhythm while he honed his craft. At one end of the gym was the ring and at the other was a small area for jumping rope and a row of heavy bags that were losing their stuffing and being held together by duck tape. It was dark and cramped. Old fight posters covered the walls and the one bathroom they had didn’t work. The lights were dim and in one corner they flickered on-and-off in an unpredictable manner and each time they did you could hear the buzz of the electricity in the fixture above. It was the perfect gym.
As we worked I looked around the gym and on the back wall, by the bathroom, I noticed there was a set of words printed on the wall. I could not read it from where I was so I went back to take a look. The wall had been painted dark blue and it was peeling. On the wall were letters painted in yellow that were fading but still clearly visible. The words read. ..
“Send me your worst. Send me the lost, the beaten and the broken ones. Send me your tired and desperate ones. Send me the ones life has forgotten and who others have abandoned. Send me the one with no more chances. Send him to me… for in him I see what you do not. In him I see the champion he has yet to become. Tell him I am here. Tell him I am waiting for him.”
As I read the words tears filled my eyes and I was overcome with emotion. It was as if I had written the words myself and I understood exactly what the author was saying. I wrote what was on the wall down in the little notebook I carry with me most of the time. When I was done writing it down I went to the front desk to ask them who had written it.
When I got to the front there was a man sitting at the front desk. His face was flattened and his nose pushed against his face. He had scar tissue about his one eye and his skin was weathered and his face bore witness to the fact he had been a fighter in his youth. “Excuse me, but I was wondering who wrote that quote on the back wall?” The old man leaned forward to look back to where I was pointing and said “Oh that…the original owner Marty wrote that there when he opened the gym nearly thirty years ago.” “Is he still around” I asked. “No” the man said “Marty passed away about six years ago but we leave it up there to honor him.” “How did he die” I asked …”Heart attack… unexpected, it was a big shock…he was like a father to me” the man said. “Were you the one” I asked? Puzzled the man looked back at me and said “the one…what do you mean?” “Are you the one Marty was waiting for and wrote about on the wall?” I said. The man’s face slumped and he pushed out a sigh and a slight smile came to his face and it was clear my question had touched his heart. He sat there for a second longer and then looked deep into my eyes and said “I don’t know if I was the one Marty was waiting for, but I can tell you this, he was the one I was waiting for… Marty saved my life and this will always be his gym.” When he was done we shared a smile and then I nodded and it was done.
Today a friend of mine on Facebook sent me a link to a video she said reminded her of me. As I watched the video it reminded me of this story and I wanted to share it with you.
Please watch the video link below and be inspired…. and by-the-way …you can call me Marty.
