An Arms-Length Away From Disaster

I took Karate classes in elementary school. One time when I was around 10, I was sparring with a younger classmate. I threw a punch, which stopped a hair’s breadth away from his nose. I could feel his breath on my knuckles and we froze for a moment, both of us staring wide-eyed at my fist. My Sensei ended the round, awarded me the point, and complimented me on my excellent use of control.

I was too embarrassed to admit that control had nothing to do with it. My arm was fully extended; if I’d had a longer arm or been standing an inch closer, he would have had a broken nose, and I would have been doing push-ups for weeks.