Dolph Lundgren|

I was sleeping in our bedroom but woke up to loud noises downstairs. There, alone, he boxed until his knuckles ached and his hands shook.
An old sandbag hung from the ceiling. Every punch was filled with his fear of losing once he got into the boxing ring. The dull, heavy sound of his fists hitting the sandbag echoed through the house like a wildly beating heart. Sweat, ragged breathing, pent-up rage. Dolph didn't sleep. Dolph didn't eat. Dolph just punched.