Death Clutch - Brock Lesnar [40]
The bad times only make you appreciate the good times even more, and if I was ever told that I could only keep one tattoo, this one of the sword pointing right up against my throat is the one I’d keep. I wouldn’t even have to think about the answer. This tattoo on my chest has so much meaning to me. In some ways, it’s funny, because the period of my life that I’m talking about is a time I so want to forget, but I know I can use this memory as motivation. And just in case I ever start slipping up, I have this sword right across my torso as a constant reminder of all the things that changed my life.
I look at that sword almost like it was a family crest. It’s my inspiration to fight back, because if there’s one thing I know deep in my heart about myself, it’s that I am not a quitter. I am a warrior, and I will never let anything or anyone—be it the NFL or Vince McMahon—keep me down!
“RENA, WILL YOU MARRY ME?”
Everywhere I looked, all I could see was uncertainty. But there was one thing I was sure of: I wanted to marry Rena. However, before I could do this, I needed her to get out of WWE. “If we want a relationship,” I told her, “neither one of us can work for that company. We both know the long-term side effects of everything there.”
That was my only demand. Nothing else. Just that.
And so she left World Wrestling Entertainment. She had worked so hard to get back into that company, and now she was leaving it again, except this time she was giving up her career for me. It couldn’t have been an easy decision. I was all stressed out, my future was up in the air, and my daughter was still very young. Like all couples, we had some differences to work through, but Rena was willing to do whatever it would take to make things work. She deserves a lot of credit, because at that time, I was just creating controversy everywhere I turned.
One day, of course, I pushed things too far, and Rena decided that she’d had enough of my bullshit. She was smart enough to pack her bags and go back to her own house in Florida.
I knew she was the woman I was going to marry, and I also knew I’d screwed up by driving her away. I started calling her, but she wasn’t going to make it easy for me. I guess I should have taken the hint after a week of her not taking my calls. As things turned out, I’m glad I didn’t take the hint.
You can think whatever you want about this statement, but I never really chased anyone before. It just wasn’t my style. Here I am, calling her constantly, and I’ll be the first one to admit I’m begging her to talk to me.
By the time two weeks had gone by, I was beside myself. Rena wouldn’t answer the phone, wouldn’t return my calls. She was sending a message loud and clear. She wasn’t playing hard to get; she was letting me know that she would devote her life to me, but I had to play by the rules with her.
I wanted her to know how serious I was about building a life together, so I hopped on a plane, and in a last-ditch effort to be with the woman I knew I should spend my life with, I headed down to Orlando.
I made one stop on the way to the airport. I went to a jewelry store and bought an engagement ring. This was going to be “all or nothing,” and the stakes had never been higher.
I had been to Rena’s house a bunch of times, but I never wrote down the address. I knew how to get there from the airport, but that didn’t do me a lot of good.
I got into a taxicab, and right away I’m arguing with this stupid cabbie, because he keeps telling me he needs an address. “Don’t worry about the address!” I kept telling him. “Just turn right, go down six lights . . .”
I had to force myself to calm down, because I was going to punch this guy’s lights out. Finally, I just got out of his cab, and ended up in another taxi.
This jackass of a driver pulls the same shit with me as the first guy. “I need an address,