As tough as wet cardboard

3 days ago on Tuesday, was the first time I have ever been in a fight. A physical one involving beating up my opponent with a pugil stick (google it).

Okay, I should correct myself. It's not really a fight. It's sparring. Between my army buddy and me.

But still, it was the first time I ever threw myself (literally) at someone to smash and bash his head in.

Here is what I learnt.

Watching boxing and martial arts matches can be fun. And the athletes in them can go on fighting for quite a few minutes each match without throwing in the towel.

But 30 seconds swinging that bloody bolster of a stick was tough work! In fact I felt it felt equivalent to sprinting 100 metres with weights on my body.

By 1m30secs, I was completely winded. If you know what SOC is, it felt like I had just finished running through it. Could barely even hold my stance.

I admit, fighting my buddy was not as tough as it could have been because well...my buddy is an extremely nice fellow. He probably cannot even bear to give me a full swing of the stick despite donning thick body and head padding. So I pretty much owned him, and I am told I was really aggressive. (To make up for my otherwise normally passive state.)

I actually thought I was NOT BAD.
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Then come to Wednesday, the 2nd time I had a sparring match.

I fought against another friend of mine. And he was alot more aggressive and powerful than my previous day opponent.

To cut it short, I pretty much got owned. It was also the first time I got smacked straight in the head so forcefully before. I made me recall how in boxing, a good solid blow to the head could knock someone flat on the mat. I could literally feel my head spin for a split second before snapping back to reality.

And worst of all, by the 1m30sec mark, I could not breath well. I could not even hold up my posture. I felt like my body was about to give way. I cannot be sure why...perhaps it was the blow to the head so early in the match, or perhaps it was the diarrhoea I had in in the morning (the fight was near 2pm), or perhaps I was exerting too much.

My partner was merciful to me. He stopped attacking when he saw I was breathless. He waited for me to recover before striking again. He constantly asked during the fight if I was alright (something was definitely wrong with me).

I got trashed. It did not matter how aggressive I was; My whole body felt weak.

More importantly it left in me another feeling. A much deeper one, not ending with my body. I was not sure what this feeling was but I was quite silent for the rest of the lesson.
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Thursday, I woke and I recalled the fight. Recalled that feeling I had after the match.

Suddenly, I realised what it was. It was the feeling of humility in defeat. It was also the feeling of respect for the person who had bested me. I could not understand why I should have felt that way over a simple and otherwise meaningless duel.

But the fact remains, like I said. I felt it. And I could only obey that feeling.

I could only comply that I am indeed weak.
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It made me wonder.

What could defeat mean to a man, that it could have such a profound impact?
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Had I not been beaten, I would probably have thought myself an even better fighter than before.

In this way, defeat can be a good thing for the soul of a man.