Reykjavík Grapevine - 05.02.2016, Blaðsíða 10

Reykjavík Grapevine - 05.02.2016, Blaðsíða 10
10 The Reykjavík Grapevine Issue 2 — 2016 THE EXCITEMENT WAS ALMOST PALPABLE on the evening of December 12, 2015, as Icelanders gathered in pubs, clubs and at house parties to witness local MMA hero Gunnar Nelson fight Brazil’s Demian Maia in a high-profile UFC fight beamed straight from Las Ve- gas via satellite. The highly publicized fight was dream matchup between two world-class grapplers, an experienced veteran and his hotshot challenger. An- ticipation levels peaked as the two fight- ers stepped into the ring, with viewers from all over the world tuning in to wit- ness the potentially legendary fight. At Irish pub The Dubliner in down- town Reykjavík, the crowd turned wild as the fight commenced. And then, it fell silent. It quickly became apparent that Gunnar Nelson was no match for Maia, who quickly asserted his dominance over the young contender. Our hero didn’t seem to stand a chance. The au- dience gathered was at a loss for words, much like the Icelandic sport com- mentators covering the match. Gunnar showed no signs of recovering. By the third round, people had averted their eyes from the screen, instead focusing on finishing their drinks. Something had gone horribly wrong. Gunnar’s usual spry and confident demeanour was absent in the ring, re- placed by what seemed like half-hearted efforts to stay in the fight, which was far from enough against veteran Maia. Gunnar spent the majority of the fight’s fifteen minutes soaking up punches and avoiding Maia’s deft submission at- tempts. Wrestling with inner demons, Zombie Mode After taking a few weeks off, Gunnar agreed to meet for an interview. Step- ping into his gym, Mjölnir, I find it abso- lutely bursting at the seams. Making my way past a throng of people hitting the showers, I descend to the large boxing and fitness room, where I find Gunnar in the middle of a deep stretch, smiling and laughing with a few friends of his. Saying his goodbyes, he joins me on a couch, squatting, not sitting, sipping on coconut water. As we discuss that fateful Decem- ber night, Gunnar doesn’t appear upset over the proceedings. He attributes his positive demeanour to having spent the last month with friends, family, and his eighteen-month-old son. “Lately I’ve been playing Zombie Mode on the new Call of Duty with my friends,” he says, “and going back to the gym.” Speaking at a measured pace, Gun- nar tells me that although he has yet to watch the Demian Maia fight, he’s paid a lot of thought to it. His technique and skills aren’t to blame for the loss, he says. Rather, it was the result of a sort of con- dition or bad habit that has followed him for a long time, and stopped him in his tracks that night. He’s felt it before, he tells me, but hasn’t been able to prop- erly pinpoint it until now. He describes the sensation like a need to open up his chest, and when affected he feels slowed down, and unable to self-motivate. “I’ve fought through it in the past, sometimes winning fights in spite of it,” he explains. He felt it during the Rick Story fight of 2014—his first profession- al loss—he confirms when I ask, noting that it wasn’t as acute then as was with Maia. He explains: “Dealing with it is a part of me becoming comfortable in my own skin and getting to know your body.” Gunnar tells me that he’d long been excited about the prospect of fighting Maia. Having discussing the intrica- cies and challenges of such a matchup with numerous confidants, he says, he specifically requested it happen. “I’ve watched him from the beginning. I have the feeling that he’s on his way out, so I knew this was my chance.” However bad his defeat might have seemed, it’s clear from talking to Gun- nar that he doesn’t see it as anything more than a bump in the road. “You lose, and there’s nothing you can do about it but get back up on your feet,” he calmly explains, betraying the stoic demeanour that has become his trademark. Local fame, Global acclaim In the three and a half years that Gun- nar has fought with the UFC, he’s won five fights, and lost two, garnering well- deserved international acclaim and becoming a bit of a national icon in the process. Indeed, Gunnar’s many achieve- ments at the highest level of the MMA world—such as making it to the top fifteen of the UFC’s welterweight di- vision—have served to popularise the sport in Iceland. It has, for instance, resulted in an influx of new members at Mjölnir, the gym where he trains, mak- ing it one of Europe’s biggest. To meet demand, Mjölnir will move to a new 3,000 square metre space this summer, with twice the floor space. Gunnar hasn’t gotten into a fight since he was a kid, he says, and he be- lieves that his sport has nothing to do with violence. Instead, he explains, it taps into something very primal, some- thing that perhaps appeals to Icelanders in particular. “In all my travels, I’ve discerned that Icelanders are pretty rough people,” he says. “We like full contact sports and action. MMA is just man against man, woman against woman—it’s conflict in its most basic form, with a good set of rules. Maybe I’m biased, because I enjoy it and so do the people around me, but I think it speaks to something instinctive within us.” As Gunnar grows increasingly popu- lar in Iceland and MMA becomes more prevalent in the local media, detrac- tors have predictably come out of their woodwork, raising various concerns over the merits of “a sport that cele- brates barbaric violence” and Gunnar’s own standing as a public figure. Lately, whenever kids get into a schoolyard tussle, a mini-moral panic erupts, where he and his sport are called into question. Most recently, Gunnar was taken to task by commentators after two ten-year-old boys got into a fistfight a couple of days after the Maia bout. At this point, the discourse is fairly routine. First, various commentators re- spond to an event by claiming that Gun- nar is a bad role model. His defenders will then respond, perhaps noting that kids have been getting into fights since time immemorial and this isn’t likely to change. Predictable and petty as this verbal sparring is, Gunnar becomes vis- ibly frustrated when the topic is brought up, saying he’s fed up with having to re- peat himself again and again. When asked whether he considers himself a role model, he responds that he’s not the person to answer that. “I try doing what I do to the best of my ability. It’s up to other people to decide if I am a role model, and if so, of what kind.” We discuss role models in general, and their responsibility to the public. After pausing for a moment, Gunnar admits that he’s not sure. “You have to realise the impact you can have, and base your decisions on that,” he says. “Yet at the same time, people have to understand that you’re just living your life. Knowing that young boys and girls might look up to me makes me want to be careful to re- main true to myself, and stick to my own values.” Intense Situations Gunnar is known for seeming stoic and calm, rarely showing emotion. His friends, however, know that he can be very impatient, and that he hates being delayed. Right now he’s back to train- ing full time and says he’ll be in fighting shape again in a month or two. He’s aim- ing for three or four bouts this year. He says he doesn’t want to decide who he fights next, while noting that he wants many fights in quick succes- sion. “The UFC never match you against someone who is far behind you, so we always just say yes to what they suggest. They’re all tough guys, and you can al- ways learn from them, which is what motivates me as a fighter. I’m interested in improving as a fighter, learning new movements, and putting myself into intense situations. I want to keep going and fight the top guys, and then pass on my skills when I’ve retired.” That Fight: Gunnar Nelson is down, far from out By Gabríel Benjamin “I’ve fought through it in the past, sometimes winning fights in spite of it" Ever tasted fresh sc llops straight from the sea? 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