Hero's Journey

Hero’s Journey

‘Get in the car,’ shouted Dad as my brother dawdled sullenly across the lawn, taking the short cut as usual. ‘Your sister is going to be late!’ If anything, my brother’s pace slowed and he looked even more sullen.

The last twelve months had been building up to today.  Was already wearing my judo kit under my tracksuit. Red with a white double stripe down the legs and arms.

My Dad had hoped that both my brother and I would be going to the finals. But my brother had fallen short at the last hurdle. Dad got quite upset. He wanted his son to be the next champ. In fairness to him he did then focus all his efforts on me. I wasn’t sure I wanted so much attention but his encouragement and support helped me and nurtured me.

And we’d made the finals. We. My dad always said “we”. We were a team he said. But the moment I stepped on that mat I was on mu own, I could smell the sweaty feet from a thousand previous combatants that had passed this way.

Round one; a stringy, gangly opponent. It was easy. ‘Ippon,’ shouted the referee.

Round two; a thick set girl with bright blue eyes. A strange thing to notice as we grappled. ‘Ippon,’ shouted the referee.

Round three; I became aware of some commotion. There was a mat next to us where people were gathering. I heard the shouts and cheers. Someone was getting lots of support. I focussed. And dealt with my third opponent.

‘Just two more rounds’ said Dad’ ‘we are nearly there,’

Between bouts I went to see the source of the cheers. There was Jamie. I just knew he would be there. He used to be he, but now he was she. He had changed identity about two years ago and proceeded to beat each and every opponent he, or she, had faced. Of course.

I won the next two rounds. Dad was a good teacher. And I was a good learner.

And there I stood. Opposite Jamie. She stared at me. My Dad was looking ion with a level of expectation and excitement I’d never seen.

His daughter. One fight from being the champ.

We bowed at each other, and I just knew, right then, what I had to do.

I took the knee. The smell of sweaty feet wafted up. This was the closest I had been to the mat. I refused to fight. I was not going to give Jamie the satisfaction of a win, however hollow it may be.

I didn’t have to look over to my Dad to know he was in despair. ‘You could have beaten her,’ he said later.

‘I know,’ I said, ‘but some fights are best not fought.’

As we returned home and took that short cut across the lawn my brother gently touched my arm and said, ‘proud of you sis.’