Page 190 - The Art of Learning by Josh Waitzkin_Neat plip book

on top, my shoulder into his left side. Up 1–0. He came right ba ck at me,
shaking off the last moment with a bul l rus h, but I felt it coming and went

with the force, pulled him a little farther and he hit the ground. Up 2–0. The n
I pulled off another throw, catching the same hole in his footwork, perfect
timing, i nner reap, w e both went up an d I landed on hi m har d. I ’m up 3–0!
Now I made my only real mistake of the tour nam ent. I had hi m totally

defeated, he came at me, and I po pped hi m to the side, his left foot landi ng
inches from the edge. Then I shoul d have backed off or gone in slow, but I
smelled the finish line and charged, overextended , and he put me do wn. Two
points, 3–2, he’s back in it. My mistake. Not much time left. I’m spe nt , so is

he. Here things really started to go out of cont rol. He surged right at me. I
used the force and almost put him down but he bar ely saved himself. We fl w
all over the place, him attacking, me neutralizing, count erattacki ng, hi m
saving. I heard Max scream “Josh! Fi fteen seconds !” I put a huge effort int o a

throw that he barely stopped. He char ged, I warded it off, and I was exha us ted;
it felt like the fifteen seconds were over. Now, two years later, I see on the vide o
—Max is waving at the timekeeper, the woman is standi ng holdi ng the be ll.
What happened here was surreal. Ther e were many witnes ses, all with the same

story. The clock hit 2:00 and the woman went to hi t the bell but an offi ial
motioned for her not to ring it. Clock went to 2:04, :05, :06, we were
scrambling in the ring, in total mayhem . I’d paced myself to last fi teen
seconds and now I was way past blown out . I was up 3–2 and the y were

holding the bell. Everyone was screaming. I was dead on my feet, and the
Buffalo put his heart, soul, blood, and gut s int o one more thr ow. I coul dn’t
hold it off and started to go; he piled down on top of me, won the po int , and
they rang the bell, 3 –3.

Officially the first two rounds were tied. I was on my back, slowing do wn
my breathing, far beyond the most exhau sted I’d ever been. Max and Dan
rubbed my arms and shoulders. The bell rang. Round thr ee, it all comes do wn
to this. I had the tie-break if we were even. At thi s po int it is pur e gut s.

Survival. You operate on another plane of reality, second to second, relying on
your training to keep you standing. The round began and I held him off, the n
gave up the double underhooks and launch ed into a thr ow I’ve be en worki ng
on for years and hadn’t shown yet at the tour nam ent. I trapped hi s right arm

under my left elbow, pulsed forward to pr ovoke a reaction, and the n tur ne d
left, rolling over my right shoulder and hi s trapped right arm, all my weight