The Soul Of A Butterfly (11 page)

True success is reaching our potential without compromising our values
.

TRUE SUCCESS

SUCCESS IS NOT
achieved by winning all the time. Real success comes when we rise after we fall. I am grateful for all my victories, but I am especially grateful for my losses, because they only made me work harder.

No one starts out on top. You have to work your way up. Some mountains are higher than others, some roads steeper than the next. There are hardships and setbacks, but you can’t let them stop you. Even on the steepest road, you must not turn back. You must keep going up. In order to reach the top of the mountain, you have to climb every rock.

determination

THE POWER OF THE WILL

Whatever the challenge was, however unattainable the goal may have seemed
.

I never let anyone talk me out of believing in myself
.

A LOT OF
people have disagreed with some of the decisions I have made in my life. Sometimes it has been pretty hard to go against the advice and criticism of others, especially when it came from those I admired and respected. My parents did not want me to become a Muslim or change my name. They knew that most people were afraid of the Nation of Islam and would feel confused by my joining them. They knew it would definitely make my life more difficult.

Everyone who cared about me—my friends, family, and fans—tried to convince me to accept the draft with assurances I would not have to fight or kill anyone, that I probably would just do exhibition bouts here in the United States. They said that if I didn’t accept induction, my boxing career might well be over. And a lot of people thought I should quit boxing long before I did. If I had listened to them, I would have never won my title back from Foreman, let alone regained it a third time.

a newfound
FRIEND

IT WAS A
hot day in May. I was at Fighters’ Heaven, my training camp in Deer Lake, Pennsylvania, getting ready for my fight against George Foreman. After a long and hard workout I’d gone back to my dressing room with Gene Kilroy, who helped run the camp.

We were sitting there when there was a knock on my cabin door. Gene went to see who it was. A young boy with health problems wanted to meet me. I told Gene to send him in, and seconds later the boy appeared with his father. The boy wore a heavy sweater and a wool cap. I asked him why he was wearing that hot sweater and cap.

The boy told me that he had leukemia and that he was wearing the cap because all of his hair had fallen out, due to the chemotherapy that he had undergone.

A wave of sadness passed over me, and at the same time I realized how lucky I was to have healthy children. Gene took a picture of the twelve-year-old boy with me and as the boy prepared to leave I asked him his name.

“My name is Jimmy,” he answered, and he added that I had made him very happy. I looked at him and told him that I was going to beat George Foreman in the upcoming fight and that he was going to beat cancer.

Jimmy gave me a hug. “You’re right!” he said.

As the boy was leaving I said, “Jimmy, don’t forget what I told you.”

He gave me a big smile, waved good-bye, and walked out the door.

A couple of days later I had the picture of Jimmy and me blown up and sent it to the boy’s father. On it I’d written:

To my friend Jimmy,

You’re going to beat cancer. I’m going to

beat George.

Love,

Your friend, Muhammad

Ali

Two weeks later, while I was on the way to do my road workout, Gene told me that the boy’s father had called to thank me for the picture. He’d gone on to explain that Jimmy was now in the University of Pennsylvania hospital and didn’t have much more time to live.

This made me feel so sad that I told Gene to let the boy’s father know that we were driving down to the hospital immediately to visit little Jimmy. Three hours later we arrived at the hospital and went straight up to Jimmy’s room. When I walked in he was lying in his bed and I saw that his skin was as white as his sheets were.

Jimmy looked up with bright eyes and called out, “Muhammad, I knew you would come!”

I walked over to his bedside and said, “Jimmy, remember what I told you? I’m going to beat George Foreman and you’re going to beat cancer.”

Jimmy looked up at me and whispered, “No, Muhammad. I’m going to meet God, and I’m going to tell him that you are my friend.”

* * *

The room was silent and we were in tears. I hugged Jimmy good-bye and later that night when we returned to my training camp, none of us spoke much.

I guess God had a bigger plan for Jimmy because a week later Gene informed me that Jimmy had died and that I was invited to attend his funeral. I couldn’t go, so I asked Gene if he would go and represent me, and he did.

When Gene returned from the funeral he told me that there had been an open casket and that the autographed picture was beside Jimmy’s head.

Jimmy’s death was a powerful lesson in the midst of all the activity and preparation for my job—a boxing match—of how fragile and precious life is. We must always be mindful that each day is a gift from God that can be lost at any moment.

In my youth, I set out to prove to myself

and to the world that I could achieve

anything I put my mind to
.

This was something that I had to do again and again
.

GEORGE FOREMAN

and the

Rumble in the Jungle

I WANTED THE
heavyweight championship title back. In fact, I had not lost it to an opponent: It was stripped from me when I refused to go to Vietnam. I lost my chance to take it from Joe Frazier shortly before the Supreme Court vindicated me. The Supreme Court decision to confirm my status as a conscientious objector did not reinstate my title. There was no way for me to get the title back except to earn it in the ring. I thought I’d have to go through Joe Frazier again to get it, but in January 1973 Frazier lost the title to George Foreman.

Foreman was the meanest, baddest boxer on the planet. He threw hard punches and always came off as tough and serious. He was also younger and stronger than I was. People thought I didn’t have a prayer against Foreman; all my friends and trainers thought I was going to get beat up pretty bad, some even thought I was going to be killed. But as a scientific boxer, I had devised a plan—a plan I didn’t share with anyone—on how to deal with Foreman.

I watched a lot of tapes of Foreman’s fights. I studied his strengths and weaknesses and made myself aware of how he fought. I also considered my
own
strengths and weaknesses, and then I thought about how I could use this knowledge to my advantage during the fight. I knew that Foreman was just too big and strong for me to take him on toe-to-toe, so I decided that the only way I could win was to tire him out. I believed in myself, I believed I could do it. I prayed and prayed, and I knew that only God controls the universe: I’d do everything I could and leave the rest up to Him.

It was decided that we would fight in Zaire, a country that was little known to Americans at that time. It was a country controlled by Mobutu Sese Seko, who was later forced to go into exile in 1997 when Zaire experienced a revolution and became the Democratic Republic of Congo. Mobutu wanted to gain attention for his country and the Zairian people by staging my heavyweight comeback fight at a stadium in Kinshasa, the capital. I thought this was a great idea, because here was a country run and operated by Black people: They had their own airline, their own post offices, their own supermarkets, and I thought it was just about the best thing I’d ever seen. A country run by Blacks!

I loved the people in Zaire so much, and they were great to me, too. I’ve never received such an outpouring of love and support as I got from them. People lined up on the streets to see me, and I loved interacting with them and learning about their lives. I spent a lot of time with the Zairian people because we shared a mutual respect. And I know that it psyched out Foreman; it probably made him mad that I was the People’s Champ even halfway around the world in Zaire. He couldn’t stand it when the crowds in the stadium on the night of our bout were yelling, “Ali, bomaye!” which means “Ali, kill him!”

Of course I didn’t want to kill him, but I did want to win. When the bell
rang
I went right up to Foreman and punched him in the head as hard as I could, and then hit the ropes. I wore him out and beat him with an eighth-round KO. I had reclaimed the World Heavyweight Championship. Foreman was a sore loser at the time, blaming my win on everything he could think of, because he just couldn’t believe someone as loud and pretty as me could beat him. He didn’t know what it felt like to be defeated. But then he turned his life around when he brought God into it; he even became a minister. George has said some very nice things about me and calls me occasionally just to see how I’m doing. I think he’s a good person. He has been extremely successful inside and outside the boxing ring—and I use his grill.

After the fight, I returned to the presidential compound, where I was staying, about an hour north of Kinshasa. The match had started around 3
A.M.
in Zaire so it would be on during primetime in the United States. By the time I got back to my place it was actually the next morning and I was exhausted, but after Angelo and Bundini and all of my entourage had gone back to their rooms, I stayed up and sat on the steps of my cottage. A group of local kids came by to see me. I’m not sure if they knew about my boxing or the huge match I had just won, but they knew my face and name from all of the posters and radio announcements. They expected me to entertain them. These kids wanted to be with Muhammad Ali the magician and jokester, not Muhammad Ali the boxer. I love children because of their innocence and their ability to make the best out of any situation, and being able to entertain a group of kids after such an emotional and stressful night was really great. As much as the championship meant to me, I won’t ever forget sitting up with those kids that day, doing magic tricks well into the morning.

champions to come

One day I won’t be around to answer people’s questions, or advise young aspiring athletes. What I want to say is for the people whom I’ve never met. It is for the boys and girls whose hands I will never hold. It is for the champions to come. These comments are for every spirit on the downside of advantage
.

CHAMPIONS AREN’T MADE
in gyms. Champions are made from something deep inside—a desire, a dream, and a vision. They have to have the skill and the will.

But the will must be stronger than the skill.

When I was boxing I would set a goal for myself to demonstrate to other people what could be done, and to prove to myself that anything was possible when I set a goal then worked to achieve it. We create our own realities according to our thoughts and beliefs. The critics who told me what I couldn’t do didn’t know as well as I what I was capable of.

Everyone wins and everyone loses every now and again. If we didn’t experience a loss we would never know what we are capable of. The important thing to remember is:

You don’t really lose when you fight for what you believe in. You lose when you fail to fight for what you care about.

* * *

I’m going to share a little secret with you. Running has always been a source of my stamina. Early in my career I learned to run until I was tired, then run even more after that. But all the running I did before the fatigue and pain was just the introduction to my workout. The real conditioning began when the pain set in. That was when it was time to start pushing. That was when I would count every mile as extra strength and stamina.

What counts in the ring is what you can do after you’re exhausted. The same is true of life.

Outrun the people who quit when they feel discomfort, outrun the people who stop because of despair, outrun the people who are delayed because of prejudice, outrun the people who surrender to failure, and outrun the opponent who loses sight of the goal. Because if you want to win, the will can never retire, the race can never stop, and faith can never weaken.