My journey started at 5:30 a.m. in Utah. It was a kiss on my boy’s head, then telling my wife and my parents that I loved them and I’d be back in six weeks with a smile.
I left Salt Lake City and I arrived in Las Vegas around 8 a.m. Vegas was rainy and smelled like musky garbage or an old casino… just like I remembered it. The shuttle took me straight to the hotel, where I would later find out that I was going to stay for two days -- all by myself. I packed too much. All I needed was a cup, mouthpiece, and a pair of shorts. I was over-prepared. They took all my s--- and left me with a cup, mouthpiece and some shorts.
I couldn’t leave the room. If I needed something, I had to order it on a piece of paper and slide it under the door.
Before I’d arrived, I had cut a little weight because I wasn’t sure if I would be fighting to get in the house or was just going straight in. I had no idea what was going on, but I assumed that I was fighting shortly after I arrived. I came in shape and ready to fight – I’d cut weight the night before I left Utah and had gotten within eight pounds of my 185-pound limit. (At my original tryouts a month before, I’d been between 208-212 pounds.)
We were taken to the UFC Training Center just off the Strip, matched up with our opponents, and told to make weight the next day before being sent straight back to our hotel rooms. I meditated, consumed electrolytes, sipped on water, and thought about a lot of s---. My past had included my battle to overcome drug addiction, and I became a very spiritual person because of it. Between cutting weight that night (shadowboxing and light calisthenics in all the clothes I had with a plastic bag over that), I weighed the possibility of not seeing my family, friends, students, or co-workers for six weeks. I knew it would be hard, but with prayer and meditation I could do it. I was here for a damn good reason and that was to win. The possibility of supporting my family while doing what I loved, and maybe helping somebody who’d struggled with the same things that I had -- it all gave me strength.
Once I’d gotten down to weight in my hotel room, I slipped into the shower, and took the sliding-glass door handle off as I went to get out. I stood there hand-tightening the screws as best I could. I figured I didn’t want the next fellow who came through to run into the same problem.
The next morning, I woke up, rode to the gym, and stripped down for weigh-ins. Everybody made weight without much of a problem. Some guys had to cut a little more weight than others, but everybody seemed perky and eager to fight. Of course, we were all sent straight back to hotel purgatory. I tried to relax, but was, of course, a little nervous. Still, I slept pretty well.
Back at the gym the following morning, we all got to pick the corner we’d like be in -- Chuck’s or Tito’s. I went to the first room I saw, which happened to be Chuck’s, along with 13 other guys. We got our hands wrapped, warmed up, and when they called us, we went out. It was hard watching guys come back to the room after they’d fought and lost. You could almost feel the pain seeping out of their faces.
In one of the initial fights, my friend and training partner, Jordan Smith, suffered his first loss. He got knocked out and I felt terrible for him, but it gave me that much more of a reason to go out, fight, and win. I definitely didn’t want to feel what he was feeling. As I watched about half the guys leave the room and come back with losses on their faces, I tried to focus on what was important, and that was staying relaxed until it was time for me to fight. I warmed up two fights before it was my turn. And then I went out.
I stepped into the Octagon for the very first time. It was very surreal, but I knew I was supposed to be there. I remember it like it was yesterday: what I was wearing, the smell of the canvas, and the feel of the UFC gloves on my hands. My heart was pounding and adrenaline rushing. Among all these new sensations, I suddenly heard the word, “Fight!”
On my first takedown, I hit my chest on my opponent
Seth Baczynski’s knee or elbow. It felt like I broke my sternum. It was very hard to breathe for the rest of the three-round fight.
At one point, I felt it slipping away, but my mind and body kept going. All I could think was, ‘God, give me the strength.’ At that moment, it’s like I was picked up onto my feet and kicked in the a--. It was like a little voice in my head said, “Keep going or you will be full of regret.”
At the end of fifteen minutes, my hand was raised. I’d made it into the house along with 13 others who’d won that day. UFC President Dana White then announced that two defeated fighters from that first day would earn a “wildcard” slot -- decided between White and the coaches -- to enter the house as well. It meant less of us vying for the contract, but having to fight more bouts to get it.
Out of the 10 dudes I’ve fought during my career, I’ve felt nine of them break in the cage. Seth Baczynski did not. It was an all-out war until the end. I was in a lot of pain and definitely felt like I’d got into a fight. No matter how much pain I was in though, it didn’t matter. I’d fought out of purgatory and earned my spot in the house. I didn’t watch any of the other fights, but judging by Charlie Lynch’s broken nose, my previously undefeated friend Jordan Smith getting knocked out in the first round, and the mass quantity of blood spilled on the mat, I knew it was going to be one hell of a season.
To find out more about Court McGee, visit www.courtmcgee.net
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