I began training in martial arts at the age of 5. This was a family thing, and we all grew up practicing this art. The art I grew up in is called Muay Thai. It is notorious for being the most “brutal” of martial arts, and has been popularized by the explosion of the Ultimate Fighting Championship.

As a kid, I was so hungry to fight. I can recall being about 10, and watching the adults spar with each other. I remember wondering how it was any different from real fighting. I especially remember the uncomfortable feeling of practicing new techniques, and the insecurity felt from thinking how strange I must have looked. I remember learning to shadow box, while I took up all of the space in the ring, without really knowing what shadow boxing actually was; the “real fighters” waited outside of the ring patiently as I went about drills and movements awkwardly. I felt like I was wasting everyone’s time, including mine. In my head, they were being polite, and I had no real business in there. I continued with those insecurities eating away at me, being encouraged by, and focusing on, the few things I was good at.

And at night, I would lie in bed picturing myself in that very same ring.

I saw myself dancing like Ali. My feet shuffled of their own accord; my flame gliding gracefully along the canvas. My punches came from angles that seemed to mock my opponents, faster than I could even think to throw them.

I saw myself, so vividly, bouncing off of those ropes as people cheered for me; I heard my name on the lips of those that came for me, and those that I had won over with my performance.

This trend kept on for a couple of years. I trained in the daytime, with my insecurities nagging at me, but once my back touched my bed, as my eyes drifted closed, I hit harder than a hundred Mike Tysons, and my skill was such that Mr Ali, Mr Foreman, or any of the other legends would have envied me.

This habit continued for some years. I’d train by day with my insecurities nagging away, and, by nightfall, I was once again the best fighter to have ever surfaced on this earth. I had the strength of ten Hercules, and my skill was unparalleled.

Over time, my brain won. I began to become more confident, and my results grew at a phenomenal rate. Oh, and I finally had a fight in line.

On the night of my fight, everybody but me was nervous.

Everyone had their faith in me, but they had good reason to be worried. The guy I was scheduled to fight was at least 6 inches taller than me, and about 20 lbs heavier. He had fought several times before, and this was my first fight ever.

Once again, I was the only calm one.

We were scheduled second to last. When we finally met in the ring, we touched gloves, as is the custom, and went back to our corners. The bell sounded, and no sooner did I hear it than I got kicked dead in the jaw by the hardest push kick I’ve EVER felt in my life. It managed to bounce me five feet back, onto the ropes, and back to where I was standing originally.

At that point, everyone got ready to go home early.

I wasn’t ready though. I immediately kicked my opponent, and we exchanged blows. After I got hit a few more times, I realized that I had been in this same situation so many times. I had been beaten so many times, but I had never lost; not once. I took some punishment, but I made sure I wasn’t alone. I played out the exact vision I had dreamed up as a child, one more time, but this was finally for real.

I recall being dead tired, and almost quitting. That idea was quickly thrown out of the window when I was reminded by that vision I kept, of what I had given up, and how hard I had worked.

I got caught with a hard left hook. I remember hearing my opponent’s corner telling him to finish me. “He’s tired!!! You can knock him out!!! Finish him!!!” They yelled.

I kept moving forward.

I grabbed hold of this man that stood for all of the obstacles I had overcome, and I landed the perfect shot to his body. His legs gave out from beneath him, and, when he came to, he told the referee that he was finished.

I was the winner.

Everyone celebrated and cheered for the underdog. I felt greater than I ever had in my life, with the one exception of those times that I would lie down as a child, and push myself in that ring. Daring myself to dig deeper, and to never give up.

I finally earned my place in the ring that night. At least, in my mind I did. And that’s what truly mattered.

So, when you think having a goal in mind is silly, or imagining yourself in the situation that you want to be will never work, remember my story.

You’ll feel out of place at first, maybe a little awkward, and you might want to give up. That vision will keep you going when there is no hope. It will also happen just like you tell it to. I know personally.

Now, I imagine that I don’t get hit at all.

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Until next time, take the Red Pill, and see me in the morning.

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