I was always a timid, pale, overweight boy who was afraid of everything and everyone around. It probably stemmed from my parents’ fondness for mutual scolding and the ensuing arguments my sister and I had to listen to every day. At school I was taught to the units, but I was an easy target for the older pupils. They often made fun of me, they always found a reason.
There was a slide at the school where I went in the winter and I used to go there after school. One day two goons took me on my side, grabbed my arms and one of the younger boys slapped me so hard that my head spun. I remember the feeling of disgrace, anger and sadness at the same time. But still, I said nothing to anyone at home and stayed locked inside where you would find nothing to suggest that I would one day be victorious.
Gradually the bullying escalated and one day after school a local macher reached over and smashed ice over my head with all his might. It was about 5 centimetres thick and pretty stiff. The temperature had crept well below zero, so it was as hard as you’d expect. It was dark in front of my eyes. I started to feel dizzy and sick to my stomach. Thinking about it now, I definitely had a mild concussion.
At home, despite paying attention to each other’s mostly nonsensical truth proving, they had already noticed that something was wrong and that’s when Dad reacted as best he could and brought me to karate practice. I’m sure he had no idea at the time that he had just written the first chapter of my life with karate.
In training karate I found redemption from the common problems. The first training took place in the winter at the elementary school I attended. I was ten years old. Training was already in full swing. Beginner’s training was already underway at the edge of the large gymnasium where I had found only ridicule up to that point. The head coach of the section, after my father’s persuasion, allowed me to join the trainees. But I was stuck at that point and didn’t want to move. Time stood still and all I could perceive was the fear of the new. I remained as if paralyzed by the fear that often surrounded me, but I never got used to it. When it caught me, chills climbed up my back to my neck. Finally, my dad grabbed my arm and dragged me across the gym to the group I was supposed to be training with. I felt very embarrassed. At that age, even the smallest thing makes you uncomfortable, so you can imagine what that did to me. My dad stripped down to his tank top and started practicing the punches we had on the agenda in front of me and I forced myself to practice.
From then on, I practiced every day not only at practice, but at home as well. Not mandatory training, but extra training will make you a champion. I wasn’t good at it, but it gave me the foundations of a trait that makes you not give up. I spent the whole school year training for belting and at the end of the season I got my first belt. It was white with yellow ends and I was so proud of myself. I didn’t even know how to tie it, so I walked around my apartment with a ridiculously tangled knot and I didn’t want to take it off.
The next year I started going to competitions, but it was harder than I expected. Apart from one third and one second place, I dropped out of all the competitions in the first round. I hope those who think I had talent will read this and everything went like clockwork for me. I was literally an anti-talent and had to grind it all out. But I think too much talent in young kids is sometimes counterproductive because everything comes easy to them, they win one competition after another, but when the tournaments that really matter come later in life, the wins don’t come as easily as they used to, because talent alone isn’t enough anymore. And they start getting beaten by opponents who never had the talent, but that’s why they learned to work hard.
Never give up! A strong will is stronger than you can imagine.
I remember like yesterday, we were standing in line at the end of practice. The coach had a penchant for testing our endurance and row after row punched us in the gut. Even better was testing the hardness of our abdominal muscles by walking on our bellies. And like this, in the row the day before the competition, after the daily carnage, when the stage fright was eating away at me, the head coach gave a speech. I’ll never forget what he said: “Tabak, you don’t lift a foot under any circumstances, because you don’t know how to kick!” People sometimes don’t realize that an innocent remark at the expense of another can hit you like an arrow. A few years later, according to several coaches, I had the fastest kicks in the country.
It was two years after my oco forcefully dragged me to my first karate training that I finally started winning my first competitions. It was a very nice feeling of satisfaction. In 2003 I became Slovak champion for the first time. But my struggle was far from over…