Rediscovering Me on the Karate Mat at 54

When I decided to compete in karate again, I turned to the person whose judgment I trusted most: my karate teacher. She encouraged me to come down to Florida and compete at least one more time with her there.

That meant flying from the Northeast to Tallahassee, spending a week training with her in person for the first time in years, and then traveling with her and a couple of other students to a tournament in Crestview. Each step brought me closer to something I wanted to do—and something I was afraid to find out about myself.

I had not sparred competitively in more than 20 years. I knew who I had been as a fighter in my thirties. I had no idea who I would be on the mat at 54.

Would my kicks go where I wanted them to go? Would I move quickly enough? Would I remember how to respond when someone came at me? Or would I discover that the fighter I remembered was someone I could no longer be?

People sometimes ask whether I was nervous about my opponent. Honestly, that wasn't the part that scared me. I wasn't facing some unbeatable fighter in front of a huge crowd. I was facing the uncertainty of meeting this version of myself.

My teacher had always told me that your muscles never forget. I wanted to believe her. But standing there before that first match, I wasn't entirely sure what my body would remember.

Then they told us to start.

My heart was racing, but once I began moving, things started to feel familiar. I could see what was happening. I could react. The anxiety that had followed me onto the plane, through the week of training, and into the tournament began to give way to the experience of actually being there.

I lost that first match.

Between matches, I was breathing hard and trying to settle myself. My teacher's daughter, who is also a black belt, looked at me and said one word: “Breathe.”

It was exactly what I needed. It reminded me that I had already done the hardest part. I had made the trip. I had trained. I had shown up. And I had stepped onto the mat after more than two decades away from competition.

By the time I went out for my second match, I was no longer wondering whether I belonged there. I was focused on what was happening in front of me. I fought three times that day, and when I left the tournament, I felt different.

We often talk about rediscovering ourselves as though it happens all at once. For me, it happened through a series of ordinary decisions: booking the flight, going to training, driving to Crestview, and stepping forward when my match was called. I didn't have to know in advance exactly what kind of fighter I would be at 54. I had to give myself the chance to find out.

I wasn't trying to prove I could do the splits or perform the high-flying techniques you see in a karate movie. I needed to know whether the part of me that loved to compete was still there. That day, I found it.

The fighter I was in my thirties and the fighter I am now are not identical. Time changes how we move and what we need. But it had not taken away my willingness to step onto the mat. That was the part of myself I was grateful to meet again.

Have you ever returned to something you loved after years away? What was it like to meet yourself there again?I'd love to hear your story in the comments.

If you'd like to read more about my return to karate, my book Back on the Mat at 56: Rediscovering Strength, Purpose, and the Fight Within is available here: https://mynameisreeves-shop.fourthwall.com/products/back-on-the-mat-at-56-rediscovering-strength-purpose-and-the-fight-within