Really?!

According to this piece on the Discovery Channel last week, the effectiveness of all the various forms of martial arts and their associated weaponry has nothing to do with mystic and everything to do with physics. Thus, everything from Kung Fu to Jujitsu, Muay Thai boxing to Ninjutsu; nunchucks, Samurai swords, and fighting sticks are bounded by the common factors of angles, rates of movements and distribution of force.

While these factors differ across the spectrum of fighting techniques, they all do have one thing in common – the success of their execution in combat depends on a quickened reaction rate. In fact, it was even shown that, in the time it takes a regular person to just process a stimulus, the martial arts expert would already be in the process of reacting to it.

This is important to note, because it explains why a mere commoner such as myself would not be able to defend - let alone survive - an attack by say, sword wielding samurai. One could even extrapolate from the previous statement to include any other event that requires decision-making in, literally, a blink of an eye.

Now, I figure that all the other factors could be perfected through practice. However, how does one practice the mental conditioning required to maintain that higher sense of focus, alertness and vigilance? I pose this question because I sometimes wonder about my own mental conditioning. I have such a delayed response rate at times that I wonder if certain stimuli are even processed at all.

For instance – on my way to Salsa class last Thursday, my bus collided with a tram, in a sort of slow motion kind of way. We were approaching a narrow part of the street and could clearly see a tram coming in the opposite direction. Even from some distance away, I could tell it would be a tight squeeze, and as the tram passed the front of the bus at an ominously close interval, I thought: really?

Evidently, neither was going to yield to the other, and the two continued to pass each other by. As the front of the tram inched closer to the back of the bus where I was sitting, the gap between the two closed in, my brain continued to ponder: really?

When the side mirror of the tram screeched as it came through the window of the seat in front of me – brain: really?

…and the window right beside my left ear – brain: really? - as I turned my head away …and the windows in the next 2 rows behind me - brain: really?!

By the time I fully realised what had happened, I was already covered in glass. Thank-you, by the way, to whichever group of people out there who had thought to manufacture automotive glass to break into little rocks, thus minimising sharp edges.

After shaking myself off on the curb (we were all made to disembark), and realising that none of the police officers, emergency personnel or transit authority milling about were going to talk to me, I decided to head home to fully ensure that there were, indeed, no shards of glass left on my body. This was a good decision, as I noted the considerable number and size of rocks of glass which fell out of my hair, my shirt, and even my bra later on in the bathroom.

Brain: really? Later that night, I would step and slip on a piece of glass which I had overlooked while cleaning. And as I flew through the air – brain: really? …landed on my side – brain: really? …and continued to lay on the floor, mostly because of the throbbing in my butt and thigh - brain: REALLY?!

I realised precisely then, the reason why I would not stand a chance if I were to be attacked by a ninja - they would wield their nunchucks at me, and my brain would respond – really?!