Don’t give up
I was a purple belt at the time, still in middle school. My brother and I were going to karate around three times a week. It was good exercise and kept us out of trouble...oh, and we loved beating the crap out of each other. I'm sure it wasn't any more or less than any other brothers growing up, the problem was that through karate, we both knew how to really hurt each other. But that's a story for another time. On this particular day, there was a different opponent.
The instructor had placed a brick between two planks and asked if anyone wanted to try to break it. Being young and lacking the forethought to understand exactly what was being asked, nearly every one of us volunteered. We formed a line, as you often have to in middle school, and one by one everyone took their shot. One by one, people left with hurt hands. And then it was my turn.
I sized up my opponent. It really didn't look all that big, maybe a couple inches thick. When I placed my hand on the brick, it was cool to the touch. Here goes nothing. I pulled back, closed my eyes, and slammed my hand into the brick as hard as I could. If you are unfamiliar with the sound of flesh and bone hitting concrete, then the sound this made probably would have sent a chill down your spine. I opened my eyes to reveal the brick, still in place; it hadn't moved at all. There was, however, an addition to its appearance: my blood. My hand was all cut up and sore, and I secretly feared I had broken a bone. Stupid brick, why didn't you break?
That moment stayed with me for some time. I kept going back and forth in my mind. Perhaps the decision to attempt the feat was foolish, I shouldn't have even tried. But, I thought to myself, if I had done it, I would have felt great. Of course, I didn't do it, so instead of wondering what it would have been like I have now tried and failed. And my hand hurt. A lot. As time went by, my hand healed though my ego most certainly did not. Stupid brick.
A few years later I was working out at the dojo. By this time I was a black belt, practicing with other black belts. One of the instructors brought out some boards and bricks that had to be removed. He said we could use them if we wanted because either way they had to go. We started playing around, breaking a few boards. Then, there were only bricks left. One of the other students walked up and broke one with ease, then invited me to do the same. Ah ha, Mr. Brick, we meet again.
As I stood over that brick, flashes of my first encounter went through my head. What did I do wrong the first time? It was one thing to be a foolish kid trying this, but now I'm a black belt, with other black belts watching...I have to do this. I placed my hand on the brick and felt the same stark cold I had felt years ago. Now or never. I pulled my hand back, let out a yell, and thrust my hand towards the brick. Oh no, I think I broke something for sure this time.
I felt my hand hit something really hard and I thought there was no way to escape injury this time. I opened my eyes to see my hand on the floor. I had tore through the brick and hit the concrete floor; the brick now lay in two pieces off to the side of my hand. Stupid brick.
February 21st, 2008 - 09:55
I really like you writing style!