🥋 Sundays with Cain – Episode 15-A ROLL & RUMBLE Fight Co. Exclusive

Interview by “D-Man,” CTF Inmate Correspondent

I’m still carrying the heavy emotions from last week’s interview with Cain as I sit down to write this one. Prison time moves differently. There’s a rhythm to it—slow, steady, sometimes dull—and within it, these Sundays with Cain feel like bright flashes. Every week, he opens up a little more, and I wonder if I should push him harder. But I also know there’s always a chance we won’t get another week. One day Cain will be free, and I’ll still be here, wishing I had asked more. That’s the thing about learning someone’s story—you never really know them completely. We’re all changing, every day. What I hope to capture is Cain the boy and the man, the wrestler and the fighter, the father and the husband, the brother and the son, the teacher and the friend—but most of all, Cain the prisoner who still finds freedom.

From the first interview until now, he’s shown me wrinkles in his personality I didn’t expect. He’s taken me to moments in his life that feel secret and sacred. That trust is a gift, and I don’t take it lightly. If you’ve just stumbled on this episode, go back to the beginning and read them all—you’ll feel it differently. And if you’ve been with us the whole way, show your support. Grab a “Free Cain” or “I Stand With Cain” shirt or sticker from ROLL & RUMBLE Fight Co. John and Heather work late nights editing my texts, answering my calls, and building these articles so they can be shared with you every Sunday. They’re two of the best people I’ve met, and supporting them is supporting Cain. Better yet, post a photo in your shirt, tag Cain’s page, and let him see the love when he comes home.

This week Cain and I met after dinner in the day room, since the gym was locked again. Sundays here don’t always go to plan. Usually we bring a soda or candy from chow, but tonight Cain pulled out a plastic bag stuffed with pudding cups he’d collected like treasure. The pudding here is fluorescent yellow—“lemon,” they call it—but it tastes like soap. Most lifers won’t touch it. Cain happily scooped it into his bag anyway, and by the time we left chow, he had half the yard’s pudding swinging in that plastic. I told him it looked like it wouldn’t survive the walk back, but somehow it did. Sitting down, I asked, “How’s the pudding?” He laughed: “Tastes like soap.”

We shifted into football. Cain’s team had just blown out the other side, 86–0. He played defense all game, no sacks, but plenty of fun. I asked if he ever thought about switching to a team that needed him. He shook his head. “One of the guys I walk with every night asked me to join his team. We’re good friends now. Plus, I can say for the rest of my life I won a Super Bowl at CTF Soledad.”

That friend is Junior—not the same Junior from Ascension Breath Work. Cain promised we’d get a photo together in their gear. For those curious how prison photos work: we buy a $2 ticket at canteen, hand it to the inmate assigned as yard photographer, and a few days later the photo shows up at your cell. Simple as that.

This week we’re sharing one of Cain and Junior Guzman working out with a 30-pound medicine ball. When I asked Cain if he trains more or less inside, he said, “Less. I play pickleball and football, but I’d like to work out more.” He admitted he’s been feeling “blahh”—a stagnant kind of energy. “The honeymoon’s over,” he said. “People’s true personalities are showing. A lot of broken people here. Some with severe trauma. Sometimes I feel like they try to pass it on to me without even knowing it.”

Then we dug into family again. Last week we talked about his mom and dad. This week, his sister. “Her name’s Adela,” he told me. “She’s named after our grandmother.” Cain remembered her taking him to school as a little boy, always kind, always accepting. “She was clean, always in her room writing or listening to music. She’d pluck my eyebrows, iron my clothes. I was younger, but she never made me feel like a burden.” He grinned at the memory of her cutting his hair once—so bad he can still see it in his mind. He admitted he crushed on all of her friends, every single one. What meant the most, though, was her showing up to his wrestling matches. “She was the loudest person in the gym. She was even on the cheer squad for the wrestling team, chanting, ‘Twist them like a pretzel, show them how to wrestle.’” He laughed at the memory, but his voice softened. “She was an example of what a good older sibling should be. I was blessed.”

Cain’s love for his daughter Coral also poured out. He told me about her first birthday before the Brock fight. “We made her a jumbo cupcake, got her learning toys, a BOB stroller so I could run with her. We even did a photo shoot at the mall with her little birthday hat. She was just so cute.” Tears welled as he recalled it. “My daughter and family are everything to me.”

After beating Brock Lesnar and making seven figures, Cain bought a house in Morgan Hill. In 2011, he married Michelle in Chandler, Arizona—a castle venue, a mariachi band, a tequila bar, fireworks at the reception. His best men were Bryan Stith from college and Anthony Ortiz from high school. His teammates—DC, Luke, Javier, Dave, Bob, Bader, Fitch, Swick—were there. Coral, as flower girl, ran straight down the aisle into his arms. He cried at the memory. “It was amazing. Everything I could have asked for.”

But glory doesn’t come without pain. Cain had torn his shoulder against Lesnar, a torn labrum, and went straight from victory to surgery. Before that, he flew to Mexico with his championship belt strapped over the injury like a Band-Aid. This time, Mexico embraced him. “It was wild,” he said. “They had me at a mall in Mexico City, a thousand people waiting. The barriers broke, we had to run. They disguised me in a trench coat and hat to get me out.” He laughed, shaking his head. “It blew up overnight. A complete 180 from before.”

Then came Junior Dos Santos. Cain admitted he’d torn his knee weeks before the fight—meniscus and partial MCL. “I couldn’t wrestle, couldn’t twist. But I felt I’d already been out too long after shoulder surgery. I pressured myself to fight.” UFC on Fox, the promotion’s first national TV broadcast. Cain stepped in wounded against a dangerous striker. “I wasn’t aggressive like normal. I blocked the pain and tried to fight, but he caught me behind the ear with an overhand right. I went down. Ref stopped it. I knew it was coming. I shouldn’t have fought.” He had surgery afterward and recovered, but the lesson stuck. “If I’m not 100%, I need to wait.”

Before we wrapped, I asked the week’s fan question—this one from my dad. He has COPD and wanted to know if someone with lung issues could still try Cain’s breathing class. Cain answered with patience. “Yes. Anyone can. Everyone has their own pace. Start with a minute or two of mindful breathing, just deeper and faster than normal. See how it feels. Push if you can, but never past what feels safe. We’re all capable of more than we give ourselves credit for.”

And with that, our Sunday came to a close. Another hour gone, another story captured. Another glimpse of Cain—the fighter, the father, the man—sitting in prison, yet somehow free.