OK, here’s mine.
About 20 years ago when I was a younger and more testosterone driven person I qualified to be on an international level martial arts team. Over the course of 2 and a half years I saw 13 countries twice and fought over 50 times. A shoulder injury brought an end to that career but I’ve never regretted it.
My story actually happened in the off season between years one and two. I had been home about a week and went back to my regular Dojo for the Saturday morning Black Belt workout.
I had always had a rivalry with another guy at the Dojo. You have all met a guy like this - tall, very good looking, worked as a male stripper etc. he even grew out the Fabio hair. He spent more time preening for the girls at the Dojo than actually learning. This guy was so full of himself it made me wanna puke. Unfortunately for me he was naturally athletic and never had to work nearly as hard as I did to get the same results.
As luck would have it, this guy took a job in another city about 2 hours away right about the time I started training to qualify for the international team. Right before I returned from traveling and competing he moved back. He apparently never asked where I was and no one told him.
The instant he saw me though, it was pretty obvious he still wanted to kick my ass and thought he could do it without much effort. He got his chance too, because the instructor decided that Black Belt workout was going to be nothing but full contact sparring. Since he and I were the only 3rd Degree Black Belts we had to spar each other.
A lot of people from the class before us had stayed to watch the Black Belts, so I had quite an audience. I remember thinking that I had no choice but to win this fight, and win big.
Then the strangest thing happened. I guess I hadn’t realized how much better I had gotten in that year of competition because the whole fight felt like this guy was underwater and I wasn’t. Looking back I realize that he was still pretty much at the level I was when I left, but I had progressed.
I knew every move he was going to make before he made it and I just countered like I had been taught. In the first round I let him chase me a little and I got used to his style by trading a few jabs. In the second round I decided to show him a few new tricks. I faked him into dropping his hands and gave him a bloody nose. Then I faked him into lifting his left elbow and I broke his rib for being stupid. In the third round I was having fun and I decided to humiliate him. I just worked him over until he had no idea where I was coming from next. In the end I slipped under an incredibly slow front two knuckle punch he threw, grabbed him by the throat, and hip threw him to the floor (we didn’t have mats, just a thin carpet over cement).
It took two guys to help him up and take him to the hospital to get his injuries taken care of. He quit the Dojo and never came back.
The whole thing gave me this reputation that was great, but sucked too. It was cool having everyone think I was an incredible bad ass. But I also felt like I always had a target on my back. New guys were always wanting to spar me to try to prove themselves. It got really old, really fast.
I look back on that fight now and realize it was the best one I ever had. I wasn’t nervous or scared or all hyped up like I was in competition. In all honesty I think I had one of those Zen moments or something. It really did feel like I couldn’t make a mistake. But there wasn’t any arrogance or pride in it, just this calm “knowing”. Afterwards I felt euphoric. Not only had I beaten him, but he never scored a single point on me.
I probably fought 25 or 30 times after that in competition and maybe another 50 in local tournaments or sparring at the Dojo. I never got that feeling again. I’ve never felt anything exactly like it since. But when I’m getting ready to do a big lift, or trying something I’ve never done before I remember it. I remember how it made me feel and it always helps me to push myself higher.
Anyway, that’s my story. Strange but true.
Some day if someone asks nice I might tell the story about how I let a drunk pilot kick my ass on purpose. That’s another one for the “strange but true” file.