Fighter's Paradise

I saw my host family off to work and school and packed up and put Montreal in the GPS. On the way out a friend’s Facebook comment about cheesesteak made my mouth water. Unfortunately all the places were in the opposite direction of travel or closed. Cheesesteak… my Achilles heal, my sweet, succulent, anytime, I want it now and forever, cheat meal. To think I was so close to having the real thing! I still can’t believe I didn’t get one. Writing this blog in Montreal I am contemplating going back for one.

On the way up passed through the Adirondack Park Preserve. The park covers 6,000,000 acres, and an outdoor lovers paradise. Hills with bare rock faces popped up and I couldn’t help but imagine scaling them. Perfect rock walls for it too.

Came right up to Tristar, the gym that GSP trains at. It’s located on the 3^rd floor of a commercial building. The staircase ends and you find yourself surrounded by shoes. At first I paid no attention to it and came through the doorway to the counter. As I was standing there I could see everyone leaving his or her shoes outside the doorway before coming into the gym. My big motorcycle boots felt like clown shoes. I snuck back out and left them at the door and came in with my socks. I was quickly reminded how we loose sight of tradition and cultural etiquette. I was reminded of my childhood and how frowned upon it was to walk into a home with your shoes on.

I would live here, in the gym itself, if I could. There’s matted cage, the size of two, in the back corner where a wrestling class was in full swing. I noticed a few techniques that I had the chance of learning already in this trip. Not going to lie, felt like a wana-be veteran being able to recognize a move. An old-timer, just like the coach from the Rocky movies, demonstrating and fine-tuning the students as they drilled the particular technique. Frail and hunched over with a scratchy voice he had the perfect disguise for the killer capabilities that he had attained over a lifetime of training and teaching. He shot me a sharp glance when he noticed me watching closely.

In the opposite corner a separate room with hardwood floors had about 5 people learning some Muay Thai basics. Between the cage and room, some treadmills that where occupied by hooded fighters running their daily 4-5 miles. Three large soft bags that are easy on the shins hung over a bare concrete floor. A few newbies are being coached on rotating their hips and landing a solid shin on the bag. The centerpiece is of course the octagon. I am sure it is their pride and joy. Clean and crisp and well cared for it occupies the center of the facility. Two guys are drilling some groundwork at one end as the other is being used by a coach doing some pad work with a student. Wrapping around it are the weight machines that are squeezed in tight together and the free weights. Worn and rusty these barbells and kettle balls have seen their fare share of hard work. I joined up with several people putting in some strength training. There are 6 more bags that hang above concrete among the weight machines, all of which are taped, re-taped and taped again from being destroyed on a daily basis by hungry fighters. A large matted area separates the octagon from the square boxing ring. The mats are packed with about 30 people attending a BJJ class. The boxing ring is also being used for some pad work. Around the corner from the front desk is a fairly large shop with all the things you would need to participate in any of the training offered under this roof.

Your every breath is an injection of motivation. The air is heavy with sweat with the 40 or so people working their asses off. The walls are lined with boxing and UFC posters of all of the legends and champions. Everywhere you look its Ali, Mosley, Tyson, GSP, De La Hoya, Gatti, Mayweather and the list goes on.

I finished my strength training and showered and ordered myself a shake from the kind and accommodating receptionist. Finishing my shake I could not help but take out my notepad and start writing then and there. The atmosphere was inspiring, so much MMA creativity, positivity and a learning. I wrote as the staff mopped every square inch of the gym making sure it was clean and ready to get destroyed again tomorrow by everyone giving it their all. I left envious of all those who call this place home.

Got to meet up with my friend Robbie that I saw last in New York. Went out for a bite to eat in downtown Montreal. The streets were packed on that Tuesday night. The hum of surrounding conversations was predominantly French. Sat outdoors and ate dinner and people watched. It was a pleasant change to see beautiful women, well dressed, and in shape going out on the town. As of late it’s just been sweaty dudes and dirty mats. I carried on the night’s conversation with one eye and ear focused on the streets.

Making good riding time, training in Tri-Star, dinner, people watching, and meeting up with a good friend made for satisfying day. I fell asleep quickly knowing that that day could not possibly have gone any better.