Cross-legged and rocking back and forth, side to side, I sat, waiting. My eyes were shut tight, my hands curled around my feet. Now that I am away from this experience, I cannot tell you how far into myself I had to go in that moment, but it was far. It was as though the core of myself were a bottomless cavern.
Debra was there, postured in a similar way, unconsciously rocking, but she had an earbud in one ear. Emily was there. I was so aware of their presence, they may have been touching me. They weren't. There was no need. The silent, blind connection of sitting and waiting and wondering and hoping - together - was enough.
There was noise and confusion all around. Everywhere. Announcements, yelling, moving, milling, seaching, finding, focusing, jumping, laughing, talking. Debra, Emily, and I sat separate from it all, as if on an island. We were aware but not a part of all the noise and movement.
I broke the silence between us when I said, "I want my coach."
"Mr. Robert?" asked Emily.
"Yes," I said, "I need my coach."
"Do you want me to go find him?" Emily touched my hand.
"Yes, I do," I pleaded.
"Don't worry, he will be here," Debra calmed.
Debra: in her mother-voice, in her loving-friend voice, in her I-am-there-too voice. Six words from Debra, and I knew it was going to be OK.
Suddenly, Belinda and Vicki were there. Cross-legged and comforting, right in front of us. From where? I don't know know. They appeared from nowhere, it seemed. But there they were. Vicky touched my knee.
I know my eyes were pleading with both of them. I didn't need them to tell me that I would win; I just needed to hear that I was worth doing this, that I was good enough.
And I was terrified. What if I failed? What if I disappointed everyone that had poured themselves into me and had believed in me?
My parents were there. My daughter. Coaches, classmates. Friends had called and texted with encouragement. I might let all of them down.
Vicki looked at me. She said, "This is just another training, just another class . . . "
I said, "I am so scared," and I felt the tears choke me. I swallowed the sob in my throat.
"Why?" asked Belinda, "You have done this a hundred times . . ."
Belinda and Vicki continued to encourage us and tell us that we knew what to do. We had our game plans. We had everything we needed for this match.
After feeling the weight of eternity, Debra's name was called from the thin air. It was time to start. We had been watching the nogi matches. I had been hoping those matches would continue forever, but they ended and white gis were taking the place of rash gurads and shorts.
Debra bowed, shook her partner's hand, and the match began. Just as everyone else had, it seemed that Mr. Robert had materialized from nothing. But there he was, just as Debra had said he would be, his voice strong and sure. I watched Debra as Mr. Robert gave her instruction from the side. Her partner was much taller than she was, and I wondered if mine would be, too. Debra did her technique just as she had been taught and practiced. The fight was a good one. I watched with intensity, feeling my body twist and turn as I watched each way that she went on the mat.
Her match was over and I was up. My opponent was six feet tall to my five feet, one inch. Mr. Robert had trained me this way: go for the takedown and then to the mount for an armbar; or, should my opponent get me on mount, shrimp out to take side control and then go for the mount. But his most important instruction for this competetion was to listen to
his voice and
his voice only. He had told me to tune out every other noise and tune in only to what he was saying.
The match began and I went for the takedown. I forgot to get my grips as I concentrated on the single leg that I had practiced, but her reach was much greater than mine. I felt myself go down but I didn't give her the mount or the side control easily. I only wanted five minutes on that mat, and no less. I could hear Mr. Robert loud and clear. I hadn't been sure that I would be able to focus like that, but I did it. His voice and his only came in loud and clear. At every turn, every move, Mr. Robert: "You know what to do Miss Amy, just like we practiced. Good, good. Now watch for the triangle. Super shrimp, you know how to do this. Good, Miss Amy. Forget about her head, just bump. Good, Miss Amy, good . . ." And Mr. Robert, certainly having done this more times than he could count, knew just what to say at just the right moment. I am certain that he knew if he had not continued his calm encouragement, that I may have broken on the mat. His instructions were golden, but most important in keeping me in the game was each soothing accolade: "Good, Miss Amy, good . . . "
I didn't win. My opponent tapped me with an armbar. I almost tried to roll out of it, but for fear of being truly injured, I tapped. I didn't know her; I wasn't familiar with her. This was the real deal and not practice. I couldn't ask her to help me with my technique. She wanted to win! So I chose defeat to possible injury and conceded to my opponent. She was better than me, and she won, but I gave her a run for her money. I was proud of myself.
Mr. Robert gave me a hug and told me I had done a good job. I felt like it was a strong fight, and I felt good about how I did. I hugged Debra and I knew we both felt we had come out victorious, even if we hadn't won our matches. We had conquered our fears, gotten out there and done it. We had won our battles just by doing that.
I wasn't sure how I was going to feel after my match. I was fearful of losing and of how my perception of myself would change if I did. The thing is, I didn't feel like I had lost. I felt awesome. I didn't know if I would ever compete again, and I had trained hard, body and soul, to get to that day. But I stood strong, I had finished. Win or lose, no one could take that day from me. I will never regret it, and I walked away from it with pride and my head held high. I knew that I had disappointed no one, least of all myself.
