The 2008 Friendship Open was another success. As usual it was hosted by the Academy of Elite Martial Artists in West Jordan, Utah. The tournament was much smaller than last year, at least to my eyes. I’m guessing that this is due to the usual tidal ebb and flow of intrastate martial arts politics. Some years school owners feel good about each other and tournaments are well attended. The next year school owners are offended by all other school owners and tournament attendance is down. Not being a school owner I can say that I find the politics of martial arts melodramatic, disappointing, and laughable all at the same time.
Anyway, I have always enjoyed the Friendship Open and this year was no different. Because there is no sparring the usual “I’m going to complain if I don’t win” attitude is not present. Instead, you have an atmosphere of fun and excitement as kids and adults alike perform their forms, demonstrate their weapons abilities, and break boards. One moment you are watching a cute little four-year-old breaking a board with his head and the next you are watching middle-aged mothers and fathers snapping a board with a knife hand. This tournament is a wonderful family experience.
One of the more exciting elements of the Friendship Open this year was watching three different school owners demonstrate some breaks that pushed them to their limits. I was impressed at the courage, humility, and skill as these instructors performed breaks that were difficult enough that it took more than one attempt. Mr. Cagle, from Black Angels taekwondo broke five boards with a downward ridge hand. Not all the boards broke on the first attempt so he had to torture his hand again to finish them off. Everyone experienced in board breaking knows that the downward ridge hand is a painful break and we all cringed as we watched him do it. But do it he did and in spite of the pain he showed no pain.
Shayne Myler, of Academy of Elite Martial Artists, did a series of difficult breaks. He did the high flying 540 break. Then he impressed us by breaking six boards (non-spaced) with a back kick. Then he did a flying sidekick over eight bowing students. He fell short on the first attempt, but then successfully completed the break on the second try.
Kevin Jerman, of Beehive Martial Arts, broke five, non-spaced, boards with his fist. On the first attempt the bricks appeared to separate and let the boards fall to the ground. High speed photography showed different, though. The bottom board had snapped while supporting the upper boards. The boards were toast on the second attempt. This board breaking by the school owners was the unexpected highlight of the tournament for me.
Only two schools competed in the demonstration team competition this year. This is down from six from last year. But these two schools, Academy of Elite Martial Arts and Mountain Path Taekwondo, did an excellent job. There were lots of gymnastics, fun martial arts skits, and great demonstrations of martial arts techniques. I found it a wonderful experience watching these demonstrations.
I want to congratulate Shayne Myler on hosting such a fine tournament each year. I can’t wait until next year.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Monday, March 26, 2007
2007 Wasatch Open Taekwondo
The Wasatch Open, sponsored by CTC Taekwondo of Lindon was held last Saturday, March 24th, in Lindon. Tournaments run by James Bartholomew and TaraLyn Sorenson are always well-run events and this one was no different. They require advance registration and have all pairings set up before the event day arrives. When the competitors arrive they are given cards that they can hang around their neck that tell them the ring, the match number, and the color they will be competing with. It works very well and keep things moving right along. Additionally they have experienced, paid, center referees who each control one ring from beginning to end.
About 200 competitors attended this competition. I understand CTC was hoping to attract at least double this amount since this was a
As usual the majority of the competitors appeared to be made up of children under twelve years of age. This age group seems to be the lifeline of martial arts in the
Unlike the Friendship tournament held a few weeks back where the mood was relaxed, friendly, and fun, the mood at this tournament was more stressful. I don’t know why I bring that up. Of course there is going to be more stress at a qualifying tournament compared to a “show-off” tournament. I guess I just wish there wasn’t because I enjoyed the Friendship tournament so much. I enjoyed this tournament also, but the stressed egos I run into at qualifying tournaments always leave a bitter taste on the side of my tongue. Of course any time an ego is stressed it is blamed on bad or biased refereeing or judging. It is this way in every sport, not just taekwondo. Even I saw a couple of matches where I couldn’t believe what wasn’t being scored. Usually there are three reasons something isn’t scored when I think it should be: 1. I am wrong and it really shouldn’t be scored. 2. The judges made an honest, human mistake and didn’t see it. 3. The judges are biased against the one they don’t want to win. Of course number three is the one most of us human beings naturally want to latch onto. But that doesn’t make it true. I don’t know what happened in the two matches I saw and questioned. But unless a pattern emerges in future tournaments I am going to assume I was wrong or it was just an honest mistake. I want to refuse to believe the third option because the resulting martial arts soap operas are so embarrassing. From the sidelines I have seen and heard about far too many MA soap operas in the short time I have been in TDK.
Speaking of honest mistakes, I made one this tournament. I was a corner judge for the first time since taking the official training several weeks back. I was excited to have a chance to apply my skills. To tell the truth I feel really good about how I did overall. In saying that, I don’t pretend to be anything other than inexperienced, but it was a good start. I wanted to do a good job. To me that means being perceptive and, most importantly, unbiased. I don’t want to favor or punish someone just because I like them or don’t like them. I can honestly say I never knowingly gave or didn’t give a point based on bias. I really tried to give it that way it appeared to be.
On the other hand, judging sparring is difficult for the inexperienced. The action is so fast and doesn’t stop. I’ve got the blue button in the right hand and the red button in the left hand, but the competitors won’t keep order to my right and left. Did that kick hit? Did I hit the right button? Judging those twenty or so matches was a real workout for my focus and concentration. I know I hit the wrong buttons sometimes, but when I was aware of it I tried to correct that. I think I did pretty well overall and took comfort in knowing there were two others counter-balancing me.
In once case I may have cost a competitor the match. For this I am sorry. I am aware I hit the wrong button at the end of a match. I immediately hit the right button, but at least one of the other judges apparently saw it the opposite that I did and the point when up for the person who I thought had just lost. Was it because of my button press or did the other two judges see it the opposite? Proper procedure would have been for me to raise my hand and let the referee know I had pressed the wrong button and he could have sorted it out. But my confusion from lack of experience in the face of all the excitement at the end of the match kept me from doing this. Well, lesson learned. I will never hesitate to report a mistake like that again when it may have so clearly affected the result of a match. I want to be as rock solid a corner judge as a human being can be. I believe by the end of this year I will be.
I noticed that Simone knocked out another opponent. I saw him knock out two opponents last year. I wonder why people keep getting in the ring with him. I hope someday to see him in the ring with people who are as good as he is. I saw Chris, from CTC pull off a win against a very skilled opponent by keeping his head and using it to figure out how to get that winning point. Of course there is that blackbelt match near the end of the tournament that went to sudden death. It’s not often you see a flying sidekick at these competitions, and for good reason; but I saw a gutsy one here and it scored. My son captured the moment. You can see it and many other great shots in my gallery.
Friday, March 16, 2007
2007 Taekwondo Friendship Open
I attended
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Thoughts on Competing at Middle-Age
When I first heard about the Wasatch Senior’s Tournament I wasn’t much interested. I’m 45 and just a mediocre in sparring at best. Middle-agers often find themselves sparring down due to the lack of competition in their age group. I definitely don’t have the skills to be competitive when sparring down. It is difficult enough in my own age group. I had no intention of going until my instructor told me that there would be some other men there my age that I could compete against. In a weak moment I decided that if that were the case, then I would sign up.
I take tournaments pretty seriously because I have seen what can happen in a tournament to someone who hasn’t prepared properly. I enlisted my sixteen year old son to train me. We started riding bike into Nephi and back (20 miles on a hilly, gravel road) on Saturday mornings and I would ride a shorter circuit during the week. I wanted to get my endurance up. There is nothing worse than running out of steam during a match. My son drilled me in techniques and we did a little sparring to try to sharpen up my timing. Focused workouts for a tournament are fun. That is the main reason I signed up. Preparing for a tournament brings some direction to day-to-day martial arts and gives it purpose.
I heard that there were two men in my age group who would be there. I often wondered who they were and how good they were. I even had the remote idea that maybe, if I worked hard, I could win my division. That is a bold idea for a mediocre athlete like myself.
It was the night before the tournament, when I attended a referee training seminar, that I found out that my nightmare was occurring. There were no other men my age in the tournament. They had me in a division of three all right, but the other two were 25 and 19 years old. I didn’t like this at all. The act of signing up for a TKD tournament is a signal that you think you are good enough to compete. Every once in a while you will see some poor soul get on the mat thinking he is good enough, but who gets the snot beat out of him because he was no where near good enough. It bothered me that they put me in a pool with the young fellows because it would look like I thought I could compete with them which in turn would make me look like a fool when they beat the snot out of me. Getting the snot beat out of me wouldn’t bother me as badly as looking like a fool.
I suppose I had the option of withdrawing from the competition, but it wasn’t a very appealing option because the organizers, who I know, and my own instructor, thought that there should be no problem. I might not win, but I would be okay. Withdrawing would really lower my status with them. Still, I would have withdrawn except that I knew one of the opponents in my division and thought that I just might be able to survive with a little dignity. I thought this because I had sparred with him before in a non-tournament setting and he was over 300 pounds and not very mobile, although still strong and dangerous. I figured I could just have a strategy of staying away from him for most of the match. Then I learned that he had dropped down to 275 pounds. This would make him much more mobile. Well, being one who is loathe to quit, I stayed in the competition anyway.
The next day, after I arrived at the tournament, I immediately saw who I assumed would be my opponent across the room. Even with his weight-loss he was big and looked mobile. I wasn’t feeling very good about my decision to stay in at this point. Ryan was 275 pound, 6’3”, and 25 years old. This made him 50 pounds heavier, 2 inches taller, and 20 years younger than me. I can’t believe the others thought I should get in the ring with this guy. Actually I do understand why. TaraLyn is 41 and she competes a lot. Not only this, but when she competes she competes down because she is so much better than the others her age. James is only 26 and he is a world class competitor who believes that everyone should compete no matter what. Kevin is my age and a big fellow. He grew up fighting and loves it. It was these three who were encouraging me. What they don’t seem to understand is that I don’t have any of the talents that they have. Mix that with my age and you get a questionable competitor who probably shouldn’t be in the ring with some big fellow 20 years younger than himself.
But I went ahead with it. Actually the first thing I competed in was Forms. I only had one opponent there and I did better than him. I took the gold. It was about 11:00 am when my division started sparring. Because I was the old man they gave me the bye. That was a good thing. Ryan, the 25 year old took on the 19 year old (I’m guessing at his age). I don’t think these two liked each other because they really went at it. I was especially aware of Ryan gunning for the younger fellow. The younger fellow was quick and had a good reach, but in the end Ryan just over-powered him and beat him pretty good even though the score was just a few points difference.
There was a match between Ryan’s and my fight and I took that time to think about my goals for the fight. I wanted to win, of course, but that just didn’t seem likely. I came up with four goals: 1. Show no fear. 2. Fight with dignity (show no frustration, don’t leave the ring, don’t mentally or physically give up, etc). 3. Fight smarter. 4. Get at least four points.
Goal number 3 was a big one for me. I have a way of being a kicking bag on the mat. Being a kicking bag for a 275 pound 25 year old isn’t a good idea. My coach told me to stay too far away, or stay too close for him to kick me. This is a basic idea, of course, but I have never done it very well. This time I was going to concentrate on that.
For me, when it comes time to walk out on the mat and face your opponent existence turns into an alternate reality. It felt the same this time. The referee said, “Begin” and we went at each other. I’m not going to give you a blow-by-blow, but I felt I achieved goal number 3. I went with him when he pushed off for a kick and did my best to stay out of range. Still, he clobbered me pretty good with really powerful round houses. When Ryan does land a round house you can’t seem to move in or out because you are just trying to stay on your feet and protect your ribs. And then Ryan can do fast repeat kicks. He scored a few clean shots, which shook my world, but most scores were through my arms. Poor arms. He did not get my head, a fact I am proud of and for which my head is thankful. Out of the three goals I missed only one. I was only able to score two points to his nine. Clearly there is something I have to work on.
Even losing like that I felt euphoric coming off the mat. I had fought the big, young, guy and come out okay. I had taken a beating, and yet was in enough control to feel good about it (if that is really possible). I am pretty certain it would have been worse on me if Ryan hadn’t worked so hard in his first match, but still, in the pictures of my fight, I see that Ryan was giving it all he had. The look on his face was pure, focused business—a little scary—although after the match he was as nice as could be.
So where do I stand now? For some reason I feel like I want to make a focused effort to increase my sparring skill. I’m not sure why. Maybe because it is just a challenge to meet. There is really no where for a 45 year old to go in competition. Perhaps it is just a personal thing. I need to find out if I can get better and, if so, gain some experience and pleasure from it. If I can’t get any better, the trying will still be good for me.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
What Keeps a Middle Aged Man Practicing His Martial Art?
I started taekwondo when I was forty years old. I am now 45 and still practicing—and this even though I got my blackbelt. Even though I live in a small town with the dojang I attend being the only martial arts school around, I have seen many would-be students start and then quit. I have even seen several who put in the time and effort to obtain their black belt quit practicing. After having seen all this quitting, I have to ask myself, why do I continue?
I understand that five years in the martial arts isn’t very long, but as an adult who has achieved the most common goal—that of earning a black belt—and having no other clear goal continuing on is something of a wonder to myself. I’ve been thinking about what would seem to me to be the most typical reasons a grown man would continue in the martial arts. These are listed below.
Self-defense—Unarmed self-defense is a good thing for anyone to know. Most everyone would agree with this. Even so, most don’t practice any form of it. While it is good that I practice self-defense I have never been in a physical altercation in my life and my daily habits rarely take me into situations where I could reasonably foresee a situation where practicing self-defense would save my life. Fear of physical altercation is not what keeps me practicing self-defense.
Competition—Although my dojang is closely associated with Olympic Style taekwondo schools and with people who have Olympic aspirations, at forty-five I am far past the age where I can reasonably dream of making the Olympic team. There are other, less lofty, competitions, but the over-forty competitive ranks are thin and in my opinion competing in those ranks would be rather meaningless. I do like to spar in the Olympic Style because it is challenging and fun, but competing in official competitions just isn’t important to me. Competition does not keep me practicing taekwondo.
Teaching—I would love to gain the experience and right to open my own school and teach. I have the highest respect for outstanding teachers in any field, not just martial arts. The idea of becoming an outstanding martial arts teacher is very appealing to me, but in my current situation it is not a viable option. I have eight children. The youngest is just one years old. These children need food, shelter, and insurance. I live in an unpopulated, rural area that can barely support the school that I attend. Opening a martial arts school is a very risky venture on any level, but gambling the welfare of my family on the success of a school would be a bad gamble. This is especially so since there is not room for another school where I live and I don’t want to move. I do have the opportunity to teach within the school I attend, but due to my job and the long distance I commute I can only get in one or two hours a week. Becoming a great martial arts teacher is still a dream, but not one I can yet find a way to realize and is not what keeps me practicing taekwondo.
Delusions—Quite often I have seen middle aged men and women at various martial arts events who appear, well . . . strange. They strike me as living some sort of Bruce Lee dream. It is okay for the young to pursue the arts and it is okay for the old to teach and mentor, but when the older appear to be in pursuit of the martial arts it comes across like the forty-five year old man with the comb-over in the Porsche. It hurts me to admit this, but I know that I came across this way as I worked my way through the colored belts. I was super enthusiastic and devoted to my martial art. In the dojang I scurried about just like one of the young children—I was the same as them, just thirty-eight years older. As I look back, some of the enthusiastic memories make me shake my head a little in embarrassment, but even so I make no apologies. Although I still love taekwondo, the naïve notions that supported my over-enthusiastic behavior are gone now and I see only the hard work that lies ahead to maintain the skills and knowledge I have obtained. Dreams of becoming a super action hero are not what keep me practicing taekwondo.
Why?—Now that I have pushed aside the most assumable reasons of why I, a middle-aged man, keeps practicing taekwondo I want to look at some of the less assumable, but more accurate, reasons that keep me practicing.
Family—I have several children who practice taekwondo. I have never been able to sit back and watch my children do anything. I can never resist the temptation to join in with them. Whether it is juggling, chess, parties, computer games, or what not I want to do these things with my children and not just watch them. It was watching my children in the dojang soon after my wife enrolled them that got me interested in taekwondo in the first place. Now we all practice taekwondo together. Taekwondo is a family thing. As long as it promotes a healthy family lifestyle I have a reason to practice taekwondo.
Health—I am in so much better heath today than I was before I started taekwondo. My endurance, flexibility, and general strength are much greater. I have shed many an extra pound. Although practicing taekwondo doesn’t give me all the exercise I need, it gives me the motivation to engage in a personal exercise regime that includes many activities that increase my health. It is true that I could lead a healthy lifestyle without taekwondo, but I can find no other activity that engages my imagination like taekwondo does. As long as I feel it is increasing my health and quality of life I will keep practicing taekwondo.
Friends—Beehive Martial Arts has become a second family to me. I like the people I work out with. More than like them, I care about them. My association with my instructor, his family, and the other students adult and young alike enrich my life. As long as I get this enrichment I will keep practicing taekwondo.
Happiness—Taekwondo workouts make me happy. Other exercises do not. I ride bike. I lift weights. I run. I swim. But although these are good for me and I am glad I do them, they do not make me happy like a taekwondo workout does. A taekwondo workout includes much more than just exercise. There is the military structure of being pushed by an instructor mixed with acts of respect and honor. There is the wide range of physical activities that include forms, techniques, calisthenics, sparring, not to mention more creative activities. There is the camaraderie of fellow students cheering each other on as we work through things that are difficult for us. All of this put together brings a happiness to my heart and I leave after each workout with a smile on my face and a feeling of health and life. As long as it brings me happiness I will continue practicing taekwondo.
As mentioned at the beginning I have been practicing taekwondo for only six years. This is just a short period of time. The things I have said will have much more weight if I am still practicing taekwondo in another six years. I sincerely hope I will be because I cannot imagine my life being better if I am not. There are many things that could happen that could get in the way. I could be injured. The school I attend could close (and there are no others around). The school could change hands and I might not get along with the new owners. The list could go on and on. I know that ideally the martial art needs to be in my heart and that I can practice taekwondo on my own, but realistically I know that without a dojang to encourage me, my ability to seriously keep practicing taekwondo will be substantially curtailed. In the future, my reasons for practicing taekwondo may change. But for now, the above reasons are carrying me onward and making my life a more wonderful experience.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Siren's Song
May 1 2006
Dear Dojang,
Dear Dojang,
An interesting phenomenon occurs here in the mission schedule. During the week I have only one day I can really write letters, and this is typically so busy with writing, chores, errands, and other tasks of “preparation” that I might have only half an hour for a given letter. Now, I can hardly write a decent letter in that time and it will take me several sittings to complete the letter: so, in one letter taking one hour, two weeks might easily pass by. And so, despite my efforts I find that far too long has passed by between this and my last.
Things go well here. Still located in Casper I’ve put over 720 miles on my shoes during my work here. Though it sounds like quite a bit of walking, it no longer seems strenuous. At times it is downright pleasant, walking through warm sun or quiet evening with the continual Casper breeze blowing by.
But now that the challenge of long walks and aching legs, of tender fee feet threatening to blister has gone and is no longer daunting, I found a new threat has snuck in: that of complacency. The walking has become such a matter of routine, such a comfortable part of the schedule, that we do it more and more. If we are not careful we find ourselves spending more time walking than anything else. When we are no sure what to do or where to go, we might walk. Even, sometimes, when the opportunity arises to try something new or to save time, missionaries might put it aside in order to continue in the comfortable familiar. Every taekwondo practitioner knows the name of this: a comfort zone.
Comfort zones are a dangerous thing and they have a way of sneaking up on you. Like the Sirens in Greek Mythology, it’s easy to be mesmerized by the song and lulled away to destruction—or, in this case, uselessness.
But I have found that there is a great solution: that‘s what our leaders are for. When companions can’t slap each other out of the daze we have a district leader to watch us from a little distance and push us when we start to coast. And he has zone leaders to APs to Mission President and so on up the line.
In taekwondo comfort zones are just as sneaky and every bit as dangerous. I can think of three major zones that I had to get through to come the short distance I have in taekwondo, and I think everyone deals with more or less the same ones in the road to blackbelt.
The first is that of starting. Facing this identical problem in a different sphere, I think I can say I have a full understanding of what difficulties and concerns an instructor goes through with new students. Regardless of which background someone comes from you can be sure that these will be something new and “uncomfortable” for them upon joining a martial art. To pull through this the investigator must catch a glimpse of what it could mean to them—be it health, fellowship, competition, or a childhood dream—and then be willing to make the commitment and the change.
For me, I think this one wasn’t as hard as it is for some people. I saw what I liked, I knew what I wanted, and the support and leadership was instantly there.
The second comfort zone comes somewhere along the path to blackbelt sometimes early and sometimes a little later. For me it was almost exactly half-way: blue belt. Some people might pass this zone more than once on the way up. It happens when the student begins to develop some skills and starts to find out what he or she is “good at”—at least enough to start leaning on these talents and coasting. As with all of these zones, people often quit here. They can’t figure out how to change gears. This zone cost me several months of training.
Getting through the “middle zone” meant remembering why I had started in the first place. I had to pick up the same “tools” that I had used to pull through the first time and add to them the knowledge of what it had come to mean to me. I realized that it had come to mean a lot.
That re-forging experience carried me a long way and the things I had to realize have become driving forces. They carried me through to the last.
This last one is tricky, and maybe meets the siren metaphor most truly.
It is said that the blackbelt represents the vast unexplored reaches of space. For many passing through those zones and breaking through the colorful atmospheres they feel they are done: having made the trip out they are done and ready to make re-entry into their old comfort zones. When I meet those who have done this who say, “Oh, yeah, I got a black belt once,” I’m not sure what to do—whether they are to be laughed at or cried for. What a waste.
But there is another threat: that upon reaching space we will find ourselves adrift without direction. And this threat is most dangerous because it is a constant; at any moment we may find ourselves running low and then we are in danger of losing direction.
This is the very moment when we need most to take up those things that carried us through before and brandish them anew; and add to them continually, growing in purpose and plain moo-do spirit. And this is the time I have seen that we need each other the most, to boot each other out of our ruts and pull each other out of the zones.
I hope things are going as well for you in the dojang as they are here. I continue to go through my forms daily and to stretch two or three times a day. I guess that the push-ups I’m doing must be for Clory and McKayla now that Stormy has made it to blackbelt.
Though I’m a long time from seeing any of you, your letters and news continue to boot me out of any ruts and keep me practicing. I hope you are retaining the same love and passion for the art and the dojang that I do.
Until next time,
Keep your kicks high and your spirits higher!
Your black belt in a suit,
Elder T.S Anderson
Thursday, April 27, 2006
First Battle
I was a white belt when I sparred in my first tournament. I remember it well. Unfortunately we recorded the entire thing on tape. White belt sparring is ugly sparring—kind of a brawl with the legs and a lot of pushing. This is especially true in the over 35, heavyweight crowd. It may be humorous to those watching (if they can stand the embarrassment of it), but to the white belts in the ring it’s dead serious.
I was 40 years old and about 250 pounds. I was big, but kind of a wimp. Never before had I been in a fight where blows had been exchanged. It didn’t take more than angry words aimed my direction to intimidate me. In spite of all this I found myself on that fateful day geared up sitting on the edge of the ring. I was terrified. I knew that they didn’t allow people to kill each other at these tournaments. I knew generally that injuries didn’t amount to more than bruises. Knowing this just didn’t matter. I was going to get in the ring with a stranger who was going to rain physical blows upon my person . . . and knockouts were allowed. The way I saw things, it all added up to a fight for my life.
When my turn came I went to my side of the ring where my coach met me. I had never met this person before although I would get to know her much better later. I’m not sure how she became to be my coach that day. She sat me down, looked me in the eye, and said, “I know your opponent and he kicks hard.” Those are just the words I wanted to hear. Forfeiting the fight never occurred to me, but passing out was still on the card. My head was spinning and I was already breathing hard. She had sparred my opponent a week before at his dojang and knew personally how hard he kicked. She gave me some advice, none of which got past the wall of fear in my brain, and then the referee called me out on the mat.
My opponent was a mean looking red head. He was shorter than me, but a stocky, strong looking man. As the referee stood in his front stance with his hand between us I transitioned completely into survival mode. This wasn’t a contest to see if I could get through his defenses and score points. No, he was going to attack me and I had to survive somehow. The thought of winning by points never entered my mind. If I could walk out of the ring I would be a winner. When the referee gave the command to “Begin!” the world began to whirl. I can’t remember details, but I know we circled each other exchanging loads of ugly roundhouses, push kicks, and what may have looked like back kicks if you turned your head sideways and squinted. The break came between rounds and my coach sat me down and gave me some advice none of which I could hear over the sound of my heart and my gasps for air.
The second round went much the same as the first round. I fought for my life throwing as many kicks as I could and receiving what seemed like more. Just about the moment I was ready to pass out from exhaustion and let my opponent finish me off the referee jumped in and the match was over. What a feeling. I was still alive. I was still standing. I don’t think you can imagine how surprised I was when the referee raised my arm as the winner. I hadn’t just survived—I had won!
I almost floated out of the ring. My elation didn’t come from winning, but from honorably completing a contest that I had greatly feared. Many people I know have been in fights while growing up. I had never thrown a punch or had one thrown at me my entire life. Being attacked was a nightmare scenario for me. For me, this match wasn’t just a sparring contest--it was me meeting one of my greatest fears. When the match was over I was a different person. The world was just a little bit more manageable. I walked a bit taller wherever I went.
My heart sank a bit when I was told that because I had won this round I had to fight another match for the division championship. It was my first opponent’s big brother. Somehow I came out on top that time too. When I watch the video with my kids they laugh because all during both matches my hands, clenched in fists, are shaking quite visibly. They showed how scared I was. But being afraid doesn’t matter to me. What matters to me was that in spite of my fear I had entered the ring and unflinchingly fought my best
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