Memoirs of a Karate Fighter by Ralph Robb Read Free Book Online Page B

Such an injury made it difficult to walk, never mind train. Some of the instructors in the ‘pro-pain’ lobby reckoned that such injuries would deaden the nerves in the leg and it was often pointed out that Thai boxers kicked tree trunks to achieve the same effect. Quite simply, there was a widely held opinion that pain was something to overcome, and the more frequently
karateka
experienced it, the sooner they would learn to cope with it. But Hironori Ohtsuka had favoured the use of padding back in the 1930s when he first experimented with the idea of karate contests, and so European
dojos
gradually accepted it as a training aid during the 1970s, even though some competition rules forbade its use.
    But my chest needed protection at a time before body armour (as used by Olympic taekwondo competitors) was readily available. With Clinton’s help I put on the bandages Brenda had given me and inserted a bathroom sponge to cover my sternum. I then asked Clinton to punch it. He twisted his mouth as if to signal that I was a damn fool, and gave me a half-hearted punch. “That obviously doesn’t work,” he muttered, on seeing how much my face had creased with pain. I needed a foam of greater density and it was not long before I was pulling apart a cushion from one of my armchairs.
    With the aid of a bread knife I cut the thick foam down to size and stuffed it into the bandages. Clinton burst out laughing and made a commentabout the attractiveness of my bust size. Not to be deterred, I told him that it would flatten when the bandages were tightened. I imagined the following scene must have been reminiscent of a Victorian lady having the strings in her corset pulled. After having my chest so constricted that I could hardly breathe, I could see that Clinton remained unimpressed. “It won’t look so noticeable once I have my
gi
on,” I said, as I went to fetch my jacket.
    Clinton reluctantly conceded that if I wore a t-shirt under my
gi
the protective padding would not be so obvious. “But why not just say that you’re injured, or take a week off?” he asked.
    Rivalry within the YMCA club not only made us deceitful about the amount of training we did away from the
dojo
, it also meant that it came as second nature to exploit any perceived weaknesses in other
karateka
. If someone came to train with a bandaged ankle, few in the
dojo
would have any compunction about hitting it with an
ashi barai
foot sweep. Just as in the streets, there were no favours given in the
dojo
. If it had been anyone else suggesting that I took time off I would have been suspicious about their motives, but Clinton was my closest friend and training partner – not a rival. “Clint,” I warned him, “I’m not saying anything and you’ve got to promise me that you won’t either. Look, the fact that I’m moving around at all means that it can’t be too badly cracked. Maybe it’s just a deep bruise.”
    I began to take off the bandages and he said, “Those won’t work.”
    â€œHave you a better idea?”
    â€œYeah, I think I have,” he replied. “I think I got something that will keep the padding in place if you’re going to be so stupid as to try and train on Tuesday. That’s if you’re not so crazy as to try and do the run tomorrow. That would finish you for sure.”
    I had barely managed a mile with Clinton and on Sunday mornings the club met for a run that was at least six times as far – and then followed by an hour of gruelling training in the park. The next run would be the last before the tournament and as much as I hated to admit it, there was no way that I could manage such a run in my state. Despite my temptation to do otherwise, I accepted Clinton’s warning and said that I would see him next at the
dojo
. “Enjoy the run,” I said, knowing he would, “and bring that thing with you on Tuesday.”

    *
    I had