"Tamashi" is a Japanese word that roughly means "Fighting Spirit"
1981, Savannah Georgia...
It was a hot summer night...
I drove my 1971 Triumph Spitfire to a Japanese karate dojo (of a former National Security Agency clandestine agent), to attend a training session, as a welcomed guest.
The inside of the dojo was hot & muggy - for there was no air conditioning.
Students stood in puddles of sweat, executing endless repetitions of combination techniques.
The final phase of training that night required that I (as a visiting black belt) stand and face all of the students in short "kumite" ("sparring") matches, one at a time, beginning with the lowest ranking students, first.
As the night wore on, the combination of heat, dehydration, and the stress of fighting a long queue of students...began to takes its toll on my speed and stamina.
Finally, I faced the my final opponent (the most senior student of the class).
After an initial flurry of moves, I threw a roundhouse kick with my left leg at my opponent's head.
But, I was a bit too slow on the retrieval...
My opponent easily intercepted my kick, and using my leg as a lever - flipped me off my standing leg.
My right foot, standing in a puddle of sweat...flew out from underneath me...
As my body rotated in the air, there was no time to attempt to roll, or correct my trajectory...
I was going to land hard...
On a cememt floor.
My right shoulder socket made first contact with the floor.
The pain was instantaneous - and excruciating.
As I climbed to me feet, I realized my right arm was dislocated, and hanging down a few inches lower than normal.
The instructor asked if I wanted to halt the match - but, because of my training - stopping the fight was not even a consideration.
I used my left hand to stuff my dangling right hand into my black belt, and turned to face my opponent again.
When the instructor shouted "Hajime!" ("Begin!"), I launched an attack combination with my leading left hand...and my mind/body, sensing an opening, ignored the damaged right shoulder, and pulled my right hand out of my belt, for a follow-up attack.
As I threw a punch with my right hand...the pain exploded in my shoulder, again.
The instructor halted the match - and helped put my dislocated shoulder back in place.
After the final meditation session, as the class ended...I didn't even bother to try changing out of my karate gi.
It was in a fog of pain, as I struggled to drive my manual shift car, with only my left hand, back the 40+ miles to my barracks at Ft. Stewart.
