If this was a real fight, I’d be pretty freaked out right now. As it is, his amusement at my attempts to beat the crap out of him distracts me long enough to drop my guard just a little, giving Logan the perfect opening. I know what’s going to happen before it does, but there’s no stopping it.
Logan glances over my shoulder to see if we’ve got a sizeable enough crowd for him to stop tooling around and get it over with. As I’m picking myself up off the mat, I’d say we’re pretty well there.
“Still in?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I answer, getting the rest of the way to my feet.
“You sure?” he asks. “I don’t want to push you too much before a fight.”
I’m pretty sure he’s baiting me.
“How are things with your brother?” he asks.
Yeah, he’s baiting me.
“Left,” he says, calling his own punch to prove his martial superiority. “Right,” he says. I manage to deflect the blow, but it catches the edge of my headgear, forcing me to lose sight of Logan for the smallest moment.
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?”