Wrestling for My Life: The Legend, the Reality, and the Faith of a WWE Superstar

by Shawn Michaels

  Tony Falk might have been the last person in wrestling in a position to advise me about the importance of working out.

  Tony, who made a career out of wrestling on undercards (preliminary matches before main events), was one funny dude. For a while he dressed like British singer Boy George and wrestled as “Boy Tony.” At another point in his career — inspired, I guess, by Tupac Shakur — he went with a rapper getup and billed himself as “2 Falk 4 Sure.”

  “This is going to be a body business,” Tony told me a few months after I had started my career with Mid-South. Wrestling, he staunchly preached, would soon belong to those who worked out.

  Tony proved prophetic — except that he did not follow his own advice.

  Tony was never in shape. To his credit, he also told me that working out regularly would be the most difficult work I would ever do in wrestling. Tony must have spoken from knowing his own weakness, even though he constantly told me he was getting ready to start working out. I saw Tony a couple of years after I had left Mid-South. He was still overweight and still proclaiming he was about to start going to the gym.

  Good ol’ Tony.

  I’m glad I listened to him. Working out proved beneficial for my character and for me as a performer, because I soon noticed that the better shape I was in, the better matches I could put on.

  One thing I prided myself on was being able to wrestle long matches and still be strong at the end. In 1989, when I teamed with Marty Jannetty as The Midnight Rockers, we put on a string of Marathon matches against Jacques and Raymond Rougeau. Marathon matches were an hour in length, and the team with the most “wins” during the match was declared the winner. Going an hour in a match was a big deal, and we did a series of them in house shows. That earned Marty and me some stripes early on.

  I wasn’t a gym rat. I didn’t enjoy working out. I worked out because I had to. I would work out at least thirty minutes a day, but I wasn’t going more than an hour. That was my max.

  I remember an eight-hour flight we took to Europe. We flew all night and landed in the morning. The natural inclination was to take the morning off and go straight to the hotel bed because we had a show that night. Instead, even though I didn’t want to, I decided to push myself and hit the gym.

  That story comes to mind because I turned out to have a great workout. Some of the best workouts I’ve had — when you’re pushing yourself, breaking a big sweat, and feeling the sense of accomplishment that comes when you know you’ve pushed your body to the limit — occurred when I didn’t want to go to the gym. My body would be saying “not today.” I was tired, and I wanted to stay in bed and blow off the workout and make up for it the next day. But then something within me would remind me that working out was best for me.

  Resistance builds strength — all resistance, in one form or another. We don’t like resistance because it is difficult, but overcoming resistance is what makes us stronger because that is how muscles are built.

  I still work out in the mornings, although not with the intensity of my wrestling days. I do yoga and functional movements. I also borrow from CrossFit and do exercises like burpees, pushups, and chin-ups. I don’t do much with weights these days, choosing body-weight and low-impact exercises to make working out easier on my knees, back, shoulder, and joints. I’m geared now toward quality of life workouts, and I am in decent shape for a man approaching fifty who doesn’t need to be in great physical condition anymore professionally.

  The benefits of what I didn’t want to do became a routine for me that goes on to this day.

  I had numerous people like Tony Falk, in my early days as a Christian, encouraging me to spend time each day studying God’s Word and in prayer.

  When I first became a Christian, waking up and reading the Bible was easy. After all, I was on fire for God! There came a time, though, when it wasn’t effortless, and the easier action would have been to stay in bed a little longer and catch up on my reading the next day. But something would stir up within me that would cause my body to overrule my thoughts and make the effort to get out of bed and read. Like with the workout after the long flight to Europe, there have been many times when the extra effort proved worthwhile and God spoke to me in special ways on days when I read more out of need-to than want-to.

  As an example, I think back to the period when the building was for sale, I was leaving wrestling, and our family was moving from San Antonio again. There were mornings when I woke up discouraged because I felt that I had been obedient and thought that therefore things should have been going better than they were. At times, I wanted to throw my hands up and say, “Forget it.” But then I would open the Bible or a devotional book and have my spirits lifted by a topic that wasn’t remotely close to what I was dealing with. There is something about God’s Word being filled with hope that it gives you enough to soldier on through the day. Reading the Bible and devotionals reminds me that everything is going to be all right.

  Whenever I feel like everything and anything is going to hell in a handbasket, I read Job. That book causes me to think, My children are healthy and they’re here. They wake up in the morning, they have ten fingers and ten toes, and they’re walking upright. Life ain’t all bad.

  Nothing puts life in perspective for me like Job. I mean, he lost his family, and that really strikes me as the ultimate blow to have to endure. I marvel that Job didn’t curse God. I’ve never cursed God as in, I’m done with You. But I have certainly told Him what’s on my mind. So I’m always amazed that Job continued to push through his tough times. He’s pretty darned impressive.

  Rebecca and I have a routine when I’m home. We wake up and I put a heating pad on my back to loosen the cranky thing up. Then we go to the kitchen, where we talk while she drinks her morning coffee and I start my day with an energy drink. Rebecca then studies from her Bible while I do my morning reading. We talk some more, including sharing what we have just read. Then I’m off for my morning workout and stretching while the kids get up and get ready for homeschool.

  That’s our morning routine, but I will tell you that I have not read the Bible every single day since I became a Christian. That’s important for me to share because I know that it is easy for Christians to beat themselves up if they fall one day behind in their read-the-Bible-in-a-year program or whatever spiritual discipline they follow.

  Like probably every Christian, I have gone through my dry spells when I haven’t studied the Bible for a few days. The main encouragement I have for others who encounter dry spells is to know that you are not alone, it does not mean you’re a failure as a Christian, and it certainly does not mean that since you can’t have a perfect record, there is no reason to try. Those dry spells have served to help me realize the benefit of spending time in God’s Word. I don’t feel as complete when I fail to read the Bible or a good devotional in the morning. When I start the day with Scripture, it just somehow makes the day go better, like I’ve checked in with God to start my day.

  When we take our MacMillan River Adventures show on the road, I sometimes have to get out of bed at insane hours. I barely wake up on time as it is, and I can’t imagine getting up thirty minutes earlier to read the Bible. And when I’m sitting out in a deer blind in the middle of who knows where, I surely know that when the hunt is over, I’m going straight to taking a nap instead of reading.

  Although I’ve missed days of Bible study, there has not been one day since I got saved that I have not spent time in some type of communication with God. Even during my dry periods, I have intentionally kept the line of communication there.

  I can be in the Yukon, driving up and down a river looking for a big old moose, and think about how I never would have imagined I would be in that place. I will think about that opportunity, then how I have a beautiful wife and two wonderful children back home who love me and miss me, and I just have to say, “Thank You, Lord.”

  I consider that a form of prayer. I don’t know how it is possible to not do that every day.

&
nbsp; Paul wrote in 1 Thessalonians 5:17 that we should “pray continually.” A few translations say “pray without ceasing.” That threw me in my early days as a Christian. I read that and thought, ‘Without ceasing’? You can’t do that. Are you kidding me? (Except on airplanes. They make me nervous. I have no trouble praying without ceasing when I’m on a plane.)

  It was a major relief when someone explained to me that what Paul means there is not that we should always be praying actual words to God. We couldn’t do that. Instead, Paul was instructing us to pray regularly and to always be mindful of God’s presence in our lives.

  I can do that, I thought.

  After I went back to WWE, the only time I had to stand firm against one of Vince’s requests was to keep my schedule where Rebecca and I could make our weekly Bible studies. Our studies were that important to both of us.

  Rebecca took part in a Bible study during the day on Tuesdays and I had one on Tuesday nights. With our kids homeschooled, I needed to be home Tuesdays to be with them while Rebecca went to her group.

  I had been appearing on Monday night Raw, and The Undertaker had been on Tuesday night’s SmackDown episodes seemingly forever.

  Vince didn’t like to work with agents, and I never had an agent to negotiate my contracts. Vince and I handled things face-to-face, and when we were talking about a contract for me, he brought up the idea of my moving to SmackDown. I told him I wouldn’t do that. He asked why, and I told him I had to be home Tuesday mornings so my wife could go to her Bible study, and then my Bible study was on Tuesday nights while SmackDown was being shot.

  Vince told me matter-of-factly that not moving to SmackDown could cost me in my contract. He suggested that instead of offering me $1 million, he would offer me $500,000. I know that was a lot of money either way, so I’m not asking for any sympathy! The significance for me, though, was that with the loan we had taken out to purchase the land and construct the building, looking at the possibility of having my income cut in half really got my attention. If for some unexpected reason our loan would have gotten called in, I probably would have had to go through all my savings to pay off the loan. Then what would happen?

  That was a major decision for me — probably the biggest financial test I had encountered. To that point in my life, I had been able to earn my financial security through working as a wrestler. But now, confident that God wanted me to wrestle less so I could be with my family more, I would have to trust God and rely on Him to ensure that my family would be provided for financially.

  I told Vince that I wouldn’t move to Tuesday nights and that I didn’t care if it meant making half the money. Vince wasn’t trying to be a difficult negotiator — he was honest, sincere, and upfront, and I was the same with him. I understood what he was thinking, too, from an employer’s standpoint. If an employee tells his boss that he wants to work twenty hours a week instead of forty, obviously his paycheck will be affected. The fact is, our family received more out of Rebecca’s and my Bible studies than anything money could buy us. Those Bible studies were an important part of our lives, and we weren’t going to give those up. Vince and the company were always very supportive of me in that respect.

  In the end, Vince decided it was best to keep me on Raw and keep Taker on SmackDown without me, but I was not going to move to Tuesday nights no matter how much it would have cost me in my contract.

  Pastor Hagee used to say from the pulpit, “You can’t take your next breath without Almighty God allowing it.” That’s one of those things that I heard enough, and I began to realize, “You know, he is really right about that. Once again, here is another day the Lord has given me and all this around me.”

  One of the greatest things my salvation has given me is the ability to live in a state of thankfulness. I don’t have the ability to not acknowledge God on a daily basis.

  It has never been difficult for me to be thankful. I was a good kid, raised by parents who worked their tails off. But none of that mattered, because when I went out on my own, I screwed it up. That fall from grace means I grasp what I am worthy of — which is not much, if anything — and when I compare that to what I have, what I’ve had, and everything that I’ve lived through, how could I not be thankful?

  Thankfulness is an important word for me. I shake my head as I look around and see the sense of entitlement that has become prevalent in society today. Before becoming a Christian, I felt entitled to be treated a certain way or to be given certain things because of my accomplishments. Becoming a Christian provided me with a different view of my achievements. I’m still proud of them. I did work hard so that good things could happen to me. But now, instead of feeling entitled because of my accomplishments, I feel thankful that God gave me the ability to achieve them. My accomplishments aren’t for me; they are a way to bring glory to God. I don’t waste my time answering the question of whether I was the greatest wrestler. Thank you for considering me, but that question is totally subjective. And, more important, who cares?

  If you want me to talk about an accomplishment I am truly thankful to have had, let me tell you about holding my son and daughter right after they were born. Now I can look at the pictures from when they were younger and notice how much they have changed. They have grown from being little babies to, in some regards, little adults. Cameron is taller than I am now. He knows I’m a pinhead, but he loves me anyway. Cheyenne is a precious young lady. At this point in their lives, they are good, quality human beings. That is phenomenal.

  They have a mother who has poured herself into their lives. And even though there were some things I screwed up, through God’s grace and mercy I am blessed to be a real part of their lives. In the mornings I come back from my workout, and they say, “Good morning, Daddy,” and I get to hug them. We’re healthy, we’re together, we love each other, and we all get along. How could I not just sit in awe of that and be thankful for what God has given me?

  CHAPTER 10

  “BE THE MAN”

  “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9).

  My buddy Ric Flair was widely imitated for his catchphrase, “To be the man, you gotta beat the man!” I had my runs in WWE as “the man,” but not until I grew as a Christian did I understand what it means to be a real man.

  If I were ever to meet James Dobson or Chuck Swindoll, I don’t know if I would hug them or punch them! I feel that I’ve read every book on being a father and manhood, and the books those two have written have reshaped my definition of what it means to be a man. If I were to punch either one, I promise it would be a punch shared out of love. In fact, I’d be embarrassed to say how much they have made this old wrestler cry.

  Professional success used to define manhood for me, and my definition included a distinctly physical element. The defining characteristic of a man was that he was tough. And I was tough.

  I crushed my back in the Casket match against The Undertaker. I broke three ribs five minutes into a match with Ric and completed the match. I wrestled with a blown out anterior cruciate ligament and torn medial meniscus in a knee. I hurt my knee during a match in Europe and wrestled in tag-team matches to finish the tour. Then when we returned to the United States, I aggravated the injury in a bout, and the following night, after getting around behind the curtain on crutches, I wrestled because fans had voted me into a spot in a pay-per-view match. Only after that match did I take time off for the surgery I badly needed. That’s just a sampling of the injuries I wrestled through.

  I had doctors tell me I would never wrestle again, but I did. I had doctors watch me perform in person and tell me there was no physical way I should have been able to do in the ring what I had just done. I wore my toughness like a badge of honor. But now, looking back, that physical toughness means very little to me. Actually, it sometimes strikes me as pretty dumb. All I did was hurt myself worse.

  Some of those matches I listed took plac
e after I became a Christian. Early in my Christianity, the physical pain that Jesus Christ endured on the cross appealed to me as a man. I wrestled with parts of me broken and ripped and torn apart, and I could wrestle hurt like nobody’s business. So when I considered the pain that Christ endured, I could connect with that, but on a much smaller scale, of course. Jesus was tough!

  As I’ve matured as a Christian, there has been a shift in how I connect with Jesus. He’s still physically tough in my book, but now I am more fascinated by His mental and emotional toughness.

  At first, I didn’t want to disappoint Jesus because He had died for my sins. I’m still moved by the compassion of Christ in giving His life to make my salvation possible. But now I have added this connection with Him through the fact that when He hung on the cross, He bore not just my sins, but the sins of all the people who hurt Him. I cannot comprehend how immeasurably mentally, emotionally, and physically tough Jesus had to be to do that.

  Since I’ve left the unicorns-and-rainbows stage of my faith, I’ve had people hurt me, including people who were close to me. You know by now that I don’t mind telling it like it is, and I don’t mind telling you that when I got hurt, there were moments when my instinct was to think, Phooey on them. They did it; they deserve that. I’ve wanted to rip my hair out and knock somebody out. I’ve been hurt that badly, and that makes me more impressed by how Jesus handled His emotions, because I’ve been hurt only a fraction of how much the people around Jesus hurt Him. He was betrayed by one of His chosen disciples, and the others didn’t exactly prove to be the strongest support group. And those were the people who were closest to Him.

  When I try to imagine what it would be like to multiply what I’ve experienced with people hurting me and then still be able to display the compassion and the forgiveness that Jesus did, I can only conclude that when Jesus walked this earth, He was one tough man. Physically, mentally, and emotionally.