Martin walked without speaking.
Eventually, Tyler broke the silence.
“Are we going somewhere specific?”
“No.”
“Then why are we walking?”
“Because you asked a question with your entire face, and I didn't feel like answering it inside the gym.”
Tyler laughed despite himself.
Martin stopped beside a bench overlooking a pond. The water was gray beneath the cloudy sky, and a light breeze moved across its surface.
“When I was preparing for an important fight,” Martin said, “I used to spend the final days imagining every possible disaster. What if my opponent changed his style? What if I got cut? What if the referee missed something? What if I lost?”
“What did you do?”
“I trained harder. I watched more footage. I tried to eliminate every uncertainty.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
Martin sat down.
“You can prepare for a fight. You can't make it predictable. At some point, you have to accept that something will happen you didn't plan for.”
Tyler sat beside him.
“What if I lose?”
“Then you'll have lost a fight.”
“What if people laugh?”
“Some might.”
“What if my father is disappointed?”
“Then you'll have to decide whether his disappointment gets to determine what you think of yourself.”
Tyler stared at the pond.
“I don't know how to do that,” Tyler admitted.
“That's why we're talking about it.”
Then Tyler asked a question he had been carrying for weeks.
“Were you afraid before your biggest fights?”
Martin gave a short laugh.
“Every time.”
“You never looked afraid.”
“I was young. I thought admitting fear would make it stronger.”
“What changed?”
“I lost a fight I thought I couldn't lose. Then I lost another. Eventually, I realized fear wasn't the problem. The problem was letting fear decide what I did.”
Tyler turned toward him.
“Did you ever get over losing?”
Martin considered the question.
“No. I got better at understanding what losing meant and what it didn't.”
“A loss can tell you that your defense needs work. It can tell you that your preparation was poor or that your opponent was better. It cannot tell you that your life is over, that you're worthless, or that everyone who cares about you has stopped caring.”
Tyler absorbed the answer.
“Do you think I'll be ready?” he asked.
Martin looked at him.
“Ready for what?”
“The fight.”
“I think you've trained hard enough to give yourself a chance. I think Marcus will test you. I think you'll make mistakes. And I think what happens after those mistakes will tell us more than anything you've done in the gym.”
Tyler nodded.
Martin paused the video.
“What's the most dangerous thing about Marcus?”
“His counterpunching,” Tyler answered.
“That's part of it.”
“His footwork?”
“Part of it.”
Tyler studied the frozen image.
“His patience.”
Martin nodded.
“He doesn't need you to make a mistake. He gives you enough room to make one yourself.”
Tyler watched the screen.
That evening, Tyler packed his equipment bag and checked the contents twice.
Before leaving, he stood beside Martin near the counter.
“Thanks for today.”
Martin shrugged.
“We walked around a pond.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
Tyler hesitated.
“I still want to win.”
“Good.”
Martin's answer surprised him.
“I thought you'd tell me that winning doesn't matter.”
“Winning matters. It's why you're competing. But it doesn't have to matter more than everything else.”
Martin picked up his keys.
“Go home. Eat properly. Sleep. Tomorrow, you do nothing heroic.”
Tyler smiled.
“I'll try.”
“Don't try. Do it.”
Tyler left the gym.
He thought about the pond, the birds, and the possibility that he could step into the ring without needing the result to rescue him from himself.
The arena was nearly full by the time Tyler arrived on fight night.
Tyler sat on a bench in the changing area, his hands wrapped and his gloves resting beside him.
He remembered Martin's instruction: do the work.
Raymond entered the room carrying a towel.
“You ready?”
Tyler opened his eyes.
“I think so.”
“Good enough.”
“Remember what we've worked on. Keep your balance. Don't chase him when he moves. Protect yourself when you exit. And if something doesn't work, adjust.”
Tyler nodded.
“Most importantly,” Raymond continued, “you don't have to win the first exchange.”
“I know.”
“You don't have to win every exchange.”
“I know.”
“And you don't have to prove anything to the crowd.”
Tyler looked at him.
“That one's harder.”
“I know.”
Raymond placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Then keep it simple. You're here to compete against Marcus Reed. Everything else is noise.”
An official announced that the fighters should prepare to enter.
Tyler stood.
He remembered Martin refusing to give him the reaction he wanted.
Tyler picked up his mouthguard.
“Let's go.”
The corridor leading to the arena was narrow and dim. As he walked, the sound of the crowd grew louder. At the entrance, a staff member pointed toward the ring.
Tyler stepped into the light.