Memoirs of a Karate Fighter Read Online Free PDF Page B

closer I got to the club, the stronger was the temptation for me to abandon my plans of going to my doctor’s surgery. If Brenda was correct about my sternum being cracked – and I thought she was – I couldn’t see the point in seeing a doctor. I supposed he would tell me that there wasn’t much he could do for me but that I would need to rest. My priority was to make it into the team, and such was my motivation that I would have considered training that evening had fate not conspired for me to be late. So I figured, reluctantly, that some greater power was telling me to take the evening off.
    After removing my shoes, I entered the
dojo
. The damp, sweaty smell of endeavour hung heavy in the air. Following
dojo kun,
or etiquette, I made a bow, and then, trying to remain as discreet as possible, I stood atthe edge of the floor.
    For several minutes it seemed as though my presence had gone unnoticed, until the sensei approached me. He said, “Mr Robb, if you can’t be bothered to train for such an important competition please wait outside.” I could tell that he was angered by what he thought was my indiscipline until he saw the pained expression on my face. Perhaps it reminded him of the heavy kick I had taken the previous session. “Never mind,” he added, nodding at a solitary chair, “just sit down and watch, you might learn something.”
    Even though I knew I had a legitimate reason for missing training, there were those who were close by who could not resist whispering taunts saying that I thought myself too good to need to practise. From a black belt I would have accepted it as a gentle reprimand, but from a fellow or lesser grade I considered such a remark as an attack on my dedication. Rivalry, and simple naked ambition, were behind the snide comments; after all, competition for places in the team was not only fierce but it was also encouraged and often some students would use whatever means they could to score a psychological point.
    But it was not long before I became engrossed in what was happening in the
dojo
. While training, I only had time to concentrate on my own technique and that of my partner as we went through a series training drills. The YMCA placed a particular emphasis on working in pairs, and Eddie Cox had us training in that manner from the first lesson. Techniques executed up and down the hall or in a
kata
were not undervalued, but it was the pair-work which taught the sense of distance, or
maai
, and what it is to receive as well as deliver a technique. I watched the training grow in intensity and saw how we were also being taught a mastery over fear. Lower-ranking students had been paired off with the senior grades and faced spiteful kicks that whipped through the air and punches that snapped and cracked. But it wasn’t only the higher grades who were executing techniques with such proficiency. Clinton was having a difficult time with a
karateka
who was a couple of grades lower than him: a purple belt nicknamed Trog. I was surprised, as up until that point I had thought that Clinton had never looked better; his poise, balance and sheer speed made him an excellent fighter; but now he was being caught with blows from a much bulkier and less talented
karateka
. As the session went on, I shifted uneasily on my chair and my eyes were increasingly drawn to the lower grades. Previously, I had figured that I was competing with my fellow brown belts for a place in the first team, but now I realized that there were others who were also in the running.
    Toru Takamizawa, Cox sensei’s old instructor, had said that while training there is no cruelty in karate. He was of the opinion that to hold back with a technique, or purposely miss with a kick or a punch, was to do a great disservice to a fellow student as then there could be no way of telling if a defensive technique needed correcting. Therefore, it was a kindness to strike your training partner, as it