The following is an excerpt from professional MMA fighter Holly "Lil Bear" Lawson's piece on loss and resilience. Undo Issue V is available now. To purchase, click here. Photos by J3.
I once flew home to Los Angeles from Iowa with a bruise so big that it ran down my leg. I was purple from my hip bone to my knee. The discoloration only stopped there because my leg was so swollen that the blood had nowhere to pool south of my kneecap. On my way home, I stopped at the pharmacy to ask for recommendations on how to reduce the swelling. When I lifted the hem of my maxi dress, the pharmacist winced, shook her head, and stared at me for a second before quietly asking me what happened. I told her I had been in a fight the night before. "You flew with your leg like that?" she asked in disbelief. I answered reluctantly, not wanting to relive what had just taken place. Like every fighter, my pain threshold is higher than most people and like most fighters, after losing a fight, I just wanted to go home.
I still remember that match. The arena was cold. The hoodie on my shoulders didn't offer the slightest protection from the raging air conditioner, so I had to shift from foot to foot to keep my legs warm. I stood in the hallway, behind the curtains, and watched people fill the stadium. Though it was only late afternoon, I thought about the time. What time was it at home? Where were the people I loved right now? I was wishing that Matt was there to crack jokes as he usually does before my boxing matches. But this wasn't boxing.
[gallery ids="https://undoordinary.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/B9A0127.jpg|,https://undoordinary.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/B9A0189.jpg|,https://undoordinary.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/B9A0222.jpg|,https://undoordinary.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/B9A0279.jpg|,https://undoordinary.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/B9A0375.jpg|,https://undoordinary.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/B9A0397.jpg|" orderby="rand"]My trainer and I warmed up for about 30 minutes in the small green room I had been assigned. The lady from the Iowa State Commission was there talking previous fights, her full-time responsibilities, and her husband. She ended up leaving me a note that written in Sharpie that read, "Best of luck to you. I hope I get to wear my Lil' Bear shirt while watching you fight again." I rolled that piece of paper up and carried it home as a reminder of who I am and my ability to connect with people. The warm up was fine, though I was tight and nervous. The four ounce gloves felt miniscule compares to the eight ounce ones that I usually box with. We practiced a right-uppercut combo we had worked on because he was convinced that my opponent would try to take me down.
Sweating, I casually threw my hoodie over my shoulders and got up to take a jog down the hall...
