The United States Social Security Administration publishes a list of how long we all have to live. Their Life Expectancy Tables specify - in matter-of-fact detail - our estimated time remaining according to national averages. 

Until I saw this, I kind of assumed I had a lot of time left – that this was something I could keep on my mental backburner. What knocks me out, flat onto the canvas, is this stark number: I have an estimated 515 months left to live. And that’s if I live to the national age of 77, for males. 

Does 515 months seem like a lot of time to you? Because it sure doesn’t to me. 

My dad died of a heart attack this year, at age 56. If I were to follow him, that would give me just 243 months. 

A month is a time unit that rattles me. It’s easy to “feel” its brief period; they blow by like the March wind. 

I know, from the octagon, that the way time is perceived varies with how things are going at a given moment. When a losing fighter is struggling to make up points, time left in the round speeds by. For the man winning, who wants the combat over now, the bell never sounds. When considering my number of mornings left, I certainly feel like the guy fighting desperately from behind for every point. 

But I have come to realize there’s a benefit to knowing your monthly quota. 

The “months left to live” measure can be an antidote for complacency. This perspective provides a much-needed sense of awe for that which is right before us. It shouldn’t leave us haunted, but rather with the gift of a stripped-down vision of that which is essential. 

Whenever I go to a funeral I’m like most people – I have a newly restored sense of the preciousness of life. Then, I get on with training, reading the Bible, studying Portuguese, playing drums - and all the other activities that make me feel lucky to be alive. After a few weeks, I begin to lose awareness that time is fleeting. 

I have to wonder if my father had known, at my current age of 33 years and 10 months, how little sand was left in his hour glass – whether he might have thought differently about his time on earth. 

Being aware of our allotted months can help to enhance our lives. Dozens of self-help books could never energize me like that one big number – 515. 

Interested in knowing how much time you’ve got left? Go to www.ssa.gov/OACT/STATS/table4c6.html. And, hey, have a nice day! 

Travel anywhere and you’ll find people who agree with you - and others who’ll contest everything you say. We can value our spirited diversity while at the same time respecting that we are one nation with a shared purpose. 

I deeply appreciate the privilege of being able to live here in the USA and I know you do, too. 

We’re Americans. We work, we argue, we love, we invent, we worship, we build, we explore, we lead. 

In loving our nation, we very much revere the soldiers who keep this great, teeming society open and free. 

We look forward to celebrating our guardians throughout the year - on Memorial Day, Flag Day, Independence Day, and Veteran’s Day. 

Yes, we’re Americans. 

Happy Birthday to everyone - and especially to our soldiers, active and retired. It is because of them that our 4th of July national party is possible. 

I train under the fiction that all life outcomes are foreseeable and fair. For weeks prior to a fight, I believe if I keep working my plan, victory must be mine. 

Years ago, at the Indianapolis 500, fire and life squad units were rushing to a smash-up. A rescuer, running across the track, was hit by an emergency vehicle. He was killed. The truck was traveling in the opposite direction of the slowing race cars. 

Sports Illustrated put it this way: “He failed to look both ways, on the ultimate one way street.” 

I’ve chosen a high-risk business. Fans respond to the “you just never know what’s going to happen” reality of the octagon. But for the fighters, given the randomness of life, their anxieties must be carefully managed. This randomness can be tempered with the notion that if we are mindful, and work hard, the odds will greatly favor us. 

My relationship with God is at the center of my life. It is enhanced by the sense of order math has always provided me. 

And so I try to stay grounded, as I approach the uncertainty that awaits me, inside the octagon. 

The force I’m talking about is that irresistible pull that keeps us gravity-bound to a place we no longer want to be. 

Which brings us to NASA. A rocket, fire-blasting off its pad at Cape Canaveral, burns 90% of its fuel at take off - in the first seconds. Once the rocket does break earth’s gravitational pull, however, it sails through space with comparative ease. 

So it is with us. Breaking away from our everyday world requires us to expend extraordinary energy - to achieve lift off and create a new trajectory. When accomplished, we are free. 

I know a few people who, through bad breaks or bad decisions, found themselves on a personal planet where they no longer wanted to be. But through the burning of their own rocket fuel - of determination, focus, work and discipline – launched themselves into new space. 

When training for a fight, I stay in a city far from Cincinnati, to break the gravitational pull of my home routine. This was especially critical in the weeks prior to the Travis Lutter fight in Montreal. Due to my father’s unexpected death, it took all my concentrated will to blast away from my overwhelming sadness and prepare in Seattle. 

For those determined to rise to another orbit - intent to someday look back to the place they left behind - what is needed is rocket fuel. It lies deep within our souls - you can summon it, you can ignite it. 

Eventually, you will soar. 

Again this truth has revealed itself to me: the gold standard for toughness is not to be found in the UFC. No, you’ll find it in the wards of our military hospitals - where shattered bodies are repaired. 

Immeasurable emotion overtakes you when you are face-to-face with the living results of a bomb blast. When you talk with a 21-year-old missing limbs, his body encased in bandages. Yet walking from room to room there is the same warmth, the same spirit, the same quiet toughness. 

This is why I wear my Support Our Troops t-shirt, even when striding to the octagon. These damaged warriors are role models we can all look to for always-needed inspiration. 

How could one ever give enough to those men and women who have risked and lost so much – so that we can live freely under our proudly-waving, brightly-colored flag? We Americans love red, white and blue. But there is another color we should never forget. It’s gold. 

I’m often asked about my Anderson Silva losses, how I was able to return to fighting with solid wins. The motivational thoughts I offer others come from my experiences seeing how wounded heroes fight back. They work so hard to relearn the basic tasks of daily living we take for granted. 

I met a young man who has endured 54 surgeries to one of his legs – blown apart by an IED. He couldn’t even begin physical therapy until after his 50th consecutive surgical procedure. He is now teaching himself to walk – for the fourth time. 

That’s courage. That’s toughness. That’s the gold standard. 

When I’m fighting a UFC battle, I must read the man before me. I have to guess his thoughts and anticipate his moves. I’m thinking quickly, every fraction of every second. 

My 185 lb adversaries are trained assassins. They rush me in a blur of arms and legs, swinging and kicking with menacing fury. If I fail to instantly interpret the guy’s approach and act smartly, I suffer big consequences. 

When dealing with others in our daily world, we’re in the verbal octagon. We need answers to hurried questions: What’s that supposed to mean? Am I being toyed with? Let that comment go or fire back? How to best deal with this situation? 

The steel-fence octagon demands experienced combat judgment. The verbal octagon demands we decode what really is being communicated. 

In each octagon, we have to rely on our well-honed skills that operate at the speed of instinct. The satisfaction of getting it right is one of the things we live for. 

I was there because I was hungry to realize my goal of someday fighting professionally in the octagon, to be worthy of that honor. Today I train in all types of facilities, focusing on what I’m doing and not where I am. 

Rocky Marciano was a poor boy who grew up just outside Boston. He became the only heavyweight boxing champion to win every fight of his professional career (1952-1956), most by KO. He perfected his legendary right power punch while training in unimpressive gyms. Rocky thrived when working out on old equipment in worn facilities. He liked the look and smell that reminded him of earlier, hungry days. 

Horse racing’s greatest, Willie Shoemaker, was a contemporary of Marciano. Also a poor boy, he went on to become the first jockey to win over $100 million. Deep into his career, a sports writer asked Shoemaker how he lost his competitive drive. Willie replied: “It’s hard to get up at 5 in the morning, when you’re wearing silk pajamas.” 

There are Willies and there are Rockies. Some who lose their appetite and some for whom the fire in the belly never dies. 

When you just don’t feel it anymore, it’s time to bow out. Lose your hunger and you’ll end up someone else’s food. 

Keep Striving, Rich Franklin

Total focus is the price usually paid for moving up in this world, no matter the area. 

How mentally healthy is that? Not very. All of us have complicated, multi-faceted lives. We have daily issues that must be dealt with involving family members, our own interests and pleasures to pursue, decisions about health and working out. It goes on and on. You feel that way about your life, don’t you? Forces are always pulling us in different directions every day. 

The only way to totally concentrate on achieving something big is to put on blinders and refuse to acknowledge most of the world right outside the window. 

Being manic about pursuing goals takes up so much time and energy - it doesn’t leave much left over. 

Sometimes I think the best gift a fighter can have is to come from a dysfunctional upbringing, one that makes him extremely obsessive-compulsive. My addiction for control, of myself and my octagon adversary, has to channeled intelligently. All that nutty energy poured into practicing, training, lifting, drilling…. 

Often it’s the most neurotic, driven, lunatic, and sacrificing of the two fighters - who gets his arm raised high by the referee at the fight’s end. 

Despite all the happy talk I hear about the model all-American guy being “well-balanced,” when I look around I see that the top UFC fighters are just pushing crazy. 

Working to be the best, while also trying to be normal, is a real challenge. It’s something I struggle with every day. 

Those pictures do not reflect the amount of time Neal Rowe and Mike Ferguson also put into my fight preparation. 

Thank you also to Rob Radford, Matt Hume and Joel Jamieson for the amount of effort channeled into getting me ready, after I arrived in Seattle. Matt plotted a schedule from Day 1 through Fight Day. The fight ended up unfolding exactly as he said it would. Thank you to AMC for the hospitality and amazing training environment provided to me. 

A special thanks to Brad, Karos and Mario for the daily training and drilling, drilling, drilling. These 3 men in particular were completely unselfish with their time and talents. 

Fans often ask me what I think about as I walk towards the octagon and enter. I never really have a good answer. However, this time, in Montreal, I particularly remember what I was thinking. I approached the octagon and acknowledged my wife, Beth. I then automatically looked for my father, who often sat nearby in the front row. But, of course, he wasn’t there. During my Seattle training, I was largely able to keep my mind off my father’s recent passing. 

While my corner men removed my shirt and warm-ups, and Stitch put Vaseline on my face, the emptiness created by my dad’s death made it difficult for me to focus on my task at hand. Although the training phase helped to keep my mind off of him prior to the fight - it’s those involuntary thoughts that catch you off guard. 

I hugged my corner men a little tighter than usual. 

During the past two months, I have devoted almost every hour to preparing for just a few minutes of fierce, furious combat inside the UFC octagon. 

Although Lutter and I will be the only two fighters in the cage, each of us will be carrying our training partners inside our heads. I know I absolutely have been living mixed martial arts with my team of select, accomplished experts - in Cincinnati and Seattle. I won’t forget our exhausting, sweaty days working together. 

My “band of brothers” is my foundation for waging war. We have the right chemistry. We have a shared focus, if not obsession. The serious business of perfecting techniques has been conducted within a supportive and trusting context. I am grateful that all the parts have meshed into one powerful whole. 

My training brothers, however, are not the only ones who stay in my head, and give me the will to do my best. I am always thinking about you – my fans – and I thank you for sticking with me. You make the difference in my life, in my continuing mission to always go full-out. 

I’m ready take on Travis Lutter in Quebec province. 

I will enter the arena, and make that long walk to the octagon, to take my place. And I will feel empowered because, in a very real sense, all of you will be stepping into the octagon with me.