“I am going to learn karate!” That is what I told myself after a fight with one of the other kids of the neighborhood. I wanted to learn karate so that I could go and beat-up this kid.

When I began my training, the karate classes were not what I expected. No one was telling me how to beat-up people. No one was providing me with the techniques that would make me a real fighter. “When are you going to teach us the real stuff?” I used to ask my teacher every now and then. “Down the line if you stick around,” my teacher would always answer.

Months later I entered my first tournament. During the previous months, I had paid little attention to the classes. I figured I was better off sticking to the few things I knew. My opponent was a little guy. He was smaller and skinnier than me. I figured out I was going to take him out easily and move to the second round. The combat began; suddenly I felt one side of my face getting hot. The little guy had managed to kick me in the face and I didn’t even see it coming! “Lucky guy,” I told myself. “I’ll get him”. But I didn’t. Again I felt that uncomfortable hot feeling, this time on the other side of my face. He had done it again. “I’ll just keep both arms up,” I told myself, and I did. This time I received a strong kick, right in the middle of the stomach. That was all it took. Thirty seconds and the combat was over. I saluted and left the ring. “I’ve had it,” I told myself. “Karate is over for me”. “Are you ready to practice now?” my teacher said as I was coming out of the dresser. I shook my head. My teacher smiled warmly at me and said, “You know, every one seems to do pretty good when they win. Karate is more than winning and loosing. Karate is about the quickness with which we get back up once we have fallen. How long is it going to take you to get up?” I left without saying anything. I did a lot of thinking on those words. A week later I was back in the gym. For the first time in my life, I was on my way up.

My disposition as I entered the gym had changed dramatically since the tournament. Before, I would do things my way. If the teacher said that the movement was to be made in a certain way, I would tend to ignore him. After all, I had my own way of doing things in every other area of my life. My father had tried to tell me a few things, but I never really listened to him. The same as everybody else. I was quite set in my ways. What I didn’t realize was that Karate is a product of collective knowledge, a knowledge that gets perfected with each generation. But, I was not drinking from this river. I was still limited to my own cup, therefore my skills were minimal. “Before you go on making your own moves,” my teacher said “learn the basic moves of our school”. This time I decided that I was going to do just that. There were some movements that seemed insignificant to me or even senseless, nevertheless, I did them without resistance. For several months I did nothing but practice the basic moves. “Don’t keep count,” my teacher used to tell me “just do the movements. Do them until they become automatic.” You are getting there,” my teacher said. Then he added, “I don’t need to see many movements with each Karate student to know their level of knowledge. All they need to do is one single movement and then I know at what level they are.” I continued my practice, still enjoying the flow of each movement into the next one. There was no longer a break or a pause between each movement. Now they were all part of the same continuum. I then remembered what I had been told numerous times but never could understand, that in Karate there is only ONE. The movements that I was now doing were flowing as if they were all one single movement. “Don’t think!” my teacher use to say. “Just do it!”

Later in the tournaments where I was at my best, I would experience the state of “no mind”, that is, the ability to stop my mental talk to myself and allow my natural self to BE without interferences from my head or my emotions. My body at these times seemed to be moving with a life of its own; to the point that I would impress myself with the extraordinary things that I was able to do.

Once I was able to master the basic movements and do them without much mental process, I became a difficult guy to beat. I didn’t win all the time, but those who won over me had a real hard time getting there. “When you lose, you learn a lot more than when you win” my teacher use to say. He was right. Every time I lost a tournament, I went back to the gym, and I would go over mistakes that I made during competition. I learned that mistakes are not necessarily something bad. A mistake became just an area to work on that was all. No longer “mistake = bad”. Now, the equation had changed to “mistake = correct”. I learned that those who could not deal with a mistake were unable to stay in Karate for long. Most of them were impatient individuals. They were expecting themselves to be perfect right from the beginning without realizing that perfection usually comes at the end of an arduous process. Mistakes are the way we begin things. Practice is a matter of correcting ourselves over and over again. The more we practice the fewer mistakes we make. The more we practice the closer we get to perfection.

Years after my first tournament, I was representing the American Continent in the Black Belt World Tournament in Pussan, Korea. I had won numerous tournaments for such an honor. Still, the memory of those early days, when I was kicked in the face, was strong enough to keep me humble. And I also knew that I would be competing against the best fighters in the world. But the strongest thing to keep me humble was my visit to the gym of the Korean fighters. What I would consider a full workout was for them a simple warm-up. It just seemed as if they could go on forever.

The thing that surprised me the most was the way they would use the Coca-Cola bottles. They would take them and rub them against their lower legs, building a callus. That was why they didn’t use any protection on their legs. They didn’t need it.

When I made it to the finals, I could verily sleep thinking about the Korean champion with whom I was to compete the following day. I thought about his training and those darn Coca-Cola bottles.

The moment to compete came way too soon. The whole stadium was cheering for their champion. The word “Mansey!” was shouted after the name of the Korean fighter. It meant “Victory!”.

When you have the entire world turned against you, all you have is yourself to make you strong and face the obstacles, this is what I did. I listened carefully to my own voice; in my mind I went over how hard I had to train in order to get there. Still, this was not enough. The first round had gone by and I had been overly cautious. The Korean fighter had been quick and precise in his attacks. I just didn’t seem to get myself to give it the best I had.

Then, an elder Korean man approached my corner and through an interpreter told me, “Your soul has to be inside of you as you fight. Now, your soul is outside of you, and behind you.” “But I just can’t beat him,” I thought to myself. After all, I had seen him train, and prior to the competition, he had done an incredible demonstration of kicking and breaking boards; plus he was the existing world champion and was competing in his own country. Suddenly, a slap in the face woke up my inner-dialog. It was a friend of mine. “I have never seen you fight so defeated,” it told me. “If you are ever gong to have a chance of winning, you have to stop thinking so much about what is going on and let the best part of you take command of your moves!”

The bell rang again, and I went into the second round with total determination. I knew I was going to be at my best this time. Fortunately for me, the other fighter was getting cocky and clowning around. On one of those occasions, when his guard was low, I came up with a roundhouse kick with everything I had. The other fighter bent over and fell right in front of me. He could not breathe and I noticed some tears in his eyes. At that moment, I felt like hugging him. He could feel pain! He was a human being just like me. We are all human beings. That was such a powerful revelation. As the referee told us to continue, I went out of my corner with renewed determination. The eyes of my opponent told me that now it was he who was feeling defeated. I won the second round.

Now, the Korean elder who had given me such good advice was on his feet. He too was cheering for me. I got up and went to him. I shook his hand, putting my left hand under my elbow, following the Korean tradition of respect. I was told before that this salute meant “I will carry your sword for you”, and it was done while saluting an elder. The man smiled. As I returned to my corner, I head my name being repeated by numerous members of the audience. They were cheering for me! You see, respect goes a long way.

The third round was a difficult one, for my opponent was determined not to lose. On the other hand, I was also determined to give it my best. At the end, for a difference of one single point, I won the third round, and with it the match.

I went to the other side of my world and I came back with the World Championship. One thing about reaching peak experiences is that they stay with you. No one can take them away from you. As long as you live, they will live with you.