Beat Yourself Up

Venue of: The TAGB Southern Championships

For a competition morning, it’s not too early. Step to the car with the sun raising an orange eyebrow at us, like we’ve disturbed it. A pelt of cloud is slung above the road. I drink thermos coffee, think of this as a travelling café. The cloud won’t fool me: inevitably, if I have chosen to spend my spare day in the maxi-sized box of a leisure centre hall, the sun will rise and stretch and shine. Fire doors are chinked open, to draw some fresh calm in, to release some steam and fear. I see the light outside: I know. But we have our own world in here, our own glorious perturbing friendly  fist-and-foot fast wielding world, propelled by lists, protocol, courtesy, the audacious desire to win. The opportunities of losing aren’t always overlooked; a dinked ego can let some good in. (Treat with a sting of honesty, or a balm of the knowledge that you tried the best you knew how. If you’re unsure, you can ask one of our medics.)

The shiniest medals I saw today were the ones that came as a validation for the confidence to try. The real competition is always with your self. 

Silver for Ladies Black Belt patterns, as won by my Fabulous Niece