Nick isn't there when I walk in so I sit down with his manager and we start chatting. After about 10 minutes, he comes to the table and I remember thinking: “Wow, he is a ninja”. He seemed to come out of nowhere. Right off the bat, he was Nick. The one I thought he would be from watching him on TV all these years. Only this time, he was sitting right in front of me eating a quinoa burger, or at least picking at it after destroying two fried eggs. It was my first time meeting him officially (we had crossed paths at Glory in 2014) and I have to admit I was freaking out a bit walking to the restaurant – he’s my favorite fighter. Right before leaving work to go to the meeting, I texted my best friend forever: “I’m scared!” and he replied with an appropriate “Don’t be scared homie”, immediately followed by a more straightforward “Bitch, be cool!”. I got comfortable right away though because Nick exudes zero pretense. He laughs easily and seems happy I know combat sports (I had to get my street cred: "Yeah, I fight too"); besides, I know from experience, it's refreshing to have someone speak your language. We touch on a few subjects: his recent dinner with Anthony Bourdain, Jean-Claude Van Damme, black beans, house music, settling down, missing home, training, GSP... To me, hopefully, a prelude to traveling to where it all originated: Stockton, CA. We make plans to meet a couple of days later to document his upcoming seminar at Renzo Gracie in Jersey City. When we say goodbye, we shake hands and I am taken aback: his palm is very soft. I suddenly find myself struggling to reconcile this hand with the Stockton slap.
I took on the lunch crowd on Sixth Avenue my brain overflowing with excitement. My first meeting with Nick amounted to exactly what I texted my BFF as I ran back to work: “Success!”.