I chased him, the old mestre around
the roda, knowing he could bring me down
and we laughed at this knowledge in this game,
I kicked and he easily stepped away, I ducked
under his kicks that moved so slowly,
arcing gracefully over my head.
he pointed behind me and I turned my head,
for a moment only to see him laughing at me.
he had taught me never to do that, to always
keep your eyes on your opponent.
after the fun, he wrapped my waist with my
first belt, lovingly wrapped by my mestre,
never say never, never say too old.
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