Ryan R. Mei

My journey into Mixed Martial Arts began after I became a taekwondo black belt at 16, then transitioned to Dutch kickboxing. I was always a fan of the UFC, I watched the highlight reels, the crazy knockouts, and I was a martial artist myself.

I quickly learned that MMA is less about fighting others and more about facing yourself. It became the force that shaped me, teaching me three fundamental lessons of my life: the true meaning of hard work, the sacredness of fitness, and a deeper connection to my faith in Eastern Orthodoxy.

First, hard work. In MMA, it is brutally concrete. A kill or be killed mentality. It’s the burn in your lungs during the fifth round of sparring when every muscle is screaming to quit. It is drilling a single takedown for an hour until the motion is in your muscle memory. It is the humility of being submitted, again and again, and having to tap, get up, and try again.

The second pillar: fitness. The Fathers of the Church refer to the body as a temple of the Holy Ghost. How could I call my body a temple if I was putting crap into it, if I wasn’t recognizing its athletic potential? MMA was so physically demanding that I was forced to respect my body, respect it well enough to feed it, rest it, and train it. It was a prayer in the form of sweating — an active acknowledgment of the privilege of being able to move, and of feeling alive.

The third part is the most unexpected gift of how MMA brought me closer to my faith. This might seem like a paradox. How does a combat sport, full of violence, relate to a religion of peace, humility, and love?

I got the answers in the silence after a tough session, in the humility of being beaten. And on every drive back home, beat up and in pain, I would gain clarity in prayer. The discipline of my training replicated that of the prayer rule. The appreciation I gained for my training partners, regardless of skill level, demonstrated the love for my neighbor that Christ calls for.

MMA did not shape me into a fighter. It taught me that the battle in the cage is temporary, but the struggle for the soul is eternal. And the same virtues—perseverance, humility, and faith—are required for both.