柔道 or the way (do) of gentleness (ju) is a Japanese martial art, which I practised competitively in my youth. I once remember a friend at school telling me he had read my name in the newspaper for having won a regional competition. I did not know such things were featured in the newspapers and could not believe my friend was reading such material!
I earned my black belt quite young, probably before I was fifteen, and for a little while almost considered training to compete at a professional level. I actually was quite good at competitions, more than in the formal style and technical mastery. I remember the katas as one of the most strict and demanding effort I had to provide in my entire life, the discipline this required was in sharp contrast with my style which is chaotic and with constant interruptions.
I had a surprising humility at the time, which I lost as I aged, as I never was proud or felt special from the great collection of medals and champion cups I won as a result of performing very well. The anecdote of my friend reminds me how proud or impressed he was, while I would never even mention it. He was surprise to learn I was practising judo in the first place. I remember the peace of mind of not being proud, or feeling special or good or strong or impressing others. That was priceless, that was wisdom, pure wisdom, innocence shielding strength. There was no jealousy, no complex, no shame, no hurt feelings, only the desire to achieve, to succeed, to do it well, to be good, for the sake of excellence, not for the reward of the performance. I had this as a child, in sport. I lost it.
My favourite and most efficient throw was the Uchi Mata, where you topple your opponent with your leg in between theirs. I arrived to the stage where there is no contact of the leg, and it is the ankle and pure motion that actually provoke the soaring into the air. I think I never felt such a supernatural power than by delivering this move, making people fly as if by magic. I once had a genuine grip of Ju Do.
Another physical memory I still have to this day in my body, was in Clermont, when I joined a new club, a black belt teacher, female, picked me for demonstration and asked that I perform a move, any move. I did an Ippon seoi nage which similarly was so neatly executed that I had the feeling of her going over me like a fluid: no effort, no weight, no force. She slammed the tatami in a massive boom, and, standing up, surprised, impressed, she said "très bien, très bien", as people around were in muffled exclamation of awe. The beauty of such a performance was that I felt she was part of the throw as much as me, not being a recipient but an agent of the movement, a partner, although one not conducting, a sort of fleeting connection in the execution that gives all its meaning to Martial Art, a dance, really, but not something sexual or luscious as dancing really reduces to, something virile and combative, even with a woman. Again, the pride of executing a perfect move. Not that of impressing others. The feeling that admiration is merely the confirmation of how neatly the action was performed.
I also was very good with Tai Otoshi, so as you can see all my moves were forward going. But in contrast to my Uchi Mata, this was implemented brute force and enforced by what you imagine the move is about, when you see it: putting something on the way. It would be much more difficult to make it work like the Uchi Mata, to feel a surnatural grip on the motion rather than just a physical obstruction, to have the opponent be projected as if by a field, a will, rather than by your leg making him pivot around a stick. I could sometimes achieve that with forward motion, helped by the momentum, but could not do it otherwise, unlike my Uchi Mata that was bound to strike in any state of relative motion, forward, backward, in rotation... The sheer speed of it is also something I still impress myself with. I was very fast. The prowess of youth.
Another intense memory I have, at a competitive level, was the delivery of an Ippon with a Tomoe-nage, which is this spectacular move where you fall on your back and aspire your opponent that you project in an half-circle with your leg as the radius of their motion. It is not obvious to place it in an actual combat and even more difficult to make it smooth, without the opponent dangling or contorsionning in the air. Mine was so rapid and well-timed that I felt the opponent completely surrender to it, accept the fate, and circle round me as if turned a passive pillow. The whole gymnase expressed a clamor of admiration and people clapped. My trainer afterwards told me "Il était très bien ton Tomoe-nage, bien vu, bien perçu, placé au bon moment..." As I said, I had no pride then. I remember having no control of it, no intention, it just came out of nowhere, I was seeing myself the instrument of the Art, again. So the praises were flowing on me like water on a stone in the river.
I stopped practising when entering the University, deciding to dedicate my time to science instead, possibly a mistake, at least to give up completely. This brought me more than, possibly, anything else in my life. I started this because my father was also a practitioner in his youth, and he realized I was not interested in football, which he introduced in our village, and got the idea that Judo would fit me. He understood me better than I could myself.