"You must in all Airs follow the strength, spirit and disposition of the horse, and do nothing against nature; for art is but to set nature in order, and nothing else." – William Cavendish, 1st Duke of Newcastle

I like watching the black belts.  Good form is beautiful in the same way a good horse with an arched neck is beautiful. 

Tonight we are doing bag work instead of kata after chart. It looks easy. All you must do is hit the bag hard enough to move it on the chain.

It is not easy. 

The first time I punch it I am too far away. It is only a light tap. The second time I hit it and my wrist protests. The bag doesn’t move.

“Straight wrists,” Sensei states flatly. I go to the back of the line. 

A returning student is here. I was late, so I wasn’t introduced in the beginning of class. 

“You have to hit it hard.” He mimes punching the bag in front of me. He is a green belt. His elbows are all over the place while he leaps around the line in front of me. 

I don’t know what to make of him.

I smile.

I practice folding my fingers together into a tight fist. I straighten my wrists and check my form in the mirror.  Acceptable.

“They call me Bruce Lee.” 

I break off checking my alignment and look at him. 

“I am one of the best students. I should be getting brown belt soon.” 

He is not a Warmblood. 

“Good for you.”  

The Sensei is giving someone else advice near the bag. I missed it. 

“I have really powerful legs.” He leaps out of line performing some type of double leg kick. 

It is his turn. I watch politely.  

He can hit hard. But he is not beautiful to watch.  He stays there while I line up with the bag. 

I place my fist to figure out the distance. I adjust my stance. 

I start with my toes. I grip the carpet. I bend my knees. I try and let my hips relax to move with me. I take in a deep breath of air and twist my ribs while I let my arm move. 

It doesn’t hurt my wrist this time. But I still didn’t move the bag. 

Sensei is pleased.

“Better.” I bow and go to the back of the line. 

The green belt follows me and places himself in his spot. 

“You take a long time to punch the bag. You just gotta do it.” 

I swallow my growing irritation.

“I like to think my way through things.” 

He starts another set of movements, showing off his strength, or something.

He needs to be longed. 

After class I walk around to the far side of the building. I had parked under the tree. There is no light. 

I am nearly in my car when he trots up to the other side of the door right before I get in.

“Hey, can I have your number?” 

No. 

His phone is out, the screen open and ready.  

“Sure.” I give him my number. He calls it and my screen lights up. 

“Just had to check you didn’t give me the wrong one!”

I force a laugh. 

“What are my chances that you’ll come back to my place?”

Zero.

My heart thuds dully in the back of my ears. 

“Sorry, I have night check.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Final call checking on the horses.” 

“That can’t take long. Afterwards? McDonald’s? I’ll give you a great time.” 

My stomach churns. 

“No, I am sorry. The horses come first.” 

He takes a step closer to my car and seems to hesitate. My heart jumps wildly.

My fingers uncap the mace in my pocket. 

“Okay, I’ll see you next class then.”

On the ride home I grip the steering wheel with both hands