I’ve passed his guard, I am on top. It’s not yet as familiar to me as the bottom, I’m still not used to being the one creating pressure, the one in control. It may be fleeting, because he is big, and I can’t hold him forever, nor do I want to. There will be no playing it safe, no stalling, I’m always moving forward.
I can feel him breathing, I can tell he’s tired, gulping the air as his chest rises and falls beneath me, keeping time with his heartbeat, and I know he wants to rest, but I won’t let him. This is my chance, maybe my only one, before he catches his breath, before his strength returns.
My attack is a calculated gamble, a risk that could hopefully lead to reward, not to the literal and figurative crushing that it often does. I trade the security of controlling for the possibility of finishing, a deal which has burned me so many times before, but I still believe I have a shot, no matter how bad the odds.
Then the culmination happens in an instant, when he offers his surrender, and I humbly accept. Taking chances pays off, with a rare tap from a blue belt other than myself.