Prologue

What's it like to walk down the street and have no fear? What's it like to turn the corner and know I can handle anything that comes my way? What's it like to be the guy people are afraid to meet in a dark alley? People ask me those questions more than any others. That's what happens when you're six-two, 205 puonds, sport a low-and-tight Mohawk, and have a tattoo etched onto the side of your skull. That's what happens when when you've got a rep as the hardest puncher in what is arguable the toughest sport since the 300 were doing battle. People want to know what it's like to be fearless more than they want to know how much money I make (enough), or how much it hurts to be an ultimate fighter (not much), or would I let my nine-year-old son step onto the Octagon when he's older (sure, if he trained).

Well, here's the answer: I have no idea, because I've got nothing to compare it to. I've never been afraid of a fight. In fact, I like fighting, always have. Not that I'm looking for a brawl every time I hit the bars. I stopped doing reckless stuff like that when I was a teenager. Back then I'd walk into a room trying to figure which guys I was going to end up throwing down with at the end of the night. I didn't care if I was taking on five other people. I figured, no matter what happened to me, by the time it ended I'd have taken care of at least three or four of them. Ever since my grandpa taught me how to throw a punch, I've known how to handle myself in those situations. And having that kind of confidence frees me up to think about something other than “Wow, I can pretty much kick anyone's ass.” It just doesn't cross my mind. At least not when I'm walking down the street.

But heading toward the cage, that's a different story. Then, I never doubt. When I walk out of the tunnel, I can see the lights, hear the music, feel the crowd, but it all begins to close off as I near the cage. By that point, I'm thinking, I've been training hard, it's time to focus. I play to the crowd because that is part of the show, but I can't hear what anyone is saying. Good or bad. All the best MMA (mixed martial artist) fighters feel exactly the same way because most of us were competitive athletes long before joining the UFC (Ultimate Fighting Championship). I played football and wrestled at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo. Randy Couture was an all-American wrestler at Oklahoma State and was an alternate on three Olympic wrestling teams. The UFC welter-weight champ Matt Serra won a Brazilian jujitsu gold medal at the Pan American Games. What we're doing is sports in its most basic form. We don't have teammates. It's a one-on-one battle, with no place to hide. Every man is born with a fight-or-flight instinct, and mine is to fight. It always has been.

I've been in twenty-four professional MMA fights since turning pro in 1998. I've won twenty, seven of those by knockout. That's a total of less than three matches a year, which usually equals fewer than forty minutes total of actual fight time. Yet for each of those fights I work out twice a day, five times a week, for three straight months (give or take a day here and there to blow off some steam). My trainer at The Pit in San Luis Obispo, John Hackleman, has me throw a 125-pound medicine ball against a wall. I run with a wheelbarrow full of rocks up a hill. I do fight drills, fitness drills, and bag work. I spar. I wrestle. I take kicks to the head and knees to the stomach. And that is just for practice. After that kind of effort, if I walk into the cage and don't think I can whip anyone I'm facing, I'm in the wrong sport.

I'm pretty sure I made the right choice. And while you're reading this book, I think you'll agree. I wrote this because I wanted people to know the guy beneath the Mohawk, to understand why I love stepping into the cage and beating up on people. And while I begin the story with my days growing up in Santa Barbara and end it living the good life as a UFC star in San Luis Obispo, I'm hoping this serves as more than just a year-by-year record if my life story because that's not all it is to me. I didn't just wake up one day and decide I could be a UFC champion. I worked toward it every day of my life, even before there was such a thing as the UFC. All I ever wanted to do was make a living fighting. It didn't have to be professionally. Before becoming a UFC fighter, I was working in a dojo as a bartender. I could have done those two things forever. And if I had written a book about that kind of life, except for the fights themselves, most of it wouldn't be all that different. Every chapter in this book features a lesson that helped me become who I am in and out of the cage, from the time I learned to box when I was three years old to the days both of my kids were born to the night that Rampage knocked me on my butt. You may finish this book and not remember one detail of my life—although I'm sure you'll be telling your friends some stories. But at the least, if you rip out the table of contents and carry it with you (after you buy the book), you'll have the road map that helped me become the light heavyweight titleholder. And the lessons apply whether you're studying for the SATs, sitting in cubicle hating your boss, or training to be a UFC fighter.

Hackleman likes to say that I was nothing but a 220-pound slab of clay who couldn't fight when he met me. He also tells reporters that before big fights I get really nervous, head to his house, sit on his couch, put my head on his shoulder, and ask him to rub the tattoo on the side of my head until I fall asleep. Only one of those things is true.

Read this book and you'll find out.

Q&A with Ultimate Fighting Champion Chuck Liddell

What does it feel like to pummel someone?

It feels good. But I'm not doing it just for the thrill of beating the crap out of someone. The same way some guys were great at basketball or football growing up, I was great at fighting. Connecting on a perfect punch is like getting solid wood in baseball. You don't feel the sting in your hands at all; it's just a little pressure as your fist moves right through a guys face.

How did you find out about MMA (Mixed Martial Arts)?

It started in 1993, around the time I was getting out of college and figuring out what I was going to do with my life. I was teaching karate and kickboxing. But MMA and the UFC were getting popular, so a lot of my friends and I talked about it.

How did you get interested in UFC?

I had been kickboxing for a few years after the UFC started. Naturally, me and all my friends kept up with the sport and were interested in it. I was a natural for it, since I had the martial arts experience and had wrestled in college. But I never considered doing it until my friends kept pushing me. Finally, a guy who promoted my kickboxing fights introduced me to some UFC promoters and they put me in a tournament.

If you weren't in UFC, what would you do?

I'd be teaching karate, probably own my own dojo like I do now, and kickboxing. One way or the other I'd be fighting.

What is a common misconception about UFC fighters and yourself in particular?

That we're untrained thugs—and that I'm a mean guy because I've got a Mohawk and tattoo on my skull. I'm about as laid back a guy as you're going to meet when I'm not in the cage. And I'm like a lot of other UFC fighters in that I went to college and earned a degree. Mine is in accounting. A lot of the fighters could have been anything they wanted to outside the cage, but we're guys who loved wrestling or kickboxing or did judo, and this provides us with an opportunity to make a living doing what we love.

What was your favorite career fight and why?

The first Tito Ortiz fight. He's a punk who had been ducking me because he knew I'd kick his ass. When I did, it felt as good as I expected it to. And it felt just as good when I kicked his ass again a second time.

How has being a UFC champ most changed your life?

Well, I'm recognized in most places I go. And I have a lot more money from doing what I loved than I ever planned on having.

How often (and how much) do you train?

Heading into a fight I'm training everyday, usually twice a day, for three months. I'm in the gym or at The Pit, working to get myself into shape.

What do you do to prepare yourself for a fight?

As far as training, I focus on making everything simulate the five-minute rounds in a UFC fight. I'll spar for five minutes or do other drills, like the rowing drill, for five minutes, then get a one minute rest. (In the rowing drill I row as hard as I can on a machine for two minutes then jump off and wrestle a training partner for three minutes. It's brutal.) I also make my training and sleeping habits conform to a fight schedule. I'll go to sleep later, since the fights are usually around nine or 10 at night, and I'll schedule my training sessions for later at night, so my body is used to fighting at that time of day. I don't want to get too pumped up early in the day and be spent by the time the fight happens.

When did you start painting your toenails and why?

Shortly after the Ultimate Fighter started airing on Spike TV, I was walking around a mall in Florida. A bunch of guys at The Pit, where I train in San Luis Obispo, had been painting their toes so, when I walked by a nail salon, I thought I'd try it. The manicurist was going to do all black, then I told her to make the big toe pink, just to f*ck with people and see what kind of reaction I got. It's the same reason I like to dance when I'm ringside at one of my guy's fights. At first people were staring—but I was used to that given my haircut—and then I just sort of forgot about it. Then I went to a Chargers game a week later in flip flops and one guy looked at my toes, looked up at me and said, "Hey, if anyone can pull it off, you can."