It’s enough.
They tell you when you’re thinking about learning something new to always have a mentor, someone who’s at least twice as good at what you’re doing as you are. That’s a pretty good way to get to the middle.
If you really want to master something, the only kind of person who’s going to be able to get you there is someone who’s mastered it themselves. If someone’s not at least ten times better at what you’re doing than you are, you’re never going to get all the way.
At least that’s been my experience.
Logan isn’t my sensei, but he’s done just as much, maybe even a little more to help me understand the finer aspects of going toe-to-toe than any traditional teacher I’ve had.
In that fraction of a second Logan’s not only in my head, but has pulled up a chair and is sitting down with some coffee and today’s paper. It’s only a fraction of a second, but it’s enough for him to surprise me with a body blow.
Once that’s landed, my focus is back where it needs to be, but I’m playing catchup. My hands are up, and I’m doing my best to anticipate Logan’s next move, but he unleashes a flurry of light blows. It’s enough that it keeps me off balance, but not so much that he’s risking knocking me out.
He’s just toying with me. This is light sparring with Logan.
He’s got his right arm cocked back, telegraphing his next blow, and he’s asking, “In or out?”
“In,” I answer and ready myself for the punch he may as well have told me about last week. Only, that punch doesn’t land.
He keeps his right arm cocked back a little as he turns away, his left shin coming up and slamming me hard in the head. I’m off my feet and on the mat, my headgear still partially on, but not protecting anything.
“You’re done,” Logan says, helping me up before it’s fully dawned on me that I’d been knocked down. He sighs. “I don’t know what to do with you, son,” he says. “You’re taking some pretty big steps backward. Is something on your mind?”
Seriously: Logan fighting=genius. Logan with anything else=idiot.
As willing as I usually am to swallow a little pride to gain a lot of insight, he’s so casual after having humiliated me in front of pretty much everyone here that I’d punch him in the face if I didn’t know with certainty that he’d more than return the favor.
“I really don’t want to talk about it right now,” I tell him.
“Whatever’s going on, you’ve got to knock that out of your life, man,” he says. “The only way to have an edge in a fight is to be better prepared. If you’re wasting all your time and energy thinking about anything else when you’re up against Furyk, he’s going to beat you down almost as bad as I did.”
“I think it’s your humility I find most inspiring,” I mock.
We walk a few more steps before I stop.
“What’s the matter?” Logan asks.
“I don’t remember getting out of the ring,” I tell him. “How are my eyes?”
Logan steps in front of me and covers one of my eyes, then the other, watching my pupils closely.
“Ah, you’re fine,” he says. “I knocked you a bit, but I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about. Do you remember me helping you up off the mat?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “I remember that and our conversation starting from there and going all the way until now, but I don’t remember getting out of the ring.”
“Oh jeez,” Logan groans. “You had me scared there for a second.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “I’ve never not remembered something like that after a fight—even sparring.”
“You’re just distracted,” he says. “It’s nothing, but it’s quite possibly the worst thing that could happen. I’m telling you, man. You’ve got to put everything else on the back burner or else you’re never going to make it past this round.”
“It’s not that easy,” I tell him.
“Of course it is,” he says. “Put it out of your mind.”
“It’s not that easy,” I repeat.
“No, it’ll piss you right off,” he says. “At least you’ll be controlling it instead of letting it control you. Put whatever’s got you looking like a kid who just got a wedgie away and get your mind back in the game, son.”
“Yeah,” I say dismissively.
Logan doesn’t understand relationships the way most people do. To him, they’re just an occasional distraction.
“What have you got going after this?” Logan asks.
“I’m getting together with Ash,” I tell him. “She’s been kind of weird lately.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“I don’t know, man,” I tell him. He’s really not the guy to go to for relationship advice. “I’m gonna cut out of here. Thanks for the session.”
“Stop worrying about picking yourself up off the mat and start worrying about making sure you’re not put there in the first place,” Logan says. It almost sounds like mystical advice, but he’s not being metaphorical. I’m not sure if he knows what a metaphor is.
“Thanks,” I tell him and head off to the showers as he returns to bask in the glory of his public victory.
The fact that he’s got me by forty pounds won’t come up once.
I get showered and changed into my normal clothes before heading home. When I get through the door, I pull out my phone and give Ash a call.
She answers, “Hey, you. Are we still on for our picnic?”
“Yep,” I tell her. “I just got back from the gym. I just need to get changed into some better clothes and make sure I’ve got everything ready.”
“All right,” she says. “Do you want me to head over now?”
“Sure,” I tell her. “I’ll see you when you get here.”
“All right,” she says. “I’ll talk to you then.”
She hangs up.
Recently, I learned the perils of pretending like nothing’s wrong when it clearly is. I don’t know what’s been bothering Ash, but I know something is. There have been a few times that I’ve almost gone as far as to ask her what’s going on, but the truth is that I’m not really sure I could deal with anything else going wrong right now.
I change out of my normal clothes and put on something a little bit nicer.
Today, we’re having a picnic in Lake Park. I’ve never really gotten the big draw of picnics, myself, but maybe this will be a good opportunity for us to clear the air.
I get my share of the food in a cooler and watch a little television while I wait for Ash to get here. When she arrives, we get in her car and go to the park.
She’s quiet, so I’m quiet.
It’s not until we’ve got a blanket down and all the food set out that we finally start talking.
“How’s your day going?” I ask.
“It’s fine,” Ash says. “I’ve been looking forward to this. I haven’t been on a picnic since I was a kid.”
“Me either,” I tell her. “What made you think of it?”