Obsessed, 13 years old training 8 hrs a day

I learned this lesson in the most intense way possible, back when I was much younger.

I competed in Karate, but even as I threw myself into the art, I was never quite at my ideal best. I always had some injury—usually more than one. There were days when I thought, I should have trained harder, longer… I should have pushed myself more.

Even though I spent every minute I could, pushing myself to the edge of pain, exhaustion, and sometimes even passing out, it never seemed like enough. I was obsessed.

Dr. Mel Wise

But I had the best teacher I could have asked for—Dr. Mel Wise, the best Sensei ever. He ran a dojo where nobody was perfect. You could never know Karate, only study it. Even if you won a first-place trophy at a tournament wearing a black belt, you’d return to the dojo and slap your brown belt back on. We were all punks in his dojo, constantly learning, constantly battling our own limitations. Sensei—he was battling Leukemia!

Sensei gave his students a be humble, but give it your all and never quit attitude! His training and wisdom saved me, and other people over the years. Here is just one example: Stopping a Murder Wasn’t the Plan for My Summer Job

Fighting the Flu, and Opponents Twice My Weight

There was another time I was sick with the flu, feverish, shaking, my body aching. I had zero energy. Normally, I would’ve stayed home to recover, but the tournament was waiting for no one. I was thirteen, and on a good day, I weight in at about a hundred pounds soaking wet.

Kids division, right? Wrong. Sensei threw me into the men’s division. Some of those guys weighed over 200 pounds—twice my size.

But that didn’t matter. Sensei didn’t care about excuses. Whether I won or lost, it was about pushing through, no matter the odds.

Sure, I kicked ass, winning in forms. Despite the flu and size differences, I beat my first four opponents. But, by the fifth fight, I was spent. I collapsed, passed out from exhaustion. But the point wasn’t about winning—it was about showing up, fighting with everything you had, getting up again and again, even when your body was telling you to stop.

Black Belt Test

I wasn’t worried about competing the next day. I was worried about surviving the test without winding up in the hospital. I was tired from the long drive, feeling underprepared, unsure. I was still a punk in my own eyes, and the idea of getting a black belt seemed almost laughable. But I knew one thing—I was going to give everything I had—no holding back, no excuses. I didn’t care if it broke me. I was going to war. Honestly, I was ready to die if I had to.

The test began with us seated formally, then, after an hour, my legs went numb. My mind was in overdrive, trying to process each question. On page six of the blue belt manual, what does it say about such-and-such? I had no idea! We didn’t use manuals!

The more questions I missed, the worse I felt—I don’t think I answer one correctly the entire time. My ego shattered. My self-doubt crushed me, but I couldn’t stop. It was just the beginning. Next came techniques—moves I’d practiced for years—but Sensei Wise tore each one apart. “That’s weak! Do you really think you could stop anyone with that? That’s sloppy!”

Then, Kata—the very core of Karate. But this time, it wasn’t just me practicing in the air. I had to perform Kata with bunkai—actual sparring, with black belts attacking me—and these guys were in front of the Master and Chief Instructors so they were going all out! They didn’t hold back, not even for a second, if I missed a block, it would be all over. But in one of the first Katas, in the middle of a throw and—I threw my opponent so hard, he bounced off the ceiling so hard that the whole room seemed to shake. I could almost hear the panic in Sensei Wise’s voice, “Watch out for the ceiling!” That’s when I realized, I could use the small room to my advantage.

After Kate came Kumite—sparring. Four opponents, all seasoned fighters—no holding back. I had a plan: I wasn’t just going to fight them. I was going to use them as wrecking balls. I sidestepped the first attack, kicking one opponent into a table so hard it flipped, sending papers and pens flying. But I didn’t stop. I barreled over him, slamming both of us into the wall with a loud thud, knocking things all over the place. That’s when I heard, “STOP!” we’ve seen enough. That was fast, did I fail already?

Master Trias was silent

He stood up, turned to the other judges, and they went into another room. The tension in the air was thick, and I had no idea what they were thinking. Had I gone too far? Was I too messy? Too chaotic?

Time felt like it had stopped, but it didn’t matter. Somewhere, in that test, did I get complacent. Did I lose my edge, the one thing that had carried me this far. The reality of life hit me: it was chaotic, messy. We are taught to plan, to organize, to work towards perfection—but things don’t always go as planned. They get messy.

If you’re obsessed with perfection, you’ll quit before you achieve greatness. If you accept the mess and persist through the chaos, then, and only then, will you see the masterpiece unfold.

As I sat there, waiting for the decision, I thought of the quote that had always stuck with me:

“It’s a terrible thing, I think, in life to wait until you’re ready. I have this feeling now that actually no one is ever ready to do anything. There is almost no such thing as ready. There is only now. And you may as well do it now. Generally speaking, now is as good a time as any.” – Hugh Laurie

The universe is a mess. But maybe, just maybe, that’s the way it is supposed to be, where the magic happens.

What decision would Master Trias and the board make? Would I rise from this mess, or would I be crushed beneath its weight?

To be continued…

Michael Israel’s first exposure to martial arts was in Judo at age 6. At age 8, he began studying Goju-Ryu Karate under Tim Healy,  a neighbor who gave Karate classes to the neighborhood kids from his garage for $2 a lesson. More about Michael’s training coming soon.

Stopping a Murder Wasn’t the Plan for My Summer Job

I had gotten into the University of Miami at 17 on an early admission program… my high school GPA was 4.6 —I choose UM because it was only blocks away from Sensei Wise’s dojo (Karate School) and training there as much as I could was my number 1 priority.

I had just turned 18. College was out for the summer, and I decided to bring my girlfriend to stay with me at my mom’s house for the summer. Somehow, I had earned a reputation in the dorms—I’d met her when she came with friends to see the wild dorm room everyone was talking about— she never left.

I thought it’d be a laid-back break… I was wrong.

When we arrived, I introduced my dad to my girlfriend.

Then he introduced me to Rocco.

Rocco was a mountain of muscle. Fresh out of prison. On parole. Hired by my dad as a bouncer and bodyguard. Apparently, my dad had bragged to him about his son—me—being a black belt.

Rocco came up to me, stuck out his hand… and as I reached to shake it, he snapped a jab with his other hand at my face.

“He’s not very fast,” Rocco said smugly to my dad. “I could’ve killed him just now.”

Dad grinned, and I just smiled with my best sarcastic “Bruce Lee” smile.

“Nice jab you got there,” I said.

No need to react. You don’t block what isn’t going to hurt you and Rocco wasn’t actually trying to hit me.

But I kept him in my peripheral vision. Just in case.

One clean strike. Calm, controlled. That was all it took.

Rocco on the ground, holding his side, looked up stunned. My dad? He just chuckled as if saying, “I told you so.” Rocco never tried me again after that.

We weren’t friends—but there was a new respect. I could almost hear him thinking, Damn, that skinny kid was fast and it hurt, there must be something to that karate stuff.

Later, Rocco came to me with a secret.

He said Mick—an ex-cop working for my dad—was skimming money. I told him, “That’s between you, my dad, and my uncle who run the business. You want to fix it? Talk to them.”

I didn’t realize what would come next… well, maybe some of it, but definitely not the intensity in which it came.

There was gonna be trouble

That night, we gathered in a dark alley behind the office: my dad, my uncle, Rocco, Mick, and me. Ever since I was 14, whenever trouble was expected, they would have me standby. Not really sure why, as my uncle is 6’4″ and both of them carry concealed weapons. I guess dad liked to see the surprise on everyone’s face when his young son handled the bad guys. Holding the meeting outside was a sure indication there was gonna be trouble, I just didn’t know how much!

Mick sat on the back steps. Rocco loomed in front of him, demanding he confess.

“Tell them what you told me,” Rocco said.

Mick denied it. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

BAM!

Rocco hook punched Mick so hard it sent him flying off the steps onto the pavement. Blood was already dripping from his mouth.

In a split second, things went from tense… to terrifying

If I didn’t act right now, Mick was going to die.

I stepped in. Slipped behind Rocco locking in a rear choke around his neck pulling him to his feet off of Mick—tight enough for him to know I could end it right there.

I leaned in and said calmly, “I’m going to release you. When I do, you have two choices:

One—leave and never come back.
Two—stay, and I’ll take you apart.”

With Rocco in his berserker state, I expected to have to fight but he didn’t say a word and just took off.

Mick was bloody and unconscious so we called an ambulance. We didn’t know if he’d make it.

We saw him a month later and heard his story—He survived. Barely. His heart had stopped—multiple times. But somehow, the paramedics revived him on the way to the hospital.

I probably should’ve walked away.

But I couldn’t let it go.

I walked right up—this skinny 118-pound kid—and told this mountain of muscle the truth.

“You didn’t win a fight. You sucker punched a man sitting down and might have killed him. That’s not strength. That’s cowardice.”

Everyone in the room went quiet.

Rocco didn’t move.

That’s when I learned the truth: Rocco wasn’t just any ex-con. He was paroled for barehanded murder.

That summer reassured me that my years and countless hours of training had not gone to waste.

Martial arts works—I had saved a life. Not because it lets you hit harder.

Because it teaches you when not to hit. How to control chaos. How to stay calm in the storm.

And those lessons carried forward.

Advice:
Learn control. Train your body—but train your mind even more.
Know when to walk away.
And when you must act…
Act with purpose.
Act with clarity.
Act with honor.