Iceman by Chuck Liddell Page B

already training in his Las Vegas gym, called Jsect. It was a single room with one huge mat where everyone worked out. It was all about perfecting moves. He created a completely pure technical environment where we watched each other, trained against each other, and learned from each other. It wasn’t the kind of place where you had to worry about getting hurt while you were working out or guys getting jealous of your skills or someone holding out when it came to sharing information. John wouldn’t allow it. His place was known for guys helping each other. He studied martial arts because of the discipline it instilled, because he wanted to be well-rounded, and because he wanted to learn as much as possible. Kicking people’s asses was secondary. And he brought those same principles to his school.
    John had seen me kickbox and remembered me taking out a guy with a straight kick to the head in one of my earliest fights. He told me he thought I was tough and skilled—and definitely looked nasty. But we both knew why I was there. I was scrappy and fearless and mentally ready to take it to the next level as a fighter. But when I decided to make the transition from kickboxing to UFC, my ground game was just too one-dimensional. I was hard to take down, and because of my wrestling experience and understanding of a lot of maneuvers, I was equally hard to keep down when I fell. But I knew nothing about the intricacies and dangers of making someone submit while I was on the ground. I didn’t know about joint manipulation or maintaining my guard. I could get out from under someone, but I could never win a fight from my back. And John was better than anyone else at teaching me how to do that.
    At first, he wanted to teach me how to get off the ground if I was taken down. We worked on a lot of technical ways to maneuver my body and my arms and my legs so I could get up. For example, if I’m lying on my back and my opponent is on top of me, he is controlling my chest. But if I pummel him and get my arms under his armpits, I can begin to control him a little bit. It’s all a matter of making space when you’re on the ground. If someone is on top of you, they are naturally leaning over while punching you. So I learned how to get some room. I take my forearm across an opponent’s face and then try to wiggle my body, getting him lower on my chest and toward my stomach. I keep wedging my hand between his face and mine, pushing him farther back every time I buck my body, even if it’s less than an inch. Eventually I can drop my elbow inside—between my shoulders and his—and then I can get his arm under my arm. If I can hook him from underneath, then I’ve got the leverage and can practically throw him off me.
    Even if I can’t, the distance I’ve created now forces his punch to travel farther before it can actually cause any damage. Which means by the time it reaches me it’s losing force. That’s if the guy can even punch me. Because the more I’m moving, the more someone has to keep me still. And he can’t hit me if he’s working to make me into a target.
    John and I worked for a month on groundwork, perfecting how to get off the mat when someone was on top. Then we spent time on submission moves and joint manipulation, and then on takedowns from the mat. Slowly, I was building up my glossary of moves, becoming more comfortable with Brazilian jujitsu and the concepts of the ground game. There are so many disciplines in the UFC: kickboxing, wrestling, and a variety of martial arts. For me, once I started training, it wasn’t enough to be able to get off the ground. I wanted to dominate from the ground. I wanted to be as well-rounded a fighter as possible, eliminating any weaknesses.
    As soon as I decided to fight in the UFC, I knew I wanted to become the light heavyweight champion. Getting a push from Nick was the first step. Training with John was the second.