Yellow Belt

I tightened the yellow belt around my waist for the umpteenth time. It's not that hard, I kept telling myself. I had practiced for weeks and this was the most basic form I could do. It's not that hard. But I was nervous. I was so nervous. It's kind of like performing right? I had done that many times before. But this was different, this was new. I had never done anything like this before. Not even six months into the program and I was already competing. What was I doing here? I only signed up because my brother had, and it didn't look that hard when he was doing it. But I was here now, and I was going to do it.

They called my division. Sweaty hands, cold feet. The air condition was suddenly too high and my belt too loose. Tightened it again.  Mind raced through the twenty-move form again. What if I forgot my form? What if I messed up? What if? They gave us the order; I was near the rear of a division of about nine boys my age and belt rank.

Sitting on the hard carpet watching other competitors do their forms. The orange belts did much more advanced forms with harder kicks. The little confidence I had left evaporated; I was going to lose. Better moves, higher difficulty; I'm done. Why bother trying?

It wasn't some martial artist creed that I suddenly remembered. It wasn't an encouraging word from an instructor or fellow student. I don't know what it was. I stood on the edge of the ring, trying to decide whether it was worth it to potentially embarrass myself in front of three mean-looking blackbelt judges and a whole crowd spectators to try to get this win. I am about to look like the biggest idiot right now..

I'm pretty sure my heartbeat was audible as I presented myself to the judges. Must've looked like a deer in the headlights. I gathered myself as I was about to begin. I'm here, now. It's not that hard. Might as well give it a shot. I turned into the first downblock and yelled as loud as I could... The rest was a blur. I bowed to conclude my form to the thunderous applause of everybody watching. Still wore the same shocked look on my face as I received my score, and then the first-place trophy.

I don't remember anything else from that tournament, nearly seven years ago. I do remember those few moments of terror and triumph. I learned something that day. I didn't have to beat those other kids. I didn't have to outkick or outpunch a bunch of superior orange belts. I had to beat me. I had to beat my own fear and doubts. When I took my stand in the ring, it was just me. No coaches, no judges, no opponents. Just me and the mat.  I have to beat me before I beat you.