Winter bleeds into spring, the air cold in my lungs as I walk down the street. My journey is pleasant, in its own way, but each breath is like ice in my body. 

I walk to the gym, where I’ve spent more and more time lately. I joined a class that teaches karate for self defense, and I have a special lesson today.

The class is small: an old man, a kid whose head barely brushes my ribs, and a couple of teens with years and ranks on my 8th grade self.. But today, I was teaching.

Before all of this, MMA had been my passion, the water of my life. Just under 6’0 at 13, I had good reason to dedicate myself to a sport. And now, I have the chance to show them how it worked. 

Usually messy and rough, it works like an artform here; locking a leg behind their knee to leave them lying on their back, dodging hits with quick head movement, punching with the fast and powerful technique of a boxer. Showing them how mixing things together will take them beyond what any one thing can give them brings satisfaction to my heart.

I go on to teach similar things to a couple of friends. Even in small amounts, the practice helps to inspire confidence, and to keep people safe should the need arise.

The learning process isn’t easy, and it can feel overwhelming at times. However, I take it slow, and demonstrate how to use it firsthand. This lets me teach optimally, and to show people how to handle themselves in a dangerous situation, leaving their minds at ease. The fruits of my labors show, and the time I spend blurs, until it’s over before I know it. I walk home, night surrounding me. I feel fulfilled, and though the cold tears to my bones, I feel a warmth.