Staring Sullenly at the Mirror

Staring Sullenly at the Mirror

Sweat poured out of my face as the thick foam headgear pushed into my face. I bounced on the balls of my feet. I jumped and rotated, spinning in the air once and administering a snappy kick to my opponent’s head. He grunted, taking the full force of the kick through his block. Seeing an opening through his hands, I sprung forwards, spinning and slamming him with a kick to the stomach.

“Break! Two points to the United States for a spinning body kick!” the referee exclaimed. I watched the red digital letters on the electronic scoreboard increment from three to five points while the blue letters stayed at four.  Cheers erupted from one side of the hall. Waves of red, blue, and white formed a tapestry under the five colorful interlocking rings hanging overhead. 

I took a deep breath. My opponent bent over but looked at me intently, sullenly gazing while tilting his head slowly to the left, narrowing his eyes and grinning slightly. I fought my instinct to duck my head out of the crosshairs of his stare. The little section of his face that I could see beyond his headgear was familiar and brought me back to the last time we fought. This was the same Korean trailblazer that had surprised the world when he kicked his way within two points of robbing me of my world championship title in 2010.  He had clawed his way up from trailing by six points when he did a spinning roundhouse kick to my head. 

I blinked and resumed my bouncing as the referee bellowed, “And face each other! And fight!”

Now, with one minute left in the third and final round, he had plenty of time to erase my one-point lead. Only this morning, a young British woman had caused a massive upset by beating the two-time world champion from China with a spinning kick in the last thirty seconds of the match. I stared fiercely back at him.

I kept bouncing on the balls of my feet, with my arms and hands in front of my rib cage and head. The red digital letters on the clock took forever to tick down.  Fifty five, fifty-four, fifty three. As my opponent glided in, I began. Forty-five, forty-four. In a flash, I threw a spinning kick towards his head.  As I spun, he came in with a round kick while I was in mid-air.  A dull thud accompanied a hit to my lower back.  My foot collided with his temple.

“Break! Penalty!” blasted the referee. My stomach plummeted. Did I break any rules? Why did I get a penalty? A kick to the head is perfectly legal! I wanted to protest but couldn’t get anything out. The referee’s voice blasted over my silent arguing.

“Advancing to the semifinal will be the United States!” While the vacuum of fear and consternation that had occupied my insides quickly morphed into steady breathing, and my jaw that had been slightly ajar in protest became a pacified grin, I couldn’t figure out why my competitor got a penalty.  He had kicked me in my back. Had it been that? I fell forwards. Everything around me faded to a light grey.

I blinked a couple of times. Light and soft voices began to intensify in volume.  Muffled noises turned into speech. The quiet conversations drifted over lazily, like bubbles moving to the top of a liquid. I began to focus in on the faces of the people leaning over me and looking at me.

“Yo, he’s fine! He’s fine! He’s coming to!” I heard an unfamiliar voice.

I let my head turn to the side and detachedly observed two women in white clothes.  One had a stethoscope around her neck and was filling out something on a clipboard. The other was punching an instant ice pack vigorously.

“Hey Dillon! Are you okay?” My teammates were all huddling around me.

I opened my mouth but a sharp pain in my lower back stopped any words from coming out.  My legs felt powerless as I relaxed and contracted the muscles.

“Way to take it like a champ, dude. That was super brutal,” Jeff, my best friend on the team, beamed.  He was a little shorter than me, but reminded me of a spider with the ratio of his leg length to his torso height. Still glowing from his victory at his semifinal, this rookie knew that his string of victories had rocked the taekwondo world.  I tried to sit up, but the abdominal strength I had proved unequal to the pain in my back.  Jeff extended a hand to pull me up.  Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see my head coach whispering to the woman with a stethoscope. She took out her cell phone.

My teammates turned to watch the start of the next match. I joined their observation, examining the movements of the fighter from Germany as he sparred with the gold medalist from the 2008 Beijing Olympics, a versatile Korean veteran.  Agile, on the balls of their toes, they stepped in and back, shuffling around each other waiting to pounce on an opening.  If I had not been injured, I would have fought the winner of this round in our semifinal fight.  Since I could barely move, Jeff would be the one facing off against the winner.  I lifted my head to take a clearer look.  After arcing his leg in the air, Korea delivered a devastating blow to Germany. 

On the brackets, I was lined up to come in on a half hour.  Fifty yards away, two men carrying a stretcher were coming in my direction.  All eyes were on me.  I took a glance at Jeff. With my core shaking slightly, I sat up slowly, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. The red digital letters on the clock had reset. 6:00 minutes on the clock. Was it long enough it win? Or did it allow me just enough time to throw a kidney kick? I glanced around at the team. No one was looking at Korea. Every eye on the Olympic stadium was waiting for my next move. I grinned a little.

“Let me fight, Jeff,” I shouted to him.

A stunned silence ensued.

“I’ve got this.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m very sure,” I said as I clambered to my feet. No one but me knew what was going to come next. I looked at Jeff as meaningfully as I could. “You might have to fight the final round for me, though.”

As the announcer introduced the two fighters for the next match, I stepped into the ring.  I bent over but looked at my opponent intently, sullenly gazing while tilting my head slowly to the left, narrowing my eyes and grinning slightly.