Floating Shadows in the Darkness

We were sweeping the mats after a tough judo training session when my training partner asked me if I had ever competed and wanted to know what it was like.

I stopped sweeping for a moment and thought about the question.

“Has your heart ever beat so fast that it rattled against your ribcage and the only thing you can see is floating shadows in the darkness?”

He gave me a blank look.

There was no sufficient way to answer this question in a casual conversation without recounting the full story:

It was a surprisingly warm day in November. I woke up at eight in the morning and went about my morning routine trying not to think too much about my first judo competition.

“How you feeling?” Sensei asked.

“I feel good,” I said with an odd calmness.

I didn’t want to think about anything during the car ride. From previous boxing experience, I knew that I had to stay calm and channel my nervous energy. I laughed at everything my teammates said in the car, never initiating any conversation. I could sense that Sensei was more worried about the outcome of the competition than me. I was sure that he didn’t want to see me get upset and discouraged if I lost. I was also sure that he didn’t want the school to look bad in their first competition, but I did not want to think about that.

We set aside an hour to get there but arrived in fifteen minutes. We were at a high school in New Jersey, although it could have easily been mistaken for a college campus.

Weigh-in didn’t start until eleven so I had thirty minutes to hang out and talk. I remained as calm as possible. I stepped on the scale eight pounds overweight. The referee was generous and took off two pounds, so my official weight was only six pounds over.

“Did you make weight?” the official asked, talking to himself.

“No, wasn’t that close,” he said, answering his own question.

I gave Sensei a look and headed over to the registration table. I had to sign up to become an official judo member and pay the due for the tournament, which was more expensive because I waited until the last minute- a lesson I just never seem to fully understand. They told me to come back with two papers, but I only came back with one.

My mom texted me saying that she was going to be there with my cousin Vinny and his sister, Mona Lisa. I wasn’t sure if she was going to come see me on her birthday so her text was reassuring.

I pulled out a greasy grilled chicken sandwich and chowed down on one half, saving the other half for later. After eating, Sensei took me on a walk through the gym to check out the place and get a feel for the environment. There was a friendliness in the air- one that I was not used to from all of my youth travel baseball experience. As we scoped the gym out Sensei was being treated like a returning war hero.

“Are you competing again?”

“Woah! Look who it is!”

“The Legend had returned.”

I did my best to escape lengthy conversation, looking to avoid unnecessary interactions. I headed up to the bleachers with my teammates and watched some of the kid’s competition. I brought my notebook; I had hoped to write down all of my thoughts, but it would have been rude to do so in front of teammates who came out to support me. Now that I was sitting still all of the nerves and anxiousness surfaced, like an overflowing pot of boiling water. Two more teammates from my judo school joined us in the bleachers.

“I’m hungry,” my teammate said. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Do you want half of my sandwich?” I offered.

I handed her the other half; my stomach was too uneasy to eat anything more.

As I watched the other fights, my mind couldn’t help but think about every specific detail of what was to come. Rather than fight it, I thought deeper about the outcome. Every scenario played out in my head. The threat of losing was real. If that happened, I told myself that I had already won because I gave my best effort in training. But I was not there to win effort points. I didn’t want to show up and then get knocked out thirty seconds into the match. I trained too hard. At the same time, I didn’t want to be arrogant if I won either, which meant no showboating. I decided that the best way to win was to be relentlessly attacking while at the same time being patient enough to let the combinations come to me. I didn’t want to overthink technique, which was only going to slow me down and telegraph my moves. I had trained my instincts my entire life, so I was going to rely on them. Every movement must happen instinctively, without too much thought, otherwise my opponent would beat me to the technique. Opportunities had to be created, but never forced. Forcing techniques would only get me in a world of trouble. Winning or losing was not as important as representing my school in the best light and making my teammates and family proud. These positive thoughts helped ease my nerves, and I would revisit them over the next three hours while I sat in the bleachers waiting for my turn.

“Should I put the gi on now?” I asked eagerly.

“Not yet I still think you have a little time. They have to finish up this bracket,” Sensei said.

The sun was beginning to fall as the kid’s competition started wrapping up. My mom arrived with my two cousins, and then shortly after I put on my gi, stepped on the mats, and began my warm-up.

I did some light stretches, shuffled around the mat, and uchi-komi, practice reps, with Sensei.

Before long my name was displayed on the big screen with my bracket and the mat that I needed to report to. My heart was rattling against my ribcage. I took a couple of deep breaths to remain calm; I was mentally prepared for war. There were ten people in my bracket. I was up for the first match.

My mom looked over to me and mouthed, “Do I have time to go to the bathroom?”

“Go ahead. I am up first,” I said. “But I don’t know when it is going to start.”

A few minutes after she left, the official behind the desk said my last name. Another thought popped into my head, I am not going to focus on any of my faults, instead I am going to feast on every single one of my opponent’s fears; I will bring them to the light.

The referee called my name to the desk.

“Remember: control the dance,” Sensei said. “Now go get em’.”

As soon as I stepped on the mat I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my chest. I did my best to shut down my fears and just let my mind and body operate. I walked carefully to the middle of the mat, bowed, took two steps forward, bowed again, hesitated for a second, then realized that the fight had started. I threw my hands up, sizing up my opponent. He reached to grab my lapel with his right hand but I smacked it away quickly.

I studied his movement, looking for a plan of attack. I could hear him breathing heavily, not because he was tired, but because he was goofy and unaware of his breathing pattern, like a clumsy lagoon monster. His tall and slender body frame and awkward body movement supported my conclusion. I understood that I had to dominate him.

My right hand reached over his shoulder and grabbed the middle of his back, which is called a power grip. Then, my left hand controlled his right sleeve and I started shaking his gi to rattle his cage. I could sense that my opponent started getting nervous as I started backing him up.

“Careful. Careful,” Sensei yelled out.

My opponent stuck his leg out to trip me, but he overcommitted to the technique, sacrificing his balance. I took a step back and tossed him like I was throwing a baseball, using all of my opponent’s momentum. His back smacked against the mat and I landed on top of him for a second, until my body rotated off of him.

The referee raised his hand and said, “Ippon!”

I was uncertain of what to do next. I had watched so many judo matches online that I thought that I would know what to do, but a live situation is much different than YouTube. I walked to the back of the mat. The referee motioned forward. I took a step up. The referee motioned forward again. Then he raised his hand in my direction. I bowed to my opponent, shook his hand, and then walked off the mat with my chest puffed out.

“I love this. I could do this all day,” I said, as I was met with congratulations from my teammates.

“I knew you would,” Sensei said, with a big smile.

By the time my mom came back, she had already missed the fight; the match only lasted thirty seconds. Luckily, my friend recorded the match.

“Let me check it out,” I said.

My hands were shaking as I held the phone and my heart was still rattling. I was watching the video but I couldn’t focus on the details at all. This is going to be great content though, I thought.

“Hey, hey, this is going to be your next match… you can watch that later,” Sensei said.

I put the phone down. Part of me didn’t care who I would be fighting next. I was in a battle with myself, and any opponent was just standing in my way. But I also wanted to be respectful.

“Who am I facing next?”

“Whoever wins this match right here,” Sensei said.

I watched the match closely, doing my best to steady my heart rate. My adrenaline was kicking high; my heart still felt like it was rattling against my ribcage.

“Actually… maybe not,” Sensei said. “It might be that kid who had the bye in the first round.”

My teammate’s match was next. Unsure of what to do, he faintly went in for an attack and his opponent used his momentum to drop him on his back. Originally the referee called an ippon, but he took that call back and only awarded one point. My teammate was given a new life.

My teammate froze again and was punished to the ground with more force than the last time, sealing his defeat. My teammate did exactly what I had told myself not to do- he was too much in his head and his opponent beat him to the technique.

My next fight was against a kid from West Point, who always seemed to bring a squad to compete at these events. He looked like he didn’t have as much experience as my previous opponent, but he looked stronger. However, with my powerlifting training and athletic background, I was not anticipating that my strength would be an issue.

Before I stepped on the mat, I looked over to my mom and said “Do you have to go to the bathroom again?”

She laughed, shook her head, and then gave him a thumbs up. “Go get em!”

I walked onto the mat with a little more confidence, took a few steps forward, bowed to my opponent, then paused before realizing that the fight was on.

As soon as I grabbed my opponent, I hooked his leg, rotated my right shoulder, and then took him down. Since the takedown wasn’t with enough force, I was only awarded one point, but if I did that again, then I would have won the match.

The referee stood us up and then we went at it again.

I started getting lost looking for home run throws and started playing ugly judo, flopping around like a fish out of water. The only thing saving me was that he couldn’t break my grips, which gave me a strong advantage. I was controlling the movement of his body while he couldn’t control mine. The only problem was that I couldn’t find the finishing technique to end the fight. The longer I couldn’t find it, the more fatigue became a factor.

I started focusing on the fact that he couldn’t break my grips; it was apparent that he hadn’t had the same training as me because his attempts were weak and one dimensional. I laughed in my head at one point because all he did was swing his arms up and then them down like an upset baby who didn't get their bottle. Instead of going for the big throw, I slowed the game down and focused on my timing. As soon as he swung his arms down, I used his downward motion to pull his arms close to my chest, dropped to my knees, rotated my shoulders, and looked in the direction where I wanted to throw him. At first he resisted, but his right leg started rotating slowly in my direction; I didn’t give up on the technique and kept turning my shoulders. He stuck out his left hand to post his body up but his back landed on the mat and I drove my shoulders into his chest.

“Ippon!” the referee said.

As I rose to my feet, I tightened up my muscles, clenched my teeth, and yelled “Yea,” under my breath, accidentally making eye contact with my opponent’s coach.

I bowed, shook his hand, and then started to prepare for the championship. My hands were shaking and my heart was rattling against my ribcage faster than before. This match was more tiring than the first one. I looked again at my mom in the stands, and said “Did you see that one?”

She laughed again, “I sure did!”

My teammate’s teased me because of the strained face that I made after my victory. They said that two random women who were watching commented, Did you see that? What kind of face was that? laughing with each other. I brushed it off- those women had no idea about my journey up to that moment.

I realized that my performance at that tournament would tell me whether all of the time I invested in the gym had been a waste or whether I was onto something and really living my passion. I wanted to be a good example to all of my personal training clients and group fitness clients that had trained with me. When I was cut from the baseball team in college, I no longer had any serious competitions so this was my first test to see if I still had that same fire.

As I waited for the match, my opponent was running back and forth between our bracket and the black belts bracket, winning all of the matches; some people would call this move “carpet bagging.”

He was the West Point guy who beat my teammate and I could tell we were going to have a competitive match. The referee called his name to say that he was next up, but he was on another mat competing against a black belt. After he won, he jogged over to our mat to check in and face me for the championship.

I reminded myself that this was going to be the competitive match that I had prepared for. My strategy was to constantly be attacking but never forcing any techniques. I prepared to be patient and let the technique find itself, using the same strategy that helped me find my judo school and apartment.

I could tell by the way he jogged over to our mats that he thought that match was going to be a formality and that he would blast right through me. I walked to the top of the mat, took a look at the referee and noticed that she was attractive, but smacked my head and told myself to stay focused. I took a deep breath, bowed, and then blocked out everything else. I was only focused on one thing: throwing this kid on his back.

He swayed back and forth as he circled to my left. He attempted to get his grips, but I broke them off instantly. I took my grips, establishing a dominant position. Like his teammate, he couldn’t break my grip. He went in for a bail technique which ended with me collapsing on top of him.

“Choke! Choke! Choke!” Sensei yelled. I grabbed high on his lapel and hopped over his back to get on his left side.

“Other side! Other side! Other side!”

I hopped back over to the right side and started walking toward his head while I battled for hand position around his throat. He managed to barely squeeze his hand in between his neck and my hand, reducing the amplification of the choke, but I kept walking toward his head as I bit my tongue. The only thing I could see was floating shadows in the darkness.

“Keep walking! Keep walking! Keep walking!” Sensei yelled. I could tell Sensei thought I was going to put him out, but I didn’t have my hand high enough; he did a good job fighting it down.

“Mate,” the ref said, which means stop, but I was so focused on the choke that I couldn’t hear it. My opponent stood up, but I still had him in the choke. “Mate! Mate! Stop!” I heard Sensei’s voice and snapped out of my dark cloud. I could hear his people in the crowd let out a nervous cry, afraid I was going to break his neck.

I stood up with my gi disheveled, breathing heavily. My uke started walking toward me, which startled me, but then I realized that it was only to switch positions. I established a dominant position again and he went in for another bail technique, which ended with me mounted on top. If I held him there for twenty seconds, then I would have won the match, but I forgot to post my hands and he was barely able to escape to his knees. The referee stood us up again, only I remained on a knee, taking my time so that I could catch my breath.

“Step up! Step up! Step up!” Sensei yelled.

I threw my hands up. As exhausted as I was, I focused on the fact that he was tired and dizzy from the choke. He knew I didn’t come to mess around. It was a fight! He established a dominant position and momentarily I hesitated. He pulled me to his right, faking a technique. I let my guard down for a second and then he hooked my right leg and managed to hit my right shoulder to the ground, scoring one point.

“Hold him there,” a voice yelled out from the crowd. I hooked one of his legs, which is called a “single leg,” while I lay on my back.

“Let him out. Conserve your energy,” his coach said.

When the referee stood us up again, there was a minute and thirty seconds left. Even though I had dominated the fight, he was up by one point. One more score and he would win.

“Hands up. Hands up. Hands up.” My arms were getting heavier, more tired, and more difficult to raise. My body was exhausted and I couldn’t conceal it. He had a renewed energy as I could tell that he sensed I was finished. He attempted another quick bail technique and failed. I took my time getting up, catching my breath for one final push.

“He’s tired, let’s go. Finish him off,” his coach said.

“C’mon Derek. Pull yourself together!” my teammate yelled.

I was slow to stand and even slower to put my hands up. I established my grips and then feinted attacks, two or three at a time- I refused to let him take control of the dance. After he made a violent motion pulling his elbows in, I managed to slowly turn him over my shoulder. I hooked his legs, put my head down to the mat, and flipped him over my shoulder for one point.

“Hold em! Hold em! Hold em! Head down! Head down! Head down!” Sensei yelled. Again, he managed to turn over to his stomach- this time by freeing his arm. I rose up to my knees, catching my breath.

“Derek, you ain’t tired,” my teammate yelled.

I looked at the clock and saw that there were forty seconds left in the match.

“Hey, now it’s tied up. Hey, show me what you got,” Sensei said.

That was all I needed to hear. There was no way I was going to come this far and lose. There was less than one minute left and the best perform when the money is on the line. I was going to find my technique. I deserved to win this match, now it was only a matter of time before I caught him.

We had neutral grips, but I started marching forward with dark intentions. I started tapping his feet like I was playing a game of Jenga Jerk, looking for any loose cracks in his armor. I managed to get him to draw his right foot back, momentarily causing him to switch his stance and disrupt his balance.

“Fix your right hand! Fix your right hand!” Sensei yelled.

I didn’t listen; all I could see was floating shadows in the darkness. I hooked the outside of his left leg and attacked his leading foot like a sticky bomb. I found my opening. I pulled his arms up to block his vision and then across his body into the direction that I wanted to throw him in. He collapsed to the ground and I landed on top of him.

“Ippon!”

“Aye! Aye! Yea!” Sensei roared.

I marched to the top of the mat, eyes sharp as a knife, looked at Sensei, and pounded my chest. The referee motioned for me to tuck my gi in- my hands were so shaky that I struggled to do so. My heart was rattling violently against my ribcage. I was exhausted. I put my soul into that match.

“I took the ferry too many times to give up,” I said as I walked back to my team. They looked at me sideways, not knowing what I was talking about, but they congratulated me regardless.

“Wow. That was amazing,” my mom said.

“What did you think? Honestly, How did I look?”

“Before the fight you looked like you had no idea what you were doing, but once the fight started…wow, you were impressive. What a showman.”

I finally found the competitive victory that my heart was desperately seeking. Everything I had been doing had a new meaning now. Finally, I took responsibility back into my own hands. I picked up a new skill, made myself look like a fool, and with five months training, I won my first competition, and on top of that, my mom was there to see it on her birthday.