Yellow

Now…I am a fairly cynical person most of the time. Having been bullied for years both as a child and adolescent, I have an attuned sense of what’s going on around me and in later life I worked for just over 3 years as a police officer. These two factors, plus training in Krav Maga mean that I was usually in a state of alertness for most of the day. This used to annoy the shit out of a friend of mine in the UK who pointed out that I was unable to relax over a beer as my eyes were constantly checking the room for possible danger and/ or seeing other people as a potential threat (no doubt exacerbated by alcohol).

I have for years tried to avoid being a slave to technology in public, because that can lead to unpredictability and horrid stuff. I worked as a postman for 4 years and zoned out in the job a lot, mainly because it was dull, and I would listen to music on a pair of headphones. However I would double up on other senses in order to try to compensate for my lack of ears while pushing my mail wagon around.

I’m also a keen cyclist and have cycled in both central London and Rome. Both these cities are fairly intense and stressful for bicycle enthusiasts and my senses were attuned at all times to what was going on. I learned in London to “ride assertively AND defensively” and would be hyper aware as I navigated through Elephant & Castle or via Cristoforo Columbo (the former is a dog’s arse of urban design, the latter a notorious link road from Rome to EUR that has a LOT of motor accidents on it). By being constantly aware of what was going on, and more importantly what MIGHT happen, I never had an accident, although I witnessed several.

The way I lived my life on a daily basis was in a heightened state, but the problem was that this became anxiety or even paranoia due to my inability to relax. 

Recently I heard about a wonderful yet simplistic thing called the Cooper Colour Code.

This code goes white, yellow, orange, red and dictates the state of mental awareness that we should be in on a daily basis at all times.

To break it down…

White means no awareness of anything other than what you are either looking at or thinking about. You should only be in White when you are asleep.

Yellow is a state of awareness of what’s around you at all times.You are focussing on everything yet this ISN’T paranoia. It merely allows you to process the world you are passing through as things happen rather than…

Orange, which is that something MIGHT happen in a second or two, and you need to prep yourself because you might move to…

Red, which basically means the something negative is now happening.

Too many people are in White mode when they are NOT asleep. 

We’ve all seen it. The woman on the underground with headphones in, texting and her bag to the rear. Blind, deaf and dumb. The two guys talking while walking and paying no regard to the people around or ahead them. 

I looked at what the colour code was and it basically said that Yellow is the state we should all be in all the time while awake, and (and here’s the beautiful bit) if you remain in Yellow, you will only usually have to rise to Orange and rarely to Red.

To explain…

You are conscious of your surroundings. You are behind the safety line as the train pulls in to the Metro station at Circus Maximus in Rome. You get on and check who is either side of that empty seat. You sit, and because you want to read your book you put your bag either on your lap or between your feet. You have the book at an angle so that you can use your peripheral vision and all’s well.

Then…

Someone moves and stands next to you BUT they are a little close and there’s no reason for it as the carriage is not full. Because you are in Yellow mode you spot this quickly and reposition yourself slightly to create more personal space. You have just reacted in Orange mode. However the person moves into your personal space again so you simply get up and move. You’ve avoided going into Red mode by being alert AND reacting to a POTENTIAL problem before it could happen.

The good thing about this, is that it tapped into my existing behaviour, but cut out the stress and paranoid delusions that went with it. I cycle in a constant state of Yellow yet no longer believe anyone in a car is a potential arsehole. Similarly I use public transport in a more relaxed frame of mind because I know where my stuff is, I’ve padlocked my zips together on my backpack, my wallet & phone are in a zippable inside pocket, and my bag is carried to the front like a kangaroo’s joey, when in crowded places.

Various armies apparently use this code, with some adding Black to the list, meaning that something lethal has just happened. But that’s a little too dramatic…

By using this code I feel a little more prepared each day and have noticed that I’m less inclined to forget things or not know what I have on me when I come to lock up my bike. I know where the pump is, because I Yellowed its existence earlier by noting that I might need to change a puncture. I remember where my waterproof jacket and trousers are because I had Yellowed them into my backpack before setting off.

I know this works because 2 weeks ago I was cycling to the Decathlon sports shop nearby in Rome, and a car was coming out of an exit road on an intercept path. I guessed he might not have seen me so Yellow became Orange and I slowed down. Sure enough, the cunt was texting on his phone and had I not seen him and allowed for it, he would have hit me.

My torrent of verbal abuse probably wasn’t understood as it was in English.

Without You...

As Mick pulled into the carpark he was mildly amused to see that the sports hall still had the same graffiti on the wall as 15 years ago. The town had expanded since he’d been away but this was reassuringly still the same. Someone had long ago painted “Give Violence A Chance” in bright green across the wall next to the emergency exit at the back. 

He smiled and turned off the engine just as his phone rang. 'John Mob', the screen flashed, probably wanting to know where he was. 

“Hi mate”

“Good morning old timer, where are ya?”

Mick chuckled. “Out back, just pulled in.”

“Great, I’m at the front I’ll nip round”.

The line went dead and in less than a minute John appeared, a big grin on his face. Mick stepped out of the car.

“Mickey!” John said, throwing his arms wide and Mick stepped forward and they hugged, clapping each other on the back. John looked at the car. “Christ! Can’t you afford better than that?” he exclaimed, his face creasing in mock disgust.

Mick laughed. “See your sense of humour hasn’t improved since you were a student. Put on a bit of muscle since then too I notice. You were so skinny back in the day, you had to hold your arms out to your sides every time you walked over a drain”.

John laughed again. “So good to see you mate. It’s been way too long. When I heard you were coming back I was over the moon.”

Mick was touched and nodded in acknowledgment. “Yeah, it’s been a while. What grade are you now? G5?”

John spluttered in mock indignation, “Err…no, E2”.

Mick whistled softly. “Impressive. I’m seriously pleased for you John, you were just a scared kid when I met you. Now look at you. Grading with Eyal and married with a kid”.

John smiled and put his arm around Mick’s shoulders. “Come on, the seminar doesn’t kick off for half an hour but I want to introduce you to a few people”.

As they walked around the front Mick noticed that the reception had completely changed and the interior of the sports hall was a refit on the previous times. Gone were the faded court markings and tatty nets that had hung in his day. The whole thing had been renovated and looked much more impressive. A large green net was drawn across the large hall, splitting the room in two. Only the facade, it seemed, had been left untouched.

At the reception was a young woman and John said “Honey, this is Mick. Mick my wife Jennifer. And the thankfully asleep baby in the push chair is Robert”.

Jennifer stood up and smiled as she extended her hand. She was dressed in a Krav Maga T-shirt and black sweat pants, her long black hair tied back in a pony tail. “I am SO pleased to meet you Mick. I have spent years hearing stories about you from John. You are quite the hero at our place”.

Mick blushed slightly as he shook her hand. “Pleasure’s mine. Your baby looks gorgeous.” Robert was fast asleep, oblivious to the reunion.

Jennifer snorted and said “Pain in the bum like his dad but I love them both”.

John gently pulled the pushchair out and wheeled it past the reception desk to the main hall area. About 10 guys were sat on the benches and stood around talking. All were in Krav logoed T-shirts and a few had the barred grade patches sewn onto the right leg of their trousers and shorts.

“You managed to round a few up then?” Mick said grinning. “They all want to listen to what an old fart like me has to say about Krav?”

“Yeah, these guys said they’d come. Couldn’t get any more unfortunately. Short notice and all that. They know you were around when Eyal was with IKMF and before KMG was formed. They want to hear what you have to say about things then and how it’s moved on. I mean Krav is a global phenomenon now, you’ve seen it expand. It’s gonna be good to hear stories from someone who was there back in the very early days.”

As they approached the group John said loudly “OK guys. This is Mick my former instructor. You’ve all heard about him. He’s hear to tell you what the good old days were like. Be gentle as he’s a bit long in the tooth and can’t hear too well”.

The students laughed and Mick shook their hands one at a time. All seemed happy to see him and he could feel his nervousness slipping away. To be honest, he hadn’t expected more than about ten students to turn up to hear him talk so he wasn’t disappointed.

“And…better late than never…Mick I think you’ll remember this young lady”.

Mick turned to see a very attractive woman in her early twenties walk towards them and put her kit bag on the floor. Mick didn’t recognise her at all. She walked up and stood before him and smiled, putting her hands on her hips and cocking her head to one side. “Now, Mick Tanner, don’t you DARE tell me you don’t remember me!”

The stance and the tone tipped him off and he spluttered “Chloe?!!” not quite believing that the scrawny 7 year old he’d taught Krav Maga to was now standing in front of him

Chloe laughed and threw her arms around his neck. “See John, told you he’d guess. That’s a tenner you owe me”. She stepped back and unzipped her fleece. “I even wore the T-shirt”. A faded JKW- Junior Krav Warriors T-shirt was underneath her jacket. Mick remembered that he’d had to give her an XL one as there hadn’t been any in her size left. At the time it had made her look like she was wearing a dress. 

Mick laughed. “My God, so someone still has one of those. I’m flattered you kept it. Might be worth something on Ebay in few years if you look after it”.

Chloe tutted theatrically. “I’ve been offered money for this, good money. Told them to get lost. Collector’s item”.

John stepped forward. “Mick we can kick off when you’re ready, I think everyone’s here who’s coming. Guys, two minutes just get near the front of the mats and we’ll come up for the first Kida and then take it from there.” 

John led Mick to where a desk and two chairs were standing, with a large pile of certificates stacked neatly on the desk. Mick chuckled “Think you over ordered on the certifs.”

John shot Jennifer a death glare who blushed slightly but looked away and continued feeding Robert, who’d now woken up, from a bottle. 

“Oh err…yeah, we ordered loads so we could use them for other seminars. Only the first 15-ish are for today.”

Mick nodded, taking off his jacket and placing it on the back of one of the chairs. He began stretching his arms and said “When you’re ready mate”.

They walked to to the front of the mats and stood facing the students who formed a neat line, hands by their sides, ready to bow. 

John began to formally introduce Mick. “OK guys, you all know who this is. Mick Tanner, my former instructor back in Junior Krav Warriors 15 years ago. He was a big influence in my life and he’s here to teach you lot today and also tell you some tales about the good old days.”

Mick stepped forward slightly “Thanks John. OK guys…” he was about to bow when John spoke again.

“Chloe, can you do us a favour and open the net all the way. Don’t think we need it today. It’ll give us chance to spread out.”

Chloe grinned and moved quickly to the green curtain taking one end and began walking across the hall. Mick stood patiently waiting and then stared in shock at what he could see. 

As Chloe pulled the net back, there were other people standing behind it, all waiting silently. As the room became one again, they began moving forward to take up a place in the existing line. Some were wearing JKW T-Shirts and all were grinning broadly. 

“What the…?” he exclaimed and John said quietly…”You didn’t really think only 10 people would want to hear the legendary Mick Tanner talk to them did you?

The men and women spilled out and took up places till there were two ranks of people. Mick quickly did a head count and there were over forty people. He still didn’t quite comprehend what was going on. One or two faces he recognised but he was at a loss as to who most of the students were. 

When the final person had taken their place, and Chloe was back in the, line John then barked “KIDA!” and everyone bowed. “Now all of you take a floor” and the group sat down.

He turned to Mick. “I thought, as you said on the phone, that I’d get maybe 10 or 15 guys if I was lucky but as soon as your students found out you were coming back my phone didn’t stop ringing and my inbox is full to bursting. Less said about Facebook messenger the better”.

There was a ripple of laughter from the sitting students. 

“With the exception of the people I introduced you to at the start these are all your ex students. Where’s Shane?” 

A hand went up.

“Tell Mick where you came from to be here today Shane”.

“Brussels”.

"Indeed, Brussels. We’re going to make sure you get your flight home tonight in case you decide to stay”.

More laughter.

Mick looked totally confused. He remembered Shane. Big, sweet natured lad who had been brought to the club because as his mother had put it, “he’s too nice to hit bullies back”. He had a G2 patch on his black sweat pants. 

John then clasped his hands and said “Right, one at a time. Please stand up and thank Mick for whatever you feel you’d like to thank him for”.

A hand went up and John nodded. A woman stood up. “Mick, I’m Louise Jordan. You gave me special training when I got the flu when I was 9 so I could get my J5 patch. Thank you”. 

She sat down again.

Mick had to think for a moment before he remembered Louise. God yes! She’d been heartbroken when she was poorly because she’d have to miss her grading. He’d trained a few times with her to make up the lessons she’d missed and she’d passed her test with the highest score of anyone there.

Another person stood up. “Mick, my name’s Declan Jones. I was getting the living shit beaten out of me at school and the teachers told me that I shouldn’t hit back. You taught me to stand up for myself and the bullying stopped. Thank you”.

Laughter again as Declan sat down once more. Mick remembered the bruises and the fear in the boy’s 10 year old eyes. He’d told him to hit back if he had to and that it was nothing to be ashamed of.

A third person. “Mick, I doubt you’ll recognise me as I was, to put it politely, a bit fatter back then, but I’m Gary Miller and you got me to stop being a slob and look after myself. I can’t thank you enough.”

Gary had indeed been a fat kid. He was tall and athletic looking now, a P5 patch on his shorts.

One at a time the students stood up and gave him their gratitude for what he’d given them when they were kids.

The last person to stand up was a woman of about 30 and she said “Mick, I found new confidence because of you and on behalf of all of us here we just want to say thank you for what you gave us all. Without you none of us would be the people we are.” She sat back down again and applause broke out. Mick looked at John who was clapping as well. He smiled and Mick began to well up, tears filling his eyes. 

“Oh dear! Now look what you’ve done. Come on everyone, give the old man a hug” John said. 

They all stood up and mobbed him, slapping him on the back and shaking his hand. Further words of thanks and gratitude being spoken.

Finally the group thinned again and everyone formed two staggered lines. Mick knuckled his tears away and smiled at John. “Thanks mate” he whispered.

John smiled back and winked. “No mate, thank you”. He turned to the students. “Alright you lot, are you ready? KIDA!”

The Moment That Never Came

Tonight I watched the first episode of SAS: Who Dares Wins, which is a show where various very fit guys get put through a condensed version of special forces training out in Morocco. The training is tough and on the first day alone, 4 guys dropped out from an intake of 25. By the end of the episode the number had risen to 6 or 7.

The thing that struck a chord wasn’t the beastings, the discipline or the physical exertion. It wasn’t the psychological evaluation and it wasn’t the fact that being just physically fit wasn’t enough.

It was that recruit number 4, one of the guys who voluntarily withdrew from the course, a boxer named Adam, was flagged as a potential risk even before he quit because he had written in his 500 word application essay that the most satisfying moment in his childhood was when he laid out a bully who had been tormenting him for years at school.

During a boxing match (the first tasks the recruits got) Adam picked the next biggest guy in the group as a partner. Only problem was that Adam is 6’ 8” and the other guy was 6’ 3”. Adam is a professional boxer and he made no bones about beating down his opponent. Drill staff stopped the fight after 2 minutes and later stated to each other that Adam appeared like he had something to prove, even though he is ranked 15th in the British Heavyweight leagues and should therefore be comfortable with himself by now.

Calling Adam in for a chat, they ask him about his childhood and it turns out that he was bullied almost constantly from 11 to 17. When he punched his playground nemesis in the face the other lad lost 4 teeth, blood spurted and he was “stretchered off, job done”. Adam had stated to camera earlier on that he regarded this moment as “biblical” in its significance in his life and he then evolved into the huge, hulking fighter that he is now.

After a pause one of the drill staff says “sounds a bit excessive to me” and the other asked him if he believed revenge was the way forward.

As much as I wanted Adam to make it through, he quit later in the same episode and the drill staff who accepted his numbered arm band (the method of quitting is to take it off and hand it over) said “I think you’ll regret this and it isn’t physical, it’s lack of self belief”.

The thing that got to me though was that, although Adam couldn’t make it through the special forces training due to having a lack of mental stamina, he was still bitter about his childhood experiences, even though he had a moment that I would have gleefully killed for.

To whit…he punched a bully so hard that the bully lost teeth and went to hospital.

To as recently as this morning I have spent my life feeling bitter, twisted and angry about the bullying I experienced as a child and later as a young man. I was specifically told at the age of 4 that hitting was wrong (after having been told 3 days before that hitting was just fine if it was in retaliation).

This mind fuck was enough to neuter any sense of self confidence around throwing punches and while I had from that day until the age of 46, an inbuilt reluctance and phobia of fighting, the rage and frustration remained constant as I grew up. 

I was also told that every bad thing that happened to me was my fault and that other people had been abusive because I had “made them do it”.

The list goes on. 

There was never that Eureka moment though, when I managed to finally summon the power of Greyskull to whup a bully’s arse and send them flying into a wall with their teeth rattling around. Never a Back To The Future (part 1) reckoning where McFly Sr. manages to thump Biff so hard that it completely changes the future and makes him the happy, confident businessman and Biff the guy who cleans his car…once Marty finally gets back to 1985.

I always imagined that, had this moment ever come, I would be at peace now. When Simon Tayler gleefully punched me around in class one day and bust my nose open in front of everyone…had I broken his neck then I would have either gone to prison or been committed but I would have hurt a bully.

If when Mark Allen used to let my tyres down on my bicycle (while smirking as I impotently screamed at him to stop) I had stabbed him in both eyes with a sharpened screwdriver, then maybe I would have had counselling for years but I would have caused my tormentor pain.

And if when, in later life, I got a job with a piece of shit company where my supervisor Barbara Bellis had nothing but contempt for me and bullied me in every way except physically…well maybe if I’d socked her in the jaw then I’d have a criminal record 23 years later that would prevent me working as a teacher…but it would have felt sooo good at the time.

My feelings of injustice and desire for revenge have festered and bubbled for decades. I realised a few years ago that it was mainly due to there never being any resolution to these stories. I got hurt, the people laughed and smirked, I never got justice. 

But what I had always imagined was that, if the situations had played out differently, and I had summoned the strength to do that massive, jaw breaking, rocketing uppercut to the bully’s chin then I would be absolved of all my negative feelings of resentment and vitriol.

Seeing Adam tonight I realised that wasn’t the case. On his application form to take special forces training (albeit for a TV show where the line “go and see the medic” is uttered after anything involving physical injury or when someone quit) Adam had put that his strongest childhood memory was hurting a bully so badly that he put the guy in both hospital and potentially a dental surgeon’s office. He clearly relished this memory and was still pained by the memories of what he’d gone through as a kid. 

I have not only fantasised about hurting bullies I’ve dreamed of killing and torturing them. I never actually wanted to do this but there was a time when I would have traded 10 years of my life for the chance to make a bully suffer the way Adam did. To do something that would make me realise I had the power to stand up for myself once more, and I’d see that glorious fear in the eyes of playground predators when they saw me

But it never came.

I genuinely believed until tonight that my ongoing war with my memories was due to the stories not playing out the way I wished they had. Problem is that, even if I HAD disfigured one of my tormentors…I would still have been bitter (and would probably still BE bitter) about the fact that these things happened in the first place.

Adam came across as a nice enough bloke but being hugely tall, hugely muscled, hugely scary and a competent fighter….he still wasn’t at peace with himself. His demons still haunted him and he hadn’t moved on.

I never got that moment of punching down a bully. Adam did. Now I realise that it probably wouldn’t have made that much of a difference anyway.