So, I wrote this story after reading an article about Hemingway. One of the individuals interviewed in the article, a contemporary of Hemingway's who'd known him in Spain, claimed that Hemingway was obsessed with death, that it was his obsession that drew him to bullfighting. As I read the article, I was drawn into a confrontation with my own obsession with death. It is so inevitable and such a mystery at the same time, that I find it hard not to dwell on it. I'm particularly fascinated by people who choose to give their own life for something. In this story, I've chosen to imagine what it must be like to make that decision in a situation, that like death itself, is particularly inscrutable to me.
"Jumping Off a Cliff"
by Michael Hunter
A long time ago he saw a man do something crazy: jump headfirst off a cliff. He'd been playing near the cliffs with his brother when a sudden motion - something arcing away from the cliffs in a free fall that was both beautiful and chilling - caught their attention. As it fell below the horizon, his brother shouted, "it's a man!" "No, it's not!" he shouted back as they both raced to the edge of the cliffs to see what such a fall would do to a thing.
But it was, it was a man. Standing at the top, they could see him down below, laughing and splashing in a small pool hidden at the base of the cliffs. When he caught sight of them looking down at him, he whooped and shouted something in a foreign language.
"It's an infidel" his brother had cried out and they'd both run home, hearts pounding.
His brother. The thought brought him back to the present. He felt the restless boredom of the crowd around him: the bus was late. What had happened to his brother? he wondered, fingering the device in his pocket.
When he was older, the infidels had come into the village where he lived. One of them had spoken, his language broken and accented, "American G.I.s, are you knowing where they are? Soldiers, American soldiers? Are you knowing?" His words sounded funny, but his eyes were deadly serious. The people in the village - his aunts and uncles, his sisters and cousins, his rivals and enemies - none of them had spoken, their fear was like a gag.
"Islam is greater than you all!" his brother had shouted suddenly into the silence, then he'd broken into a run. One of the infidels raised a rifle, but the one who'd been talking pushed it down again. Others chased his brother down the street and brought him back.
"Are you knowing?" The man had asked his brother while the others held him down before the silent crowd. "Are you knowing?" Now his brother, too, was silent. What was there to know? His brother had said what the village felt, but no one knew where the Americans were. When his brother offered nothing to fill the emptiness of their waiting, the infidels had consulted with each other, their language a strange and evil incantation, inscrutable in its power. At the end of it, his brother had disappeared, taken by them and never returned.
The woman beside him spoke, snapping him from his reverie. The bus was coming. The crowd began to shuffle together, jostling for place. He saw their faces now, each one beautiful and tragic, they were more than just the sum of their parts, this mass of bodies waiting for a bus. His pulse quickened.
He watched the bus approach, its wake a ghostly plume of dust, dancing briefly in the air before falling back to earth. It came to a halt, brakes squealing their quotidian complaint. The crowd began to board, bearing him forward to the threshold. Was this what the man had felt, standing at the top of the cliff? Fear and doubt fusing with an intensity of hope, a desire to know and feel what comes next?
The door was before him. He hesitated, a man about to jump off a cliff, his finger poised on the trigger hidden in his jacket. Though the morning air was cool, he was sweating, but didn't feel it. He hoped it would be like that man - one crazy motion, a leap into space, and, then, a joyful celebration in his own personal paradise. He took a last breath and boarded the bus.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Video of Me Losing My Last Judo Match
So, tonight our Sensei had DVDs for us with our matches from the last tournament on them. The only match of mine that was recorded was the one between me and my friend from the club. Enjoy!
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Judo Master (or, as my wife likes to say, "Judo MasTAH!")
Well, last Saturday was the big day. I've been taking Judo with my kids for about a year and a half. Since starting, I've had two personal goals:
1. To eventually get a black belt.
2. To start competing in local tournaments.
No, I don't have a black belt - I'm still working on that goal - but I did compete in a tournament sponsored by our club. It was my first tournament, and I had two primary goals. (Yes, I like the number two - I don't know why. Maybe it has something to do with Western Civilization's obsession with duality, maybe it is my background in computers - binary numbers and all that - maybe it's a potty obsession (think about it), or maybe I just don't like to count to three.)
Anyway, my two goals:
1. To not get hurt.
2. To not look too stupid.
I was concerned about them in basically that order - if I was forced to choose between getting hurt and looking stupid, I knew I would be choosing to look stupid. And my concern about that was ramped up the week before the tournament when one of the other members of our club, a strong little eastern European who used to compete in mixed martial arts, showed up with a nasty bruise on his forehead.
"Did you get that in an MMA fight?" I asked, trying to reassure myself that a beast of a bruising like that couldn't have been caused by Judo. (It is the "gentle" way, after all - look it up, you'll see what I mean.)
"No", he responded enthusiastically. "I fight in tournament. Other guy, his Judo better." Greeeat, I thought, I may be showing up at work in a week looking like I grew a really ugly third eye.
But I put that thought behind me (after all, the tournament was still almost a week away) and didn't really feel any nerves about it until the day of the tournament at the weigh in. In spite of the fact that I've been dieting basically since the day after New Years, and that my scale at home says I weigh 195, I weighed in at 200, which put me at the lower end of the 195 to 220 bracket. I had been hoping to drop enough to weigh in at the upper end of the bracket just below that, but I guess I'm still too fond of eating. (I'm an American, after all - I've got a reputation to uphold.)
The tournament was held in the gymnasium of an academy up the street from the rec center where our club meets. After weighing in, I climbed to the top of the bleachers and settled in to watch the officials setting up and to try to guess which of the other competitors were my likely opponents.
I'd been told I may be competing in the Masters division (Yes, thanks to my age - over 30 - I'm already a "master" of Judo, never mind that I only have a green belt, the first belt after white.) so I was looking for guys over 30 who were about my size or 20 pounds bigger. It wasn't long before I spotted a graying black belt with the posture of a military officer and the quickness of a dancer. Although he had a bit of a gut, it was clear he would be a formidable opponent. Having just learned that in the Masters division it isn't unusual to mix rank beginners like myself with much more experienced players, like the guy I was watching, I realized there was a good chance I could end up fighting the guy. Great, I thought, my first tournament will be over before it even begins.
Eventually I spotted another member of our club, a friend who I practice with quite a bit since we are close to the same size, and went down on the mats to warm up with him. After we started warming up, my nerves went away and I started to get excited. We did some light sparring, and I concentrated on getting in close to set up for a throw since I felt like that was where I was the weakest. (For some reason when we spar during practice I tend to hang back out of throwing range until the other guy closes with me - which is not a good thing, since that usually means the other guy has the position he wants and you don't.)
After the warm up, the officials had us all line up and bow in. Then the games began.
I had to wait for several matches before my name was called to come down to the officials table to check in for my first match. Although I'd been feeling pretty good after the warm up, my heart rate really spiked when I heard my name called and my nerves came back worse than ever. After checking in, I stood in the holding area trying to convince myself that my nervousness was a positive thing - I could harness it to give me extra energy during the match, like those mothers who get a jolt of adrenaline and lift cars off of their children. Then my name was called to go to the mat.
I was encouraged when I realized my first opponent was a short, slightly paunchy green belt close to my age. Perhaps I had a chance of winning my first match after all. It wasn't until the match started that I realized I'd overlooked some basic physics. HIS center of gravity was already below mine WITHOUT requiring any extra effort on his part. I managed to hold my own with him for close to two minutes (the matches last four) before leaving myself open for a throw. In Judo, if the other player throws you correctly, the match is over. Our match was over.
After my match, I watched my friend compete against an older, taller, heavier guy. My friend has a blue belt, the next rank after green, and his opponent had green, so I thought my friend had a good chance of winning. Wrong again, although he did get good position on the guy several times.
Although we are similar in weight and build, it wasn't until my second match, when I had the same opponent, that I realized my friend and I were in the same division and bracket. My friend is in his mid-to-late teens - given that my first opponent was closer to my age, I thought I was competing in the Masters division. Not so. (I guess they recognized I wasn't a master after all.) I had a fleeting thought about competing against him before my second match began.
With this opponent, who looked to be in his mid-twenties and clearly outweighed me, I decided to change my strategy. With my first opponent, I'd worked at closing the gap and ended up rushing into his throw. With this guy, I worked the legs. Every time he started to move, I tried to sweep his leg. I could tell it was messing with his game (that was confirmed when he came by after the match to tell me it had), but never found a way to capitalize on it. In the end, I stepped into a throw he was setting up and that was the end of my second match. Again, I managed to last about two minutes.
After that I watched my friend lose to my first opponent (it seems short, heavy guys may have a natural advantage in Judo) and knew we would end up competing against each other. By now I'd realized our division consisted of just us four. Whichever of the two of us - my friend or I - won the match would take third place.
After several matches in other brackets and divisions, we were called to the mat. Having sparred with him a fair amount and watched him compete all day, I knew my friend's weakness was that he didn't always close on his throws, leaving him open to a counter throw. I decided to stay in tight and try to keep my center of gravity lower than his so I'd be in good position to throw him if he failed to close.
Our match went longer than the others we'd competed in. At one point, although I don't recall how it happened, he ended up upside down, wrapped around my leg while I basically sat on him and tried to work him free so I could pin him. To get the picture, imagine one of those cartoons of a monkey shimmying up a coconut tree. Now, flip the image upside down. My friend was the monkey and my leg was the tree. So much for not looking stupid. (Turns out you don't care that much about looking stupid when you're in the midst of a match.) In the end, I couldn't work him free, the ref stood us up, and the match continued. Although later some other club members pointed out that I'd almost thrown him several times if I'd've (double contraction score!) just followed through (oh, the irony!), he ended up throwing me with a feint we'd been practicing in class the week before. So much for bringing home a win.
I didn't go home empty handed, though. Continuing my personal leitmotif of winning by losing, it turns out they award two bronze medals - one for fourth place, as well. That's right - all you suckers better fear me - I'm a bronze medalist in the light heavy weight seniors division for Judo.
1. To eventually get a black belt.
2. To start competing in local tournaments.
No, I don't have a black belt - I'm still working on that goal - but I did compete in a tournament sponsored by our club. It was my first tournament, and I had two primary goals. (Yes, I like the number two - I don't know why. Maybe it has something to do with Western Civilization's obsession with duality, maybe it is my background in computers - binary numbers and all that - maybe it's a potty obsession (think about it), or maybe I just don't like to count to three.)
Anyway, my two goals:
1. To not get hurt.
2. To not look too stupid.
I was concerned about them in basically that order - if I was forced to choose between getting hurt and looking stupid, I knew I would be choosing to look stupid. And my concern about that was ramped up the week before the tournament when one of the other members of our club, a strong little eastern European who used to compete in mixed martial arts, showed up with a nasty bruise on his forehead.
"Did you get that in an MMA fight?" I asked, trying to reassure myself that a beast of a bruising like that couldn't have been caused by Judo. (It is the "gentle" way, after all - look it up, you'll see what I mean.)
"No", he responded enthusiastically. "I fight in tournament. Other guy, his Judo better." Greeeat, I thought, I may be showing up at work in a week looking like I grew a really ugly third eye.
But I put that thought behind me (after all, the tournament was still almost a week away) and didn't really feel any nerves about it until the day of the tournament at the weigh in. In spite of the fact that I've been dieting basically since the day after New Years, and that my scale at home says I weigh 195, I weighed in at 200, which put me at the lower end of the 195 to 220 bracket. I had been hoping to drop enough to weigh in at the upper end of the bracket just below that, but I guess I'm still too fond of eating. (I'm an American, after all - I've got a reputation to uphold.)
The tournament was held in the gymnasium of an academy up the street from the rec center where our club meets. After weighing in, I climbed to the top of the bleachers and settled in to watch the officials setting up and to try to guess which of the other competitors were my likely opponents.
I'd been told I may be competing in the Masters division (Yes, thanks to my age - over 30 - I'm already a "master" of Judo, never mind that I only have a green belt, the first belt after white.) so I was looking for guys over 30 who were about my size or 20 pounds bigger. It wasn't long before I spotted a graying black belt with the posture of a military officer and the quickness of a dancer. Although he had a bit of a gut, it was clear he would be a formidable opponent. Having just learned that in the Masters division it isn't unusual to mix rank beginners like myself with much more experienced players, like the guy I was watching, I realized there was a good chance I could end up fighting the guy. Great, I thought, my first tournament will be over before it even begins.
Eventually I spotted another member of our club, a friend who I practice with quite a bit since we are close to the same size, and went down on the mats to warm up with him. After we started warming up, my nerves went away and I started to get excited. We did some light sparring, and I concentrated on getting in close to set up for a throw since I felt like that was where I was the weakest. (For some reason when we spar during practice I tend to hang back out of throwing range until the other guy closes with me - which is not a good thing, since that usually means the other guy has the position he wants and you don't.)
After the warm up, the officials had us all line up and bow in. Then the games began.
I had to wait for several matches before my name was called to come down to the officials table to check in for my first match. Although I'd been feeling pretty good after the warm up, my heart rate really spiked when I heard my name called and my nerves came back worse than ever. After checking in, I stood in the holding area trying to convince myself that my nervousness was a positive thing - I could harness it to give me extra energy during the match, like those mothers who get a jolt of adrenaline and lift cars off of their children. Then my name was called to go to the mat.
I was encouraged when I realized my first opponent was a short, slightly paunchy green belt close to my age. Perhaps I had a chance of winning my first match after all. It wasn't until the match started that I realized I'd overlooked some basic physics. HIS center of gravity was already below mine WITHOUT requiring any extra effort on his part. I managed to hold my own with him for close to two minutes (the matches last four) before leaving myself open for a throw. In Judo, if the other player throws you correctly, the match is over. Our match was over.
After my match, I watched my friend compete against an older, taller, heavier guy. My friend has a blue belt, the next rank after green, and his opponent had green, so I thought my friend had a good chance of winning. Wrong again, although he did get good position on the guy several times.
Although we are similar in weight and build, it wasn't until my second match, when I had the same opponent, that I realized my friend and I were in the same division and bracket. My friend is in his mid-to-late teens - given that my first opponent was closer to my age, I thought I was competing in the Masters division. Not so. (I guess they recognized I wasn't a master after all.) I had a fleeting thought about competing against him before my second match began.
With this opponent, who looked to be in his mid-twenties and clearly outweighed me, I decided to change my strategy. With my first opponent, I'd worked at closing the gap and ended up rushing into his throw. With this guy, I worked the legs. Every time he started to move, I tried to sweep his leg. I could tell it was messing with his game (that was confirmed when he came by after the match to tell me it had), but never found a way to capitalize on it. In the end, I stepped into a throw he was setting up and that was the end of my second match. Again, I managed to last about two minutes.
After that I watched my friend lose to my first opponent (it seems short, heavy guys may have a natural advantage in Judo) and knew we would end up competing against each other. By now I'd realized our division consisted of just us four. Whichever of the two of us - my friend or I - won the match would take third place.
After several matches in other brackets and divisions, we were called to the mat. Having sparred with him a fair amount and watched him compete all day, I knew my friend's weakness was that he didn't always close on his throws, leaving him open to a counter throw. I decided to stay in tight and try to keep my center of gravity lower than his so I'd be in good position to throw him if he failed to close.
Our match went longer than the others we'd competed in. At one point, although I don't recall how it happened, he ended up upside down, wrapped around my leg while I basically sat on him and tried to work him free so I could pin him. To get the picture, imagine one of those cartoons of a monkey shimmying up a coconut tree. Now, flip the image upside down. My friend was the monkey and my leg was the tree. So much for not looking stupid. (Turns out you don't care that much about looking stupid when you're in the midst of a match.) In the end, I couldn't work him free, the ref stood us up, and the match continued. Although later some other club members pointed out that I'd almost thrown him several times if I'd've (double contraction score!) just followed through (oh, the irony!), he ended up throwing me with a feint we'd been practicing in class the week before. So much for bringing home a win.
I didn't go home empty handed, though. Continuing my personal leitmotif of winning by losing, it turns out they award two bronze medals - one for fourth place, as well. That's right - all you suckers better fear me - I'm a bronze medalist in the light heavy weight seniors division for Judo.
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