The Fighter
<p>The changing room was stained with blood, sweat and vomit. Some stains were fresher than others. It is obvious that it was rarely cleaned. The smell was overpowering if you weren’t used to it and very unpleasant if you were. I sat on a bench trying not to breath heavily even though I needed to. My fight finished over ten minutes ago and I was still out of breath. One of my ribs was broken and every breath hurt. Every now and again I coughed and the pain was excruciating. Although I was suffering, the pain was not what was going through my mind. I was debating whether to shower or just go home. I had been in a few bad changing rooms before but this one was disgusting. This was a long way from the glamour of a UFC or Bellator fight night on TV. No doctors here. You’d be lucky if they called you an ambulance. Was it worth it? I wasn’t so sure anymore. The fire for the passion for the fight had died inside me tonight. Where did it go, I wondered?</p>
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