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.
6 comments:
So great and now you have some experience...I wish I could have been there....sure love you!!
What an intense retelling. Mr. Miagi would be proud.
Whitney - It's true. I really know when to wax on and wax off. I think this post *definitely* demonstrates that.
Aunt Cara - I wish you'd been there, too. I also wish I'd won a match. I guess while I am wishing I might as well wish I'd won all my matches. Heck, why I am shooting so low - I wish I'd won EVERY match, even the ones that weren't mine!
Seriously, though, thanks for commenting. I'm glad you're my aunt and that you care enough to read my crazy ramblings and comment. I love you.
I think Mr. Miagi would be... "well pleased" with your retelling, probably not your performance. Honestly, I love the gripping accounts of your individual physical battles. They cause me to ponder what I would think and feel if I had the courage to compete in a one-on-one arena involving physical battle. Team sports don't seem to invoke the same kind of fear or thought process that fighting does. I have always respected (and feared) the fighter in you.
p.s. I think your goals might need retooling. ie. I have always experienced success when I have set positive goals based on a faith or a belief that I will achieve them. When I have set goals like, "this season I won't get dunked on."; even if I achieve that goal then I fail to excel in other areas because my focus is off.
p.p.s. Too many wishes. Always remember the rule of "W"
"Work will win when wishy washy wishing won't!"
...not that i think you aren't working hard :)
Dan - Thanks for your comments. I always appreciate your insight and suggestions. To be honest, one of the goals I hope to achieve by participating in Judo, is to tame the "fighter in me" by confronting the limitations of physical combat. I've learned through the years that, although it is sometimes easier to start a fight, it is not as effective as starting a dialog. True understanding and progress only come by confronting our own shortcomings and misunderstandings. In Judo, I'm forced to acknowledge that the techniques we learn are only beneficial if we use them in sport for our mutual progress and benefit. To use them as a weapon is to put both myself and my opponent at risk of grave injury.
Regarding your comments about setting my sights a little higher, I believe you're observation that we achieve more when we expect more of ourselves is true. With that in mind, my goal for my next match, whether it be in a tournament or in a free practice sparring session at my club, is to focus on getting in one good throw without worrying about whether I win or lose.
Thanks, again, for your comments, Dan. I love you.
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