Brock Lesnar - Death Clutch: My Story of Determination, Domination, and Survival

DEATH CLUTCH

My Story of Determination, Domination, and Survival

Brock Lesnar

with Paul Heyman

To my wife, Rena, and my children, Mya, Turk, and Duke.

You are the reason I do what I do.

Contents

DEATHCLUTCH

RAISED TO BE A CHAMPION

THE NEXT BIG THING

THE SWORD AT MY THROAT

DEATHCLUTCH

I was living with a dark cloud over my head for seventeen months. I had gambled every bit of my reputation as a legitimate athlete, and I was determined to erase the stigma of being a WWE entertainer. All I had to do was smash Frank Mir into the ground, but I made a rookie mistake and got caught. These things happen in life, but Im supposed to be better than that. I handed this guy, who will never be half the man I am, a victory he didnt deserve.

So for seventeen months, I waited.

For seventeen months, I imagined what would happen in the rematch.

For seventeen months, I couldnt wait to get my hands on this guy again and show him, my family, the world, and God what I was capable of.

When the wait was over, I did everything I intended on doing. I beat Frank Mir to a pulp, took him down to the ground, and smashed in his face so bad, the referee had to stop the fight.

I was not only the Undisputed UFC Heavyweight Champion of the World, I had gotten out from underneath that dark cloud that just wouldnt go away.

I was so happy. I found my true calling. I was with the woman I love and am going to spend the rest of my life with. I had moved my parents close and given something back to my mom and dad. My wife had just given birth to our happy, healthy baby boy Turk.

Life wasnt just good, it was great. The best it had ever been. I was never happier.

And then I almost died.

What the hell happened to me? Im supposed to be hunting and fishing with my kids. Im supposed to be rewarding my wife for all of her love and support. Im supposed to be kicking ass, ruling the MMA world, being the Baddest Dude on the Planet.

Im not supposed to be stretched out, withering away, dying in some hospital in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a bunch of doctors who cant determine how sick I am because they are waiting on a part for a CT machine to arrive. Even without a proper diagnosis, they want to cut me open.

Its amazing what goes through a mans mind when hes in the clutches of death.

RAISED TO BE A CHAMPION

I want you to understand something. Its real simple. I owe it all to my mom and dad. Who I am. What I am. Where I am.

Parents put a lot of pressure on their kids to succeed in sports, whether they mean to or not. Some kids can handle the pressure and live up to their parents expectations. Other kids cant, and they fail. It wasnt like I was being given a choice. I had to win.

I was born with the talent and the athleticismthose were God-given gifts. But a lot of talented athletes go nowhere. What made me different? More than anything else, my mom and dad, and the rest of my family for that matter, were willing to make sacrifices for me.

There are a lot of people who helped mold me into a champion, but my mom and dad deserve the credit first, before anyone else. I didnt grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth. I didnt grow up like a lot of people think I did, as a spoiled athlete who got his ass kissed all the way through school, and was catered to and coddled. I grew up poor, on a dairy farm in South Dakota, and I had to work for everything I have. A lot of my friends were not allowed to play any sports or participate in other after-school activities. They were farmers, and farm chores came first. We were farmers, too. But my mom and dad let me start wrestling when I was only five years old. I milked cows and shoveled manure like everyone else, but I never missed a wrestling practice.

My parents got me into every wrestling tournament they could because they wanted me to learn what it was like to compete. As far back as I can remember, weekends meant wrestling tournaments. I can picture myself in the back of the family station wagon for hours on end, watching the farm fields go by, and wondering where we would end up.

My mom did most of the driving to practices, matches, and tournaments, because my dad had to stay home and work the farm. They both made it whenever they could, but sometimes I had to hitch a ride with another family or my coach. However I got there, my job was to win.

My mom didnt accept any excuses. If I lost, it was my fault. Period. I couldnt blame a loss on the referee, and there were no teammates to let me down. It was just me and the other kid on the mat. One winner. One loser. The outcome was up to me, and me alone.

When I lost a matchas I did from time to timeit was admit it, accept it, get in the car, and lets go home. My moms comments were always brief, and she always said the same thing. Theres another match next weekend. If you dont like the way you feel when you lose, then get in there and win. What do you want to be in life? The guy who feels good because he wins, or the guy who feels like you do now because he lost?

My mom was pretty stiff, but it turned out to be the best thing for me. It may seem coldhearted, but she loved me enough to make me want to go out there and earn victories. Just like crying was not acceptable if I lost, there was no big celebration if I won. Instead, my mom would just say, Good job, Brock, now lets get in the car and go home. You won. Thats what youre supposed to do.

My dad was no different. If I won a trophy, he would say good job. If I lost, he would tell me to try harder and win the next time. That was it. The expectations were clear. Losing was not an option.

Looking back from where I am now, I wouldnt have had it any other way. Wrestling is a competition. So is life. Even as a kid, I walked into every tournament for one reasonto win. My mom and dad expected no less, and they taught me to never settle for second best. I havent.

I will never forget how upset my mom was when I lost in the quarter finals of the National Junior College Wrestling Tournament. It was during my freshman year at Bismarck State College in North Dakota. She really wanted me to excelto stand out. She wanted me not only to live up to my potential, but to do even more. She knew I had been blessed with certain gifts as an athlete, and that I had the ability to push myself harder than anyone else; so why wasnt I number one? In her mind, there was no reason I shouldnt be the best, and she wasnt ever going to let me think second place was okay.

Sure, my mom pushed me hard to win. She saw a passion in me. She saw that I was a competitor. She wanted me to make the most of my natural instincts. I was her last son.

I was the third of four children, and I feel bad for my siblings because most of the time I was the center of attention. My two older brothers, Troy and Chad, were standout athletes in their own right, but chose not to pursue sports as a career. Over time, they became known as Brocks brothers. My poor little sister, Brandy, was a very good athlete too, and she excelled at basketball, volleyball, track, and any other sport she decided to play. But no matter how well she did, she still had to live in the shadow of her big brother Brock.

I wont lie. Being the center of attention had its perks. But it wasnt all good. I felt the pressure to succeed, too. What set me apart is that I accepted all challenges.

At a very young age I developed an inner confidence that I still have today. I dont know if its ego, attitude, arrogance, or something else. But whatever it is, it works for me.

I think my self-confidence is why, for as long as I can remember, Ive been the backbone of my family. I am comfortable being the go-to guy. The one people depend on. The one in control. Its always been that way for me. I still try to take care of my mom and dad, and I will always try to make sure the rest of my family is taken care of. Thats just who I am. Its up to me, and I look out for the people I love.