I had a serious crush on one of the girls in my karate class.

It was bad, guys. I couldn't have been more than nine at the time, and had never really "crushed" on someone before; when I saw her I felt dizzy, and even though I hated karate and hated the stupid dojo and never wanted to go back, I came back every week anyways just to practice sick katas right by her side. She always blushed when she smiled at me--like I had just told a funny joke, even when I hadn't--and her hair was a rich autumn brown that smelled deliriously like "girl" whenever circumstance brought me close enough to tell.

After graduating into my yellow belt, the school held a competition among multiple dojos around the metro area. We were prepubescent twerps so the entire thing was mixed gender, and naturally--because this is my fucking life--I ended up having to spar with her. In the first round of the championship.

I froze. I wanted to share my lunch with her and ask her why her hair smelled so pretty, not get into a horse stance and throw punches at her face.

She, however, did not freeze.

She came at me like the Tasmanian Devil, a whirlwind of nice smells and angry kicking with a smile that warped into brutal determination, and I went down. Hard. In front of everyone.

I still remember the *thump* of her little padded foot as it punted my chest, knocking the wind out of me, and sending both me and my pride reeling to the mat.

And everyone laughed. And I lost the match. And walking away from the ring I started to cry--in front of everyone--not because I lost, but because my little brain couldn't handle being hurt by someone I loved.

Now, 25 years later, I'm pleased to say that woman is my wife.

Just kidding.

I quit going to karate after that.