Death Clutch - Brock Lesnar [4]
THE COW-CHIP RECRUIT
It makes me laugh every time I read one of these articles about how I was a blue-chip athlete and had my ass kissed by recruiters and scouts when I came out of high school. There was no college recruiting war for my services. No under-the-table money. No fancy cars. That’s all bullshit. I placed third in the South Dakota state wrestling tournament. That didn’t exactly put me on the national recruiting radar.
One thing those articles fail to mention, and what a lot of people don’t know about me, is that after high school, I didn’t go straight to the University of Minnesota to wrestle at the NCAA Division I level. In fact, I wasn’t recruited by any Division I schools, and I almost never made it to the U of M.
Because the big schools were not recruiting me, and because I really wanted to continue wrestling, I started my college career at Bismarck State in North Dakota, a junior college. It was bad enough that I wasn’t wrestling in a big-time program; but I only finished fifth at Junior College Nationals my first year. Even worse than the fifth-place finish, though, is that I got beat by a pudgy little kid whose name I can’t even remember, and neither can anyone else.
The loss to that pudgy no-name was a major turning point in my life, because there was no way that kid should have been able to beat me. I looked at the guy who won the whole tourney and I knew in my heart I could have beat him for the championship. That killed me, because I never got the chance—the fat kid made sure of that. Sorry I can’t remember your name, but I do want to say thanks.
At that moment I looked inside myself, and I got serious. I vowed to be the biggest, strongest, fastest, meanest SOB I could become. I wanted to put on pounds of muscle, train like my life depended on it, and just start crushing everyone. I knew I had it in me, and I was determined to grind through it in the weight room, and on the mat, every day, for as long as it took, until I was on the top. I’m no quitter, and I wasn’t going to finish my college career as a loser.
After that first year at Bismarck State, I went home to Webster, South Dakota, for the summer to work and make a little money. My mom and dad helped me as much as they could, but they were poor and just keeping the farm going was draining them. I couldn’t call home, and ask my mom and dad to send me money. My mom and dad didn’t have the money to give. They did what they could, but it wasn’t like the kids I roomed with in the dorms. They had decent cars, cash for food, and money to go out. I didn’t have any of that.
When I went back to Webster for the summer break, I knew I had to find a job. My number one goal that summer was not only to make some money, but also to put on twenty-five to thirty pounds of muscle. I didn’t want to be a power-lifting meathead guy, one of those big goofy immobile guys who are obsessed about how big their arms look when they wear a T-shirt that’s too tight (although I did check out my pythons in the mirror from time to time). That just wasn’t me. I wanted to be an athlete: strong, quick and explosive.
I have to tell you, it was a great summer. I worked as a laborer for the REA power company in Webster. Every day, I packed my own lunch, and worked from eight in the morning until three in the afternoon. Then I would go work out with my buddies, Jason Nolte and Troy Knebal. We just pounded the weights. I was determined to bulk up, but at the same time to be a better overall athlete. So I not only went after the weights like an animal, I stretched. Yeah, I stretched! I kept my body flexible and mobile.
Every night we hit the gym at five-thirty. No excuses. It was an obsession. Sometimes, we’d drive to other gyms just to shake it up, keep it interesting, keep the blood flowing. But we never missed a day.
I think that all of my drive, my passion to get bigger, faster, and better comes from the mentality of bring a wrestler.