I stared at the foam covered Michelin man I was to tackle. Focus. My instructor, Sensei Jo, told me to Hold…visualize before you move. I stared at the bored eyes and ready hands of the practice student. He was an attacker. I breathed in. He wasn’t any attacker. It was Him. My hair prickled like a wild dog. He was going to hurt me. I saw the dim street on the way to my apartment, the smell of sickly sweat and his baggy clothes. A scream exploded from my chest. Two instructors had to tear me off of his neck.