THE BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS MIGHT JUST BE RICE

THE BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS

MIGHT JUST BE RICE

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Copyright © 2012 by Ryan Bow. All Rights Reserved.Every effort has been made to trace ownership of all copyrighted mate-rial and to secure permission from copyright holders. In the event of any question arising as to the use of any material, we will be pleased to make the necessary corrections in future printings.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmit-ted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Cover Design by Dianna Little

Published by Kaminari Dojo Mixed Martial Arts Academy, L.L.C.

2035 28th St. SE Suite N

Grand Rapids, MI 49508

Website: http://www.kaminaridojo.com/

Email: [email protected]

ISBN: 978-0-9884690-5-1

First Edition

Printed in the United States of America

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THE BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS

MIGHT JUST BE RICE

RYAN BOW

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I would like to dedicate this book to my father, Amen Yvon Bow.

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ABOUT THIS BOOK

Every now and then a story unfolds that challeng-es you to re-consider the trials, tribulations and struggles in life, re-assess, and ultimately count

your blessings as you face giant obstacles head-on with boldness and strength. This is that story.

-lenges you’ve faced and compel you to never give up.

This story, like the man who lived it and wrote it, is that of a champion in every sense.

It is the true inspiring tale of a young man told at an early age by doctors that a cyst on his brain could require ma-jor surgery. That he should avoid any form of head trauma as it could cause permanent brain damage. And yet, what does this boy do when he grows up? Ryan Bow relocates to Japan, enters a Dojo one day, and successfully becomes a Mixed Martial Arts Champion.

Ryan’s amazing tale will challenge your concept of hu-manity, make you question your priorities, and stimulate the compassion within. This is about one man’s struggle to sur-vive in a Japanese culture that has little tolerance for Ameri-

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You are about to discover with Ryan that sometimes suc-cess isn’t always measured by the size of your house or pay-check, but by tragedies and challenges you’ve gone through and the manner in which you somehow overcame those hor-rendous circumstances.

This inspiring book will provide you with a look behind the scenes of mixed martial arts. For sure, it deals with trag-edy, perseverance and faith; but, at its core lies a story about beating all the odds.

Ryan Bow’s life journey aims to inspire everyone read-ing it never to give up. We should embrace the overwhelm-ing truth that perseverance and faith in oneself is truly the binder that holds the pages of life together.

Come with us now along this phenomenal path to suc-cess, and live life through the eyes of an MMA insider.

the world of MMA and Ultimate Fighting really works.

After reading this book you will discover that only by slaying your giants and battling through doubts and frustra-tions can you ultimately land in a place of tranquility and happiness.

of mixed martial arts in the same way. Please begin by turn-ing the next few pages to glimpse the real world of Mixed Martial Arts Champion: Ryan Bow.

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1

CHAPTER 1

Devastating News

It was on February 2nd 1979 when my mother fran-tically rushed to the hospital because her baby, who wasn’t due to be born for another 43 days, was work-

ing to a different agenda. A combination of fear and antic-ipation drove her to the hospital ward that night, and my father knew it.

The next day, February 3rd, Amen and Diane Bow would

Christopher Bow. At least they thought I was healthy.

I entered this world over a month before I was due by way of Grand Rapids, Michigan. The glorious event took place at 8:29 pm on a Saturday night. My parents’ lives would never be the same again.

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My mother had grown up privileged in a home full of love and compassion, always having a lot of support from

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The Breakfast of Champions Might Just Be Rice

2

her family. She never wanted for anything, simply growing up like many other middle class kids: dreaming of someday meeting the perfect man; having wonderful children; and then living the American Dream. This was in direct contrast to my father.

While Dad’s parents would confer the same love and compassion offered by my mother’s, they were certainly not blessed with the same size bank account.

While Mom was off trying on new clothes for the up-

into the current batch of hand-me-downs. His upbringing, and Mom’s, were clearly worlds apart. While many of their dreams embraced the same aspirations and goals, his route

-holes and detours.

Both my mother and father were amazing people who were destined for a great life. They quite simply never gave up, believing that no matter what life dished out in the way of obstacles, love and hard work would forever overcome such hurdles. The astonishing events on the pages that fol-low clearly prove they were right.

My parents lived in Ypsilanti, Michigan and they both loved watching the seasons visit each year like invited guests. There was no place else in the world they would rath-er have lived.

They had met at Ypsilanti High School near the end of their tenth grade years where my father was also an excellent high school wrestler. Good enough, in fact, to earn an in-vite to the Olympic camp. Finances, along with a few other issues, cruelly rendered him unable to pursue the dream of training alongside our country’s best and brightest wrestlers.

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It was a huge disappointment, but my father was never one to dwell on the past or let roadblocks slow him down. If something didn’t go his way he simply shrugged it off and got on with life.

As fate would have it on one cold wintery afternoon in November, Dad happened to be brushing up on his History in the study hall and happened to sit next my mother’s good friend Sandra. He could have never imagined how that sim-ple choice about where to plant his feet on that crisp after-noon was going to change the course of his life forever.

He looked over at Sandra and their eyes met in an awk-ward way. He was never known as a “talker” but he wasn’t timid either. The two of them got talking and, as the story

the nerve to call my mother for a date. Of course Sandra would lose that bet. In fact, during summer break that year my father called my mother almost every day. Before long he was hooked on her.

Dad wasn’t very forthright when it came to pretty girls, but he eventually worked up the nerve to ask Mom out. The two of them dated through most of High School as well as their years at Michigan State University.

Mom and Dad would graduate together on June 19th of

the knot in Ypsilanti, MI.

They would both go on to be schoolteachers in Grand Rapids, Michigan, as well as the most wonderful parents a

life with love, support and unrelenting dedication to me.

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My early years growing up were fantastic to say the least! Not only was my family middle class but I was an only child, meaning that my parents had a tendency to spoil me a rotten. I didn’t realize they were spoiling me at the time, but whatever they were doing my life couldn’t have been more perfect. I could usually do no wrong and when

although a spoiled child, I was a very well-behaved one – if that makes any sense.

Growing up in such an environment, one thing I had no frame of reference for was a highly important one: a sense of hardship. As far as I was concerned, life was good for me, so life must have been good for everybody.

My father was the football and wrestling coach at Ot-tawa Hills High School where he also taught English class, loved and well-respected by all his students. My mother, meanwhile, taught French at Union High School. The two of them were very involved in both school activities and ev-erything in my life.

At least until one week before Christmas, 1983.

passed away from breast cancer. Needless to say this was a gut-wrenching experience for the whole family, and it hit my mother especially hard. In fact it was so overwhelming that she would later be told it triggered a bipolar (manic depres-sive) condition in her.

After the death of her mother, Mom would battle depres-sion her entire life. Some days she would be as happy as can be while others would be so bad she couldn’t pull herself out of bed.

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Her condition worsened to the extent that it seemed she was out of control of her actions at times and needed to be hospitalized. I can recall on one occasion her carving the words “HATE” and “DEATH” into her skin with a kitchen knife and my father frantically consoling her to save the sit-uation. Somewhat inevitably, incidents like this meant she had to quit working and be hospitalized.

While in the hospital, Mom sometimes went through shock therapy and had to be retained in a straight-jacket - a truly horrible situation for all of us.

Despite all this turmoil, my father held the family togeth-er. Dad continued to work hard coaching wrestling and made sure he and I went to visit my mother in hospital as often

would learn to control her occasional mood swings.

I wasn’t aware of it then, but I learned that growing up around this kind of an illness can cause disconnection in young children; an unwillingness to understand people’s problems. It could also have been one of the reasons I al-ways felt the need to “get away” someday.

I was young. Along with that came an unwillingness to even try and understand her disease. Instead I just wanted to get away. But we held it all together and life went on.

Dad wanted to start me out wrestling at an early age but once I saw the movie “The Karate Kid,” I knew what kind of wrestling I wanted to do. And it wasn’t rolling around on some mat with a guy in tights. It was called… “Karate”! Even though I was only six years old, I knew exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up and when I made my mind up to do something, I usually did it. Watching that movie inspired me in ways I can’t even explain. The plot consisted

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6

of a young boy who, against all odds, was able to triumph and win the day. And not just win the day, but win it with style and raw emotion.

I recall that usually when my father was coaching at wrestling matches, my mother would stay home and take care of me. This was very hard on Mom, but she always took it in her stride and somehow got everything done.

Eventually, though, the schedule became too much, the strain of it having an effect on our family. Consequently, my father stopped coaching wrestling to spend more time at home. Both my parents made it a strong point to always be in my life and, more than that, to be a big part of my life. I think their love and commitment played a big part in shaping the man I have become, giving me the priceless strong foun-dation upon which to build my success in the most fearsome of professions.

I was always more of a leader growing up and nev-er much of a follower. I attribute this to how my parents brought me up, but it was also a strong personality trait that belonged to my grandfather.

My grandfather was a World War II Veteran and I was always proud of that. He grew up in the South during very hard times. As we all know, such hard times can be a valu-

had an 8th-grade education but made a good living in spite of that. He owned and ran his own business which consisted of two barber shops; one in Ann Arbor and one in Ypsilanti, each being very successful. Like my grandfather, I was always more interested in setting the pace rather than trying to keep up with everybody else. He was a great inspiration in my life.

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Ryan Bow

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As a young boy I was interested in all the things other little boys are interested in; running, jumping, just having an all-round good time. But where I began to differ was on the one occasion that a friend of mine, Dave, invited me to do some sparring in his front yard. Since he had been studying Taekwondo for some time the opportunity to try out new moves on me was irresistible. I didn’t mind since I was always interested in the martial arts anyway. Better still, it was like being in the Karate Kid movie. I knew I wouldn’t be much of a sparring partner for Dave yet, but I still wanted to see what I could do; after all I’d seen Ralph Macchio (Daniel-san) kick butt more than a hundred times in the movie, so I was prepared.

We punched and kicked for hours and even though most of my strikes never found their mark, my interest was once again peaked. By the time he was through kicking my butt all over the yard, I was hooked for good. It was on that front lawn that I realized even with my limited knowledge and skill, I was still able to be competitive against Dave and make a few good moves myself. Sure he landed everything and I landed next-to-nothing, but I was still good. I could feel it inside and it triggered something almost primeval in

-

I attended Ottawa Hills High School in Grand Rapids, MI. At 14, my parents allowed me to join a martial arts school called Chan’s Kung Fu School, where I began learn-ing Wing Chun and Judo. This was my dream come true.

realizing one of my greatest dreams.

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At the time Bruce Lee and anything Kung Fu was all the rage. Sure the Bruce Lee movies were dubbed and the voic-es never matched up with those crazy characters, but that didn’t matter because it was all about the kicks, the punches and the moves. I had to say goodbye to Ralph Macchio be-cause once Bruce Lee came on the scene, there was no doubt

To my delight, I then discovered a martial arts teacher from Hong Kong teaching right there in my hometown. In my young impressionable mind, just being from Hong Kong gave him tremendous credibility. He was SiFu Sam Hing Fai Chan and the thought of training with such a teacher sent chills up my young spine. This was also the year that I saw

with it.

Suddenly everything I always thought I wanted to be -

ally was like Christmas every time I thought about learning the Martial Arts.

My father and I quickly ordered Pay Per View for the up-coming UFC clash where Royce Gracie would win the tour-nament, proving for the second time that Brazilian Jiu-jitsu was the most effective art in the sport. It was right after

-sons. Christmas had come early.

As with everybody else at the time, I was very eager to learn more about this martial art and particularly zealous in incorporating it into the Kung Fu and judo skills I was learn-ing.

A friend of mine, Nick, a fellow Wing Chun student, would practice the moves we saw on television with me for

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his living room, but that didn’t matter to me.

I was committed to the sport and with that commitment came a burning desire to practice and perfect my techniques every chance I got. I was going to be better than Dave, Nick, Ralph - even better than the great Bruce Lee himself some day! And nothing was going to slow me down! Some plan, huh?

--------------------------------

Then, in 1996, something happened that would change my life. Forever. Not in a good way.

Something was wrong with my brain. It was not that I wasn’t thinking right but something else — something far more deadly. It could have ended my dreams of ever becom-ing a great martial artist.

I had been working at a local pet store, Chow Hound,

On my way home from work one afternoon my vision must have become blurred or distorted for a few moments be-cause I somehow managed to sideswipe another car without even seeing it. As you can imagine it freaked me out badly because I never even saw the other car coming. My mind swelled with fear and my heart stopped as I felt the crunch of metal on metal and the squeal of brakes on the pavement. It was as though the other car had simply dropped down from the sky because I never even saw it. I panicked and made a quick decision that I would soon regret. I ended up speed-ing away from the scene out of fear and confusion, but the

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damaged car followed me home and the gig was up. This was completely out of character for me so I was devastated. What was happening and how did I hit an invisible car?

Crying hysterically, I screamed out that I never saw the car, had no idea where it came from and that it wasn’t my fault. I pleaded with my parents and stressed my innocence.

“I swear,” I yelled out, “I never saw the car!”

I kept saying it over and over again and I could see the concern in my parents’ face. They knew me and knew I wasn’t a liar; at least not on matters such as this. In fact I was so adamant about it that my parents thought it would be a good idea to have my eyesight checked. So that’s what we did.

It was then we discovered I was peripherally blind. In fact, I had been so since birth. There was zero peripheral vision on the left side of either eye, which was why I never saw the car. Really never saw it!

This strange condition actually led my parents to seek advice from a neurologist. We discovered that because both of my eyes were experiencing the same handicap, my prob-lem with my vision was someplace in my brain. That was the last thing we wanted to hear! After all, anytime a doc-tor says something’s wrong with your brain, you know it’s serious. But at least a lot of awkward moments in my life now began to make perfect sense. Suddenly I realized why I would constantly be bumping into things for no apparent reason.

Like the time I was speaking with one of my friends at school as we leisurely strolled down the school hallway. We were just talking when for no apparent reason I walked

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straight into a trash can, dumping it over and spilling half-eat-

mishaps had happened so often that my friends would often tease me about it and make jokes. They all thought I was just

time people would underestimate me.

I wasn’t happy about hearing the doctor’s news, but like I said: it sure did explain a lot of things. And sometimes, certainty where there was previously doubt can work won-ders for the mind.

But that certainty would only come once I knew where the trouble had originated. So there I was, a young man of

an MRI. I can’t even begin to tell you how scary that was.

At the forefront of my anguished mind was how this set-back might affect my martial arts training. I also had no clue about how claustrophobic it would be lying inside a circular machine resembling something out of an old Sci-Fi movie

it circled around me like some orbiting space station. It was tight and claustrophobic. Had the MRI lasted any longer, I’m sure a panic attack would have ensued. After about 45 agonizing minutes, the ordeal ended. We went home and waited for what seemed like a lifetime.

While we speculated on those test results and tried to decide what to do, I continued to train at the kung fu school as hard and vigorous as ever. I ’m not sure now that was the best thing for me to be doing, but I couldn’t just sit around and wait for bad news.

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I had a good friend and sparring partner, Duncan, who was ten years my senior. We would always go at each other pretty hard whenever we sparred together.

I remember a few days after my testing, just before work-ing out together, that I happened to mention what was going on with in my head. I vividly recall the look of shock and

Thinking back, I shouldn’t have been surprised at all by his reaction, but suddenly Duncan tried his hardest NOT to hit me when we sparred. I knew exactly where he was coming from, but I loved to spar and knowing that my opponent was never going to strike back… well, it just wasn’t the same.

One day the news dropped like a bomb from the sky. The testing was complete. The results were in. They made for bad reading. I had a large cyst. On my brain. It would possibly require surgery in months, if not weeks.

It would be a tricky operation with all sorts of possible side-effects. The odds were hardly stacked in my favor.

After some deliberation, both my parents felt it best to hold off on the operation for as long as possible as they also wanted to get a second opinion.

They contacted a well-known neurosurgeon who looked into my prognosis further. We discovered that something

rupture could mean certain death for me; however, if the cyst

When further testing revealed the latter to be true, my

neurosurgeon also said that had we known about this when I

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was born, I would not have lived a normal life. I would not have been able to play sports because most kids who have a cyst similar to mine have some form of cerebral palsy.

It was a frightening time for all my family to be sure, but in hindsight my parents were looking out for me and made the best decisions possible. We were also told that I must have had a stroke when I was in the womb and that it was nothing short of a miracle that I wasn’t left handicapped in some way. That was good news too. But how could I pos-sibly put that in context at the time? I was a martial artist!

Far from a reminder to count my blessings, all this news meant was that in the activity I loved to do, I was handi-capped in a big way. Suddenly I realized that I would be at a tremendous disadvantage every time I fought. Not only would it be because I didn’t see things clearly from my left side, but every punch, every kick and every blow I sustained would affect my equilibrium in a greater way than it would affect my healthy opponent. The possibilities of what could happen to me by getting punched, thrown and kicked in the head numerous times were also too monstrous to contem-plate.

That the prognosis was too grim to be ignored was as obvious as the sky is blue. But ignore it I did. Although engagement in MMA could leave me with permanent brain damage due to a ruptured cyst, I wasn’t willing to give up on my dream. Even if it meant being left crippled and unable to fend for myself. Life had just thrown me a giant curve ball.

would accomplish. Despite the defect in my brain, I had the heart of a warrior. Just like my father. I wasn’t going to let a few roadblocks hold me back from where I wanted to go. I

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would pursue my American Dream no matter how terrifying the potential cost.

lying in bed at night thinking that dying in the ring would be better than not pursuing my dreams. I wanted it so badly,

of thinking was very naïve, but it’s how I felt at the time.

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THE BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS MIGHT JUST BE RICE

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