Loving wife and kids, stable career - nearing 40, I had it pretty good. But something was missing. I'd grown up a scrawny kid with a school bus bully, and despite joining the military, starting a family, and earning a fancy degree, I'd never shaken the shame. For years I'd fantasized vindicating childhood wuss me by becoming a fighter - a boxer, a kickboxer, or even a mixed martial artist. But competitive fighting was waaaay outside my comfort zone, and something guys do in their 20s, not their late 30s. Then in 2014 my favorite college football team lost to their rival for the tenth year in a row. I lost my cool and found myself confronting the other team's band's drummer in a very public way - threatening to shove his drumsticks up his... you know what. Walking away, I couldn't believe what I'd done. "Why am I so upset over a game I don't even play?" The further I walked, the clearer the answer became. I was still young enough to pursue my fight dream, but time was running out. I imagined my 85-year-old self looking back over my life: "You always wanted to fight, but never had the guts." Despite everything I had and would accomplish, never stepping in the ring would be an unforgivable regret. So I committed the goal to paper and got to work. "Just one MMA win before I turn 40. You can do this." I offer Year of the Fighter to anyone nearing midlife, reconsidering dreams neglected before it's too late. It wasn't too late for me. It's not too late for you. So suck it up. We only get this one life. Let's make it one our 85-year-old selves can be proud of.