The Thrill of the fight: my second match - by sarah oriza

After my first fight, I received an unexpected call from one of the commentators who had watched me compete. There was an opportunity to fight at the Alaska Fighting Championships (AFC) in June of 2006, just a month away. This time, it would be a professional bout, meaning I would get paid, and my travel and hotel would be covered. However, accepting a professional fight meant I could no longer compete as an amateur. Given the long wait I had experienced to secure my first fight, I decided to go for it.

Negotiating for myself was daunting, and my inexperience showed. Although most professional fighters have coaches flown in for their fights, the AFC wasn't covering that expense, so I agreed to go alone to Alaska. The thought of flying alone for the first time was scary, especially knowing I would be stepping into the cage without anyone present who truly knew or cared about me. My partner, Gary, would often remind me of a scene from a Chuck Norris movie where Chuck Norris stepped off the plane alone but brimming with confidence. I was determined to embody that spirit; I was a fighter, and nothing would hold me back.

Upon landing in Anchorage, I was picked up from the airport and taken directly to the weigh-ins. I had put in the work to cut weight, spending the night before leaving Portland in the sauna. However, when I arrived at the bar for weigh-ins, I was not met with a warm welcome. As I sat down to fill out my paperwork, the other fighters and their teams vacated the table, leaving me alone. When my name was called, I stepped onto the scale and successfully made weight at 155 pounds—10 pounds lighter than my previous fight. After this, the promoters took me to their office for a video interview, which was another first for me. Though I felt unprepared, I managed to get through it.

On fight day, I felt the adrenaline building as I warmed up with people I had just met. To my surprise, we were the co-main event! As the moment approached, the ring announcer asked the crowd, “Are you ready for a bitches brawl?” Then it was finally time for my entrance, they played my video from the night before, and the announcer let out a shriek to mock my appearance. I couldn't shake the feeling that such a response wouldn’t have happened for male fighters. Regardless, I brushed it off; I was focused on the fight ahead.

Once inside the cage, I squared off with my opponent, Susan Arnett. The referee asked if we were ready, and with a resounding "FIGHT!" the match began. I knew my strength lay in Jiu-Jitsu, so I aimed to get the fight to the ground. However, my striking skills at the time were lacking compared to my opponent’s, and I found myself on the receiving end of powerful punches that rocked me each time one would land. I quickly realized I was concussed, but the fight pressed on. Just under two minutes in, I managed to secure a takedown, still managing to land on bottom, I transitioned into guard. As she threw punches, I seized the opportunity to trap her arm and lock in an armbar.

That day, I endured more punishment than I ever had before, but I turned what looked like it was headed to be a loss into a glorious victory. Standing in the center of the cage, lightheaded and bleeding, I felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment as my hand was raised in victory. After the fight, I flew home at 2 a.m., my face already bruising from the beating I had taken, but I felt exhilarated. This moment marked a significant milestone in my journey as a fighter.

Stay tuned for my final blog post next week, where I’ll reflect on the rest of my fight career.