Following on from Part I where Chris detailed his thoughts on stepping up for a professional MMA bout, losing the weight through diet and his training regime, he nows takes us inside his head on fight day - the moment of truth.

The Fight Night

One thing I always liked about competing in wrestling or MMA is the fact that it's all about you. You are the attraction. You are the event. Outside of the world of combat sports nobody may care about your accomplishments, except your mates or the few that follow the sport on a domestic level. But, for that one night or day, you feel like someone.

It's like what Vin Diesel's character says in the Fast and Furious, “For those few seconds, I'm free.” Except in my case from the moment I step into the cage to the time I leave it, I'm free. If I trained right, put the time in, dieted right and cut no corners then there's a good chance I'll win. If I lose then it's down to me as well.

At the venue you forget yesterday and put tomorrow off, concentrating on the now.

I loved the pomp, the circumstance.

At the weigh-ins the day before you have your photo taken facing your opponent. Not used to the glaring eyes of someone wanting to smash my classically chiselled looks in, I forced myself not smile nervously.

Now my fight nearly didn't happen. My original opponent pulled out with a broken foot which, in hindsight (something I'll go into later), was a good thing. The next name put forward presented different problems than the first one. He pulled out too, I never found out the reason. In the end the guy I faced was a gamer, someone who would step up in a moment's notice to fight anyone, anywhere, any time.

Me and my team arrived at the venue to attend the rules meeting - one which sounded familiar to those I'd heard in my amateur days, except the part for the pro fighters, which I was now a part of.

During my wrestling days it was a same day weigh-in and then onto the mats at any given time so the trick was to eat light and not overload your system so that you had energy to fight.

Not tonight. The Metrocentre with all its enticements lay nearby. All I can say is never again. Consuming a medium-sized classic mighty meaty from Pizzahut with two glasses of 7 Up is something won't be on my menu next time, as the sugar from the drinks gave me what I term “sugarquake”, a headache that I could've done without at the time.

As my fight drew closer I stepped out onto the balcony - always a perk for fighters being able to watch the event for free - running into my opponent at the same time. No awkwardness, I nodded a greeting then turned away. I didn't want to come off as an asshole but after the fight we could have a drink, not before.

As the fights drew on I retired to the locker room to get changed, get warmed up and to get myself into the head space that needed.

Time flew by. Next thing I know the runners came to the door asking if I was ready. I was lead to the waiting area. I felt upbeat, as if all the training was about to pay off. I also found out from the DJ that my music CD wouldn't play. Not a big thing really, though a bit of a kick in the gonads when it's your pro debut.

Usually I'm not much of a talker, not do I really display any emotion before a fight or competition. Except there I was, attempting to do the running man dance whilst backstage. I thought it was hilarious while my corner team stared on, tutting to themselves and this all before entering the cage.

I watched as my opponent walked out to his music. That's when the adrenaline began seeping into me, dripping drop by drop. What felt like a lifetime later it was my turn.

Led to the drop off point by the ring girl who had the most impressive legs I'd ever seen, I relieved the tension by chatting her up. Unfortunately due to either my crap craic or the adrenaline inhibiting my neurons to come up with witty repartee, I failed.

Even at this point I was still feeling quite cheerful.

My music hit and I began walking out.

Following the ring girl, I was at the top of the platform staring out into a sea of darkness, the lights obscuring the faces that I knew were there.

“Chris Kernaghan!” Ian “The Machine” Freeman shouted, to which I put my hands in the air.

To the left of the cage I heard a roaring response. My fan club had made themselves known.

Moving down the steps I met Michael Surtees, the promoter and show owner who shook my hand and wished me well.

Going to the cage entrance I was met by one of the two referees who gave me the pat down, checked for greasing and made sure I had a groin guard and mouth guard.

I removed my wrestling shoes, stepped up into the cage and took a breath. I was here.

Everything I'd trained for and everything I'd sacrificed for lead to this moment. It sounds corny but that's exactly what it felt like. Eight weeks had arrived.

The canvas felt soft beneath my bare feet. Pressing myself against the cage to test out its pliability I turned to my corner to get last minute instructions.

“Stick to what you know.” That was my wrestling. "Take him out quickly,” which meant hit him until the referee intervenes.

Then it came; the moment the referee calls you into the centre of the cage, gives you the lowdown on what he expects, makes you touch gloves, sends you back to your corners and then it's on.

Back in my corner, I watched as the referee gave the signal to go. That was when the full force of the adrenaline hit. My mind screamed at me, “ Normal people do this? You're mental mate,” then receded into the depths, leaving just the instinctive reptilian part of me to take over.

This is the point when your training kicks in. If you've done it enough then your body will take over, so you'd better hope you put the time in.

Before the fight I'd watched tape on my opponent. His modus operandi was to charge in swinging. My counter was to drop underneath him, secure a double leg and drive into the floor.

That's not what happened. He moved backwards, swinging his leg up and catching me clean on the side of my neck. I felt my legs wobble, a pain went down my neck but I moved forward throwing punches to get him against the cage.

Another kick came which I blocked successfully on my arms, then shot in and took him down with a takedown I am still ashamed of performing.

On the ground , it should have been easy. I was a wrestler, pinning people is what I do. But no, adrenaline plus panic allowed him to get back to his feet where another kick came that was once again parried.

Another badly executed takedown allowed me to get on top of him. He turned and began getting back to his feet.

This was the point I felt my body relax enough for my skills to take over. I wrapped my arms around his neck with an arm in, using a wrestling technique called a snap down. Snapping him to his knees put me in the perfect position to go to one of my favourite chokes. Keeping my position, I placed my head down next to his rib cage, scrambling towards the side that had the arm in.

This was taught to me by Marcelo Brigadeiro and has many names but I liked the “Dave Schultz Choke”. It seemed appropriate.

I never felt the tap. I only knew I'd won when the referee was pulling us apart as I held on. Not intentionally, I just never felt my opponent tap.

Upon finding out I'd won, I leapt up screaming in a testosterone-fuelled victory celebration. Running around the cage. I jumped on my corner crew, thanking them all and then went back to check on my opponent. He was up and fine. I gave him a manly hug saying about how my neck hurt after his kicks. He smiled and shook my hand.

While I was stood with the referee holding my hand and people spilling into the cage, a cameraman was filming me.

Well what could I do? I decided to do the old checking my hair routine then stuck my tongue out, which I cringe on seeing to this day.

As my picture was taken by the event crew, all I can say was the feeling of having my hand raised was indescribable. A rush so potent that it's little wonder people become addicted to it. Immediately after my fight I wanted another one - that was what I was thinking. Anyone. right here, right now.

I walked back to the back stage room where I was met by Rick who shook my hand in congratulations. I thanked him for all the training, saying that if he needed any help with his to give me a shout.

Back in the changing room I changed back into my civilian clothes and checked myself in the mirror for any marks. Luckily my handsome, chiselled features had survived intact.

It was time to go greet my fans who'd paid money to come see me fight. Walking out of the room I passed people I didn't even know congratulating me. I thanked them in return, that buzzing feeling of being in the cage enveloping me.

In amongst the crowd I thanked everyone who came to see me. I thanked all the training partners who'd helped me on the way and hugged my dad who'd taken the night off from work to see me fight.

Below is my thanks to everyone who helped me:

Big thanks goes to Lee Holdsworth who got me back in the game, helped out with training and went through my weight cut with me.

Everyone who helped me at Darlington Hanuman Muay Thai. Thanks Guys.

Rick Boyle and everyone at Evolution that trained with me. Sorry I couldn't get my boxing skills going.

Everyone at Stockton wrestling club. You've been my home for many years and I'll never leave. Thanks for the hellacious conditioning sessions.

Mike Leng for the nutritional information and having sense of humour that matches mine. We will meet in person one day mate.

My corner Crew, Lee “The South Park Strangler” Bowman, Lee Holdsworth and Chris Liddle , the man who put away a 14-inch pizza before my very eyes.

Thanks to everyone who bought a ticket to come see me fight.

As of writing this, it's been a while but I am looking into my next fight.

To everyone that reads this I hope it helps and thanks for taking the time to read it.

To anyone I missed out I apologise.