the life and times of a blue boy…

“Hajime!”

The first round had gone so-so, an evenly-matched tug of war which proved to be slightly entertaining. Things were different now. My opponent was considerably heavier than me, better-built, and had an innate knack for these things.

With the formalities past, the path to pain had now begun.  The first throw totally caught me off guard, bringing my entire body,  head-first into the mat. The mat cushioned some of the force, but the damage was done.

I was slightly dazed; nothing entering my mind except thoughts on how to make this guy fall. I analyzed situations, positions, who knows what else; thinking how best to outbalance this guy in front of me and knock him down.

I did manage to throw him down, feeling his entire weight crumble into my planted leg. But that was sheer luck. After that one throw, he tossed me up high — I swear I saw my eyes scan the entire ceiling before a loud thud confirmed I was back on solid earth (or in this case, the mats)

We let the time tick away, or at least that’s what I think he agreed to do. That or he was just too tired.

“Sore made!” I hear the two words which ring like music in my ears. That’s it for now.  I’m bow out, clasp his hand in a shaking gesture and make my way to the wall. I’m panting, heavy intakes of air to replenish what was lost during the match.

That was tiring. But yes, that was exhilirating. Let’s try that again.