I broke out, hurling a flurry of precise, mastered and skilful kicks. Each kick grew in supremacy, as I glared at my opponent's face: grief stricken and glazed with unmistakable distress. Each kick neared her towards tasting the bitterness of a palpable defeat. Rhapsody enticed my face as I smirked mercilessly. .
I emerged from under the bedclothes and encountered the mottled morning light. Today was the day my dreams would become reality.
I had always harboured a competitive streak but I was not always good at actually realising it. This was to be my first Taekwondo competition and the desire to win was overwhelming.
I affectionately selected my loose white uniform that hung alongside my green school dress. Each Sunday morning for the past twelve months I had religiously swapped the academic rigidity of school for the physical rigidity of Taekwondo and noticed that even now, the whiteness of my uniform was a little dulled and the threads slightly frayed, revealing the chronic blows that it had suffered. Two badges were sewn onto the front by unorthodox and jagged black threads, visibly overlapping the stark whiteness of my uniform. Each badge bore the fist of a martial artist and was intended to highlight strength, skill and indomitable spirit. However, despite the air of sophistication emitted by the badges, my clumsy Year 10 stitching defeated their purpose as being signs of professionalism. .
My transformation was almost complete. I picked up my belt and placed it around my waist, cautious to avoid any untidy overlapping. Tying a taut knot, the two remaining straps were left to suspend freely, yet, their presence did nothing except weigh heavily on my pride. I was a yellow belt, a mere novice, and felt demeaned by such a lowly status. Nevertheless I managed to reassure myself, this was to be the final day I would have to endure the humiliation of this sallow shade.
I surveyed my reflection in the mirror.