Resignation After a Fight: The Cold Mountain

The floor is cold against my bare feet. I can already feel my arms bruising from the repeated blows, and I know there will be more pain before this is over. I hear the sharp whistle, and the next round of the match begins. My opponent lands a kick on the side of my head, and I fall to the ground, every wisp of air knocked from my lungs. I lay there on the ceramic, struggling to inhale, to exhale, to do anything, under the thick armor strapped to my chest. The foam helmet did little to cushion the impact and stars twinkle around me while a constant ring fills my left ear. I struggle to rise, but with my instructors and fellow trainees watching, I know I must. I never had a chance against my opponent. While I wasn’t what one might consider a bad fighter, I was matched against a much taller, much older and much more experienced student. I was mere target practice for him. Painful target practice, as my sore body would attest.

I did not enter the fight feeling resigned, thinking I would lose. I had a plan: I would keep out of my opponent’s attack range for most of the match, use a hop step kick to close the distance between us, and finally use a rapid combination of simple kicks to score more points before quickly retreating out of range, all the while blocking any incoming blows. My opponent’s larger, slower physique would not be able to defend against my more agile attacks. However, fighting, even under regulated training circumstances, is a chaotic affair, and strategy can only go so far to help you win.

At the start of the first of the three rounds, my opponent went straight on the offensive, launching kick after kick and forcing me out of the ring as I tried to evade them. My plan was shredded like paper by the time he cornered me. No matter what maneuvers I pulled, what little offense I managed to put up, it wasn’t enough. I was not fast enough. I was not agile enough. For an entire round, all I could do was try to block the barrage of blows, unable to get close enough to retaliate. After the match, I had never felt worse. It wasn’t just the physical aspects, though my bruises and spinning head exacerbated my feelings. It was the sense of failure.