Enrolled in psychology classes at the University of Nevada, Carano was 13kg too heavy, rudderless, half-lost to drinking and chatting up other girls’ boyfriends by the time a friend’s Muay Thai martial arts instructor finally called her a mess. And the church of athletic redemption narratives found itself another lost soul.
“I’ve only answered to God, sometimes my family, sometimes not, and fighting,” Carano said. “No relationship, no boyfriend, girlfriend, it’s the only thing that has kept me focused.”
In time she was traveling the world, taking fights in Thailand and staving off concerned relatives. After a while she started making money. After a while she developed a sense of mission.
“I want it to be easier for other females to be able to walk into a gym and train, because it changed my life,” she said. “I live in Las Vegas, where it’s difficult to meet a gentleman who doesn’t think of you as a stripper or a piece of meat. I like the training and the lifestyle. I get to wake up and focus on myself and being better. It eliminates all the drama when you have to think about somebody punching you and taking your head off.”
As her big title fight approaches, distractions abound. Photo shoots round out her schedule. She flies to New York for promotional appearances. Separate publicity men fly out from New York and Los Angeles to eavesdrop and text.
For training, she has enlisted a team of six coaches led by Randy Couture, a onetime champion of the Ultimate Fighting Championship. She has acquired a scar above her chin, a bruise around her eye and deep calluses across her knuckles.
One morning in late July, Carano arrived at a gym in a highway strip mall for a workout with a strength coach she has affectionately nicknamed Satan for his mercilessness. The place was decked out like a prison, with black chain-link fences around the exercise gear. Counting the receptionist and a photographer, fewer than five women were present. Around a fighting cage, out of earshot from Carano, a group of teenagers cracked jokes.
For two hours, Carano ran from weight machine to treadmill to weight machine, sweating into a polka dot headband. As the keyboard strains of Van Halen’s **Jump filled the speakers, the coach ordered her to perform something he called a speed round. When it was done, she collapsed into an enormous rubber tire. The fight, she said later, would be no easier than the getting ready.
“I’ve been carrying this whole thing with women’s mixed martial arts for a couple years, and that’s a lot,” Carano said. “It’d be a great thing to win and hold that belt. But that means that load stays right where it’s at.”
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