But those that have been in a fight know that the pads are not real, they will not prepare you for literal self-defense in a life-death scenario. The compound motions needed to kick an opponent while defending yourself, to cover your vital parts while grinding into a choke hold, these come with practice in the same manner writers make sentences. All the pad work and drills, those are like alphabet and sentence diagrams. They are integral to the sport, beautiful in their discipline and wisdom. Alone, without stressed application and fight conditioning, drills would be as useful as cooking ingredients on the shelf. They by themselves, do not make the meal.

So, when I say some Kung fu people can take drills too seriously, believe me. Chi Sao is known as “sticking hands” in English. Partners are in contact with each other’s wrists and arms and try to make openings against each other. Strikes should be performed in control, with safety in mind. My strikes are open handed and when I make a good or unanswered opening I hold my hand in front of the area. I want my partner to know without defending here, in real life, I would have mercilessly beaten this area. When correctly done Chi Sao can be a dance of expression, a stress relief from a day of challenges, a chess match that gets the blood moving.

When my lip bleeds in Chi Sau, a mistake was made. It is a lack of control, an overcompensation of muscle, a time when emotions dictated your actions. It would not say to me “wow what a tough cookie”. In a real fight, to surge with loss of control would mean losing the fight. Unless you are the largest, most genetically gifted soul: the smarter fighter will pick you apart. It is only difficult to say so while your lip bleeds, while you struggle to talk to explain this position.

This is my question today: how many unique and personal ways are we all “winning” without forethought to the sacrifices?

The boy I trained with this week thought he was winning, tightly slapping my face working really fast and breathing hard. I say boy, he is old enough to shave, starting a degree in marketing.

“Did I hurt you?” he brought a hand to his face, implying he couldn’t know his own strength.

In his mind: a point was scored. I am a veteran trainer in the school and to make someone bleed, must mean something. Just like at work: “succeeding” became my points-system. I myself was in marketing, and when the director gambled on a new account it was my job made redundant.

When my years were spent succeeding for this company, to have it dissolve suddenly is not the loss they think it is. As the lynchpin-disciplined-IT guy in the office half the people didn’t even know what I did all day. When they added accounts they toasted their brilliance and had martini celebrations, not including the worker class that would stay longer days to add the new workflows. This was not a problem, my fight-training partners would not approve of the alcohol abuse. Work was taking all my mind and preventing me from up-skilling, from interviewing for better offices. Sometimes it takes a bloody lip to remember the points we are breathing hard for, that they are most likely hollow battles. Or worse, they are unwise drinks to toast an unearned victory.