Death Clutch - Brock Lesnar [37]
Ed was a Minnesota boy, a University of Minnesota grad, and a sports agent. I liked him, so we went to work right away. Ed put this game plan together. “You gotta get in football shape,” he told me, “so we need to get you down to Arizona as soon as possible. There’s a facility down there called Athlete’s Performance, where all of the top NFL players, and top athletes from all over the world, go.”
I took Ed’s advice and headed south. When I got down there, one of the first guys I met was a midwestern boy named Luke Richesson. He grew up on the Kansas-Missouri border, and was one of the trainers. Luke did a little wrestling and had played some college football, but he just lacked size. Luke more than made up for that, though, because he was a stick of dynamite.
Today, Luke is the head strength coach for the Jacksonville Jaguars, and he’s also my strength and conditioning coach. I consider Luke one of the vital members of Team DeathClutch.
When I got down to Phoenix, I stayed at the Marriott for a little while, but that got old fast. It was like being in the wrestling business that I had just escaped, sleeping in a hotel every night. So I rented a condo and started getting my head into the game.
I got up every day, ate breakfast, and put everything I had into Luke’s conditioning program. My whole life was about working out. In the meantime, Rena was still on the road with WWE, and she was flying into Phoenix to be with me. I didn’t like the fact that she was in that environment anymore. I already knew she was the woman that I wanted to be with for the rest of my life, but she wasn’t ready to let go of her career yet.
I guess I can’t really blame Rena for not walking out when I did. We weren’t married, I had just made myself unemployed, and the odds of a guy who never played college football making an NFL roster were not good. But none of that stopped me from trying to get her to quit.
I hated it when Rena was on the road. There is a lot of testosterone in the business, and I was worried about what some jackass might do or say to her. But Rena is a remarkable woman, and she can take care of herself. She did finally leave the WWE, but not because they were treating her wrong or anything like that. She didn’t do it because they disrespected her. She left for me. My wife is an amazing woman.
Training for a football career I didn’t yet have was a little weird for me. My whole life was in limbo, but everything was looking good. I was getting in football shape, and my workout numbers were off the charts for speed, strength, and agility. In head-to-head tests, I was blowing NFL players away, and I was getting noticed.
I was right on track for my pro-day, where teams were scheduled to come in and watch me work out. I planned to finish my six-week program, do my pro-day, then fly home and see my daughter. Everything was going great—until April 19, 2004.
I had left my motorcycle in my buddy “Crazy’s” custom bike shop in Minneapolis. It was a Harley chopper, and he was tricking it out and making it into one badass bike. I was getting it all beefed up. I must have put $70,000 into that machine.
When I got home, it started out to be a great day. Mya was with me, and I was playing with her on the couch. My old college roommate, Jesse Sabot, and his brother were visiting, and my brother was staying in my basement. I liked having all these good people around me.
Then I decided to go pick up my bike and see what Crazy had done to it. I was blown away. I was the King of the Road on that thing.
I ripped out of Crazy’s parking lot on the edge of downtown Minneapolis, and headed home. My whole agenda for the weekend was to relax, recover from the training week, and spend time with Mya. A nice bike ride