Arthur Beterbiev is a man of contradictions. A boxer whose fists have never failed to finish a fight, knocking out every opponent he’s faced—except, of course, Dmitry Bivol— yet one doesn’t enjoy the knockout game.
‘I don’t like hitting people,’ he says, his voice calm and contemplative during an exclusive interview with Mail Sport in Montreal, Canada. ‘Even though it’s my job, I don’t like it. My coach tells me, hit him hard, and I do it. But it’s not me, it’s him asking me to do it.’
For a man with a perfect 21-0 record, all but one coming by knockout, it’s a striking sentiment. In a sport where knocking out your opponent is often seen as the ultimate measure of success, Beterbiev’s approach is refreshingly human.
His words echo a belief he’s shared before: ‘I don’t like being called a monster.’ Last week Beterbiev spoke about his mum with warmth, confessed to enjoying the full range of seasons in Canada, and revealed he plays checkers to sharpen his mind.
Yet, despite this unassuming persona, Beterbiev’s fists have carried him to the pinnacle of his sport. He’s the undisputed light heavyweight champion of the world. But step into his gym, there’s no thumping bass of a workout playlist or the chatter of a packed training camp. Instead, there’s silence.
Beterbiev trains without music, without distractions. The only sounds are the rhythmic thuds of his fists on a heavy bag, the sharp breaths of exertion, the squeak of his shoes pivoting.
Beterbiev is a man of contradictions. A boxer whose fists have never failed to finish a fight, knocking out every opponent he’s faced—except Bivol— yet one doesn’t enjoy the KO game
In a sport where knocking out your opponent is often seen as the ultimate measure of success, Beterbiev’s approach is refreshingly human
It’s an unusual sight in the modern era of sport, where most athletes rely on beats to drive their intensity. But for Beterbiev, this silence is sacred. ‘I concentrate better this way,’ he says simply during our interview via Top Rank. ‘It’s just me and the work.’
He doesn’t train alongside others, either. No stablemates pushing him, no rotating cast of training partners— just him, his coach, and the endless pursuit of perfection. ‘I like it this way,’ he explains. ‘Less distraction. More focus.’
And while some fighters swear by elaborate recovery methods or cutting-edge sports drinks, Beterbiev has his own secret weapon: what he calls ‘holy water.’ A bottle sits nearby, filled with nothing more than pure well water from Canada.
No additives, no supplements, just clean, unfiltered water. He drinks it religiously, convinced of its benefits, though he doesn’t go into detail. ‘It’s my secret weapon, I can’t tell you all of my secrets,’ he says with a smile.
Beterbiev is not driven by the bloodlust many assume, nor by the fame that comes with being an elite athlete. Rather, he’s motivated by a relentless quest for self-improvement.
‘I’m a perfectionist,’ he admits with a shrug. ‘All my fights, even the 20 knockouts, I’m not completely happy. I always think I can do better.’
This explains his dissatisfaction with his last fight against Bivol. Despite the win, despite the fact that most saw it as a brilliant performance, Beterbiev found flaws, moments he could have done more, moments he could have been better.
The rematch on Saturday will be Beterbiev’s chance to prove that to himself. While his opponents often end up with their lights out, Beterbiev is more concerned with the nuance of his craft, honing his technique, improving his strategy, and perfecting his game plan.
Beterbiev trains without music, without distractions. The only sounds are the rhythmic thuds of his fists on a heavy bag, the sharp breaths of exertion, the squeak of his shoes pivoting
‘I think I’m better now than I was in the first fight,’ he says confidently, reflecting on the knee surgery that cut his preparation time short. ‘We’ve done different things in training that I couldn’t do back then.’
It’s this drive to improve, even when everything around him screams success, that sets Beterbiev apart. ‘I always need to prove something more, even to myself.’
But the truth about Beterbiev’s mentality is this: he didn’t start boxing because of a burning desire to be the toughest man in the room. He wasn’t a lifelong fan of the sport, nor did he dream of championship belts as a young boy. His entry into boxing was shaped by necessity, born from a desire to find an outlet for his energy in a world that offered few other choices.
Born in 1985 in Khasavyurt, Dagestan, Beterbiev grew up during a turbulent time. The collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 left the region—and his family—reeling. It was during this time that Beterbiev found himself drawn into the world of street fighting.
Unlike some of his peers, including Bivol, who had rules governing their street fights—typically ending when blood was drawn or emotions ran high—Beterbiev’s experiences were far more brutal.
His street encounters showed little mercy and often escalated quickly into dangerous confrontations, transforming street fighting into a perilous outlet for his frustrations and pent-up aggression.
His older brother was the one who introduced him to the sport, and as a teenager, it was a way out of the streets, away from the fighting and chaos that marked his early years.
‘I grew up in a tough environment,’ he recalls, ‘Hard times make strong people. Boxing, for me, was a way to channel that energy. I have to thank my brother. My older brother took me down to the gym and insisted I train harder and focus on that instead of street fighting.’
Beterbiev, who begins training by praying, was first bought to the gym by his brother
It wasn’t easy. His father passed away when Beterbiev was young, and he had to step up as the man of the house. ‘It was a hard time,’ he admits, ‘but that hardship made me who I am today.’
That drive— instilled in him by both his mother and his own inner strength—has propelled him through every fight. When Beterbiev was offered a place at a sports college in Moscow, despite not wanting to leave home, it was his mother who encouraged him to go. ‘She always pushed me,’ he says. ‘She helped me to become who I am.’
‘If it wasn’t for my mum, I’d have quit boxing. Shortly after my father passed away, I was invited to the Olympic Reserve School. It was a dream and a once in a million chance, but I really didn’t want to leave.
‘Whether my father’s death affected me like that, or it was something else. But the thought of leaving the house, leaving my mum, used to terrify me. And I was willing to give up what, of course, would put a cross on my career.
‘My mum knew how important boxing was, that it could become my life, and convinced me to go. You know how it all worked out later. But I think about who I would have been if I refused to go to Moscow and it makes me think how lucky I am to have my mother.’
Despite his success, Beterbiev remains a grounded figure. He laughs easily, jokes with those around him, and even finds time for checkers as a mental exercise. His approach to life and boxing is a reminder that champions are not just made in the ring—they are shaped by their past, their relationships, and their mindset.
As the rematch with Bivol approaches, Beterbiev’s story remains one of quiet strength, a man who’s not in it for the glory or the knockouts but for the pursuit of something greater. ‘I just want to do my job the best way I can,’ he says. ‘That’s what drives me.’
So, while the world may see Beterbiev as a knockout artist, what truly fuels him is far more complex than the punches he delivers in the ring. It’s his pursuit of perfection, his gratitude for the lessons life has taught him, and his determination to be better than he was yesterday.
Artur Beterbiev will face Dmitry Bivol for a second time in Saudi Arabia on February 22nd, headlining The Last Crescendo Riyadh Season card. Interview courtesy of Top Rank.
