Death Clutch (14 page)

At the end of my eleven-day hospital stay, I was wheeled out to my car because I was too weak to walk. And that's when it really hit me. Four months ago I was invincible, and now I'm in a wheelchair. I looked over at Rena and I said, “The world's baddest man, huh?,” and I laughed.

Getting home that day was harder for me than being in the hospital. The pain meds were wearing off, and every time I moved, the pain got worse. I felt every bump in the road. But worse than any pain was thinking about the physical condition I was in. I didn't want to look in the mirror, because I was afraid I would not recognize the man looking back at me. I knew that I would have to face facts sooner or later. So, slowly, I made my way over to the full-length mirror in our bedroom. I stared at my reflection, not believing it was really me, and mumbled, “Oh yeah, I'm the world's baddest man. The ultimate fighting champion.”

Rena was standing behind me, and I heard her whisper, “You are.”

I was being sarcastic. She wasn't.

It was at that very minute when I turned the corner and decided that I was going to get back on the horse. No more feeling sorry for myself. It was time to take control of everything again. If I was going to retire, I was going to retire on my own terms, not because some stupid illness took me out.

A hole in my stomach. I still can't believe it.

A couple of weeks later, I went to the Mayo Clinic to get a complete evaluation. It usually takes a lot longer than that to get into the world-famous Mayo, but Dana called my lawyers with some contacts, and through those connections I was moved up on the list.

After what seemed like an endless series of tests, the Mayo doctors informed me that my best chance for a full recovery would be to have surgery. They wanted to remove about twelve inches of my colon. I wanted to know what my second-best chance was, because there is no way I was going to let them cut me up.

The doctors said I was out of immediate danger, so we could always do the surgery later. That was good enough for me.

I asked if I could exercise, and they told me it would be okay, as long as I didn't overexert myself. Of course, that meant I was in the gym the next day, but I was smart. All I did was walk on the treadmill a little bit. It beat the hell out of a wheelchair, and at least I was doing something.

You should have seen me. I looked like shit. I kept looking at an old picture of me when I wrestled in college at 260 pounds. I was lean and strong. Looking the way I looked in that picture again became my goal.

I had to get back into shape, and that meant a complete lifestyle change. It would defeat the purpose of my recovery to bulk back up, and end up with the same holes in my stomach that almost killed me the first time. I don't respect any of my opponents, but I have a lot of respect for diverticulitis. Me and diverticulitis went the distance, and I have no desire for a rematch.

I changed my diet completely. More vegetables. A whole lot more fiber. Nothing processed or preserved.

Then I started to do a little more in the gym each day. Cardio. A few light weights. A little more each day.

I approached my illness the same way that I approach a fight. I wanted to beat it. I wanted to take my illness down to the mat the same way I took down Frank Mir at
UFC 100.
I was in the fight of my life, and every day was another round.

When I returned to the Mayo Clinic for a checkup in January 2010, they gave me another CT scan. The doctors couldn't believe what they saw. They couldn't believe my stomach could heal without surgery the way that it did. They called it a remarkable recovery.

I wish I could express how that news made me feel. I didn't have to have my guts cut open. I didn't have to wear a colostomy bag. I could play with my kids, be the man that I was, only smarter, better, healthier. I had been given a new lease on life.

I was truly a man who had been blessed by God.

My wonderful wife showed me, once again, that she was going to stick by me no matter what. I had two healthy children, and had just learned that a third, my son Duke, was on the way. I was going to fight again. And now I had a newfound focus: I was determined to come back from my illness better and stronger than ever. Never again would I take the physical gifts God had given me for granted.

As much as I couldn't wait to get back into training and return to the Octagon, I want everyone to understand one thing. Yes, I wanted to be the greatest heavyweight the sport had ever seen. Yes, I was determined to come back stronger, healthier, more dominant than before. Yes, I wanted to prove to the world I was the greatest UFC champion of all time.

But what was most important to me was that I wanted to be a better husband to my wife and a better father for my children. It would be great to be the best UFC fighter ever, but none of that means anything without my family. They are everything to me, and they will always be my first priority. I hate what I went through, but it made me appreciate my family even more.

And so, with my family's support, I got ready for my comeback. If I could beat diverticulitis, there wasn't a man alive who was going to stand in my way.

THE LONG SHORT ROAD BACK

U
FC wanted me to fight as soon as possible, but that meant waiting until the beginning of the summer. First, they had to crown another Interim Champion. That decision was made in December, when no one knew if I was ever going to be able to fight again. Dana, Lorenzo, and Joe Silva chose Shane Carwin and The Man With The Golden Horseshoe Up His Ass, Frank Mir, to fight in New Jersey at
UFC 111
. If the doctors had to perform the drastic surgery on me, that fight would have been to determine the new UFC Heavyweight Champion. If I could make it back, the Carwin vs. Mir fight would be for the Interim Championship, and the winner would face me for the real title mid-year.

I don't blame UFC for continuing to promote the Interim title fight even after I got clearance to return. You never know in the fight game. I could have gone back into training, and ended up right back in the hospital. That possibility was always looming. If they pulled the plug on the Interim title, and I got sick again, UFC would have to start all over, and that's a long time to go without a Heavyweight Champion.

I brought in Luke Richesson full-time as a strength and condition coach, and he turned out to be one of the most valuable members of my training staff, since his job was to rebuild me into a stronger but healthier athlete. Luke and I had been down this road before, when I was trying out for the NFL after messing up my body in that motorcycle crash. Here we were again, this time fighting back against my own body, which had attacked me from within.

Luke put me on a program and I started to gain lean muscle mass. I was feeling much healthier than before. I would joke around a lot about never eating my veggies before, but diverticulitis changed my outlook on a lot of things, and one of the important changes was that I was now watching everything that went past my lips. I worked hard for a lot of years to build up my body, and I ended up flat on my back, delirious, all drugged up on morphine because I got diverticulitis. When you quickly go from being a 280-pound warrior without a single doubt in your mind to being sick, helpless, and dependent, it better change your outlook or you haven't learned your lesson.

I learned mine. Period.

I didn't just want to rebound because of my fighting career. My son Turk was getting bigger and stronger every day, and I wanted him and my daughter, Mya, to grow up with a healthy father they could do things with. Rena was pregnant with our son Duke. I was motivated for a lot of reasons, but the most important reason I wanted to get back to being the “Brock Lesnar” that I knew was becuase my wife and children deserve the best.

UFC asked me to attend the Carwin vs. Mir fight so we could promote the Title Unification fight, which ended up being scheduled for July 3 in Las Vegas. I knew Dana and Lorenzo were happy, because either Carwin was going to knock Frank out and go to 12–0, so they could promote the Return of Brock Lesnar against this undefeated Knockout King, or Frank Mir would get lucky again, and we'd go for three, the big rubber match between me and Frankie.

Carwin knocked out Frank in the first round, and I can't say I'm surprised. Frank Mir was so obsessed with me, he was like a stalker. Everything in his life revolved around getting back into the Octagon with me, and he was looking right past his opponent. You can't do that, especially when you're fighting a guy with heavy hands like Shane Carwin.

Dana never told me he was going to call me into the Octagon when they were interviewing the winner of the fight, but I knew it was coming. The last time anyone had seen me in UFC was after I beat Frank, and I was giving the crowd the double bird and pissing off the sponsors. I wasn't looking for controversy with Shane Carwin, but I wasn't running from it either. When Carwin said winning the Interim Championship was this great big achievement, I just told it like it is. It's a fake title and that's a fake title belt. I actually felt bad for him if that was really the greatest moment in his life.

Training for Shane Carwin, we brought in Peter Welch, a famous boxing coach from Boston. Even though I broke Heath Herring's face with one punch and knocked out Randy Couture, I still hadn't learned the core basics in boxing. I wanted to find a grassroots boxing coach to help me learn how to get my feet underneath me. I had this great wrestling base, but how can I use that to my advantage, and combine my years of training as a wrestler with something as simple as a new stance so that when I punch, I'm punching from my feet to my hands. I wanted to learn the fundamentals, and Peter was the right guy to teach me these things.

Peter brings a lot of energy into everything he does, and that's infectious. He fit right in with my coaching staff. That's another key. All of my trainers have to respect the fact that it's Marty Morgan who calls the shots. I've seen situations with other fighters where there are too many chiefs and not enough Indians. In my camp, Marty's the boss. We do things his way, because he knows what he's doing. He proved that to me at the University of Minnesota. J Robinson may have technically been the head coach, but Marty was the one who worked hard at developing that bond with me. Today it's no different. I trust Marty, because he's earned my trust. Peter Welch was used to running the show, but he adapted very quickly, and he became a huge asset.

With my wife pregnant, I knew I could ask for more time before I had to defend my title against Shane Carwin. Hell, I just came off my deathbed. UFC would have granted me any reasonable extension of time I requested, but I wanted to get back into the Octagon. It's the old expression about falling off a horse. You have to get right back on that pony and ride until you know you're the master again. I don't know how many more fights I will commit to in my fighting career, but I do know that when my career is over, it will be because I made the decision that my time was up. I'm not going to let fate make that decision for me. I want to see my career through to the end, on my own terms.

I felt the same way about Shane Carwin challenging me for my title. I just didn't see him as the guy to end my championship reign. I wasn't working this hard, sacrificing this quality time with my infant son, putting my wife through another pregnancy practically by herself, just to get knocked out by Shane Carwin.

We brought in a lot of wrestlers with heavy hands to mimic Carwin, because we knew that he not only had one-punch knockout power but also was a Division II National Champion. I knew my wrestling was superior to his, but those hands were something to deal with. As long as I could avoid Carwin nailing me on the chin, there was nothing to worry about. I was determined not to get hit.

Right before the fight, referee Josh Rosenthal told us both, “This is for the UFC Heavyweight Championship, so I'm going to give both of you a fighter's chance. As long as you can answer my questions, and intelligently defend yourself, I'm letting the fight go on.”

My biggest problem walking into the Octagon against Carwin was that I was so determined not to get hit, to avoid getting knocked out, that I stepped into the cage all tensed up. No matter who you are, or how tough you think you can be, that's a recipe for disaster. It actually almost cost me the fight.

That first round was a real test. Shane Carwin hit me hard, and he had me backpedaling. I had my bell rung, but I stayed calm. I don't know how to describe it, but all the time Carwin was pounding on me, it kind of woke me up, made me remember who I am. Was I nervous that Josh Rosenthal was going to stop the fight? Yes I was.

I was answering him, but I was also defending myself and watching for an opening to get out of the predicament. I couldn't hear my corner, and that's when a fighter finds out how much heart he has. All the training . . . all the trainers . . . all the sparring partners . . . all the sparring matches . . . none of it matters unless you have the heart of a champion. When you have a big strong athlete like Shane Carwin doing everything he can to knock you out, you can either fold under the pressure or weather the storm.

With every punch he threw, I could tell Carwin was shooting his wad. Each punch was a little lighter than the previous one. In many ways, that first round was exactly like my battle with diverticulitis. I just had to persevere. I was very fortunate that the fight wasn't stopped. I don't think it should have been, but there have been bad decisions made before.

When Carwin exhausted himself throwing punches one after another, I made my move. I got to my feet and muscled him up against the fence. I just wanted to survive that first round. It would sum up what I had been through the past eight months. I'd be able to get back to my corner and regroup, but it would also destroy Carwin's confidence. He hit me with everything he had and couldn't put me away. I could feel him breathing as I just pinned him up against the cage. He was done. No one had ever survived the first round with this guy, and I not only accomplished that, but I took everything he had and was still up on my feet controlling him as the round ended.

As soon as I got back to my corner, Marty asked how I was doing. I grinned at him, and said, “I'm doing great.” Marty said, “Good, then put him away!” I had just taken a beating, but I felt fine, almost relieved. I was so concerned about getting knocked out after being out of the Octagon for a year, and now I knew there was no way my opponent was going to even luck into a knockout. There are two words that just don't go together in the English language . . .
TIRED
and
DANGEROUS
. Shane Carwin was tired.

Two minutes into the second round, it was all over. I got a takedown on Carwin, and forced him to tap to a choke. Just like
UFC 100
against Frank Mir, it was Comprido who came up with the strategy for how to finish off Carwin. We figured Carwin's camp was going to study whatever tapes they could of me, and there weren't many, because I only had four fights in UFC. Carwin was going to be careful about the half crucifix I used against Frank Mir. Comprido thought as soon as I took Carwin down and went for any kind of headlock choke, Carwin would get his arm in there, because that's the natural defense to the move. “He's going to want to get his body in toward yours,” Comprido kept telling me as we worked on the variation of the choke over and over again in training camp, “but if you spread out, and use your wrestling base, you'll submit this guy.”

When Joe Rogan interviewed me after the fight, I didn't say anything controversial. Like I always do, I spoke from the heart. “I am a man blessed by God,” I told the world, and I truly felt that way. My wife was ready to give birth to my son Duke . . . I had come off my deathbed and defended my title . . . and I got through that first round beating to tap out Shane Carwin. I was in a great place. What more could I want out of life?