I absolutely, unequivocally hated myself that day and for many days to come. It plays over and over in my mind, even now. It was sophomore year in high school and a group of students were headed to the train station for the long commute home from the Bronx. There had been a rash of muggings and beatings in the area, specifically targeting the students from our school by rival high school students. We were always aware.
We waited on the platform for the 4 train into Manhattan. It was a day like any other, except for one thing- we noticed a group of larger teens approaching our direction. I didn’t recognize any of them. Something was up. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck spike as my thoughts raced, my body frozen. There was nowhere to go. What to do? They walked past all of us and surrounded a friend of ours, Sam. They numbered maybe 5 or 6. At that moment, the train into Manhattan pulled in and stopped in front of us. The doors opened. Sam was still surrounded. I could see his eyes pleading for assistance, but I was afraid. The others in the group, girls and guys, they were afraid too. Instead of doing the right thing and helping Sam, some way, any way, we choked and boarded the train to save our own asses. Let’s face it, I choked- the doors closed behind us, the deafening sound of missed opportunity to help a friend in need reverberating through every atom in my body. I looked into his eyes as the train pulled away. The loneliness he experienced, the fear….I couldn’t bear it. In that fleeting moment, I felt like a total piece of shit. I hated myself for being a coward.
Shame– it oozed out of my pores. I wanted to be alone, to not infect anyone else. That’s what I felt. Even to this very day, the remnants of that shame exist, vitriolic self loathing burning my soul’s core- caustic, biting. How could I do that to a friend? How could I do that to anyone? My efforts were too little, too late. I exited the train at the next stop and told the attendant what happened. I took the train back up one stop to see if he was okay. Of course, he wasn’t there. I will never, in my entire life, be able to erase that memory from my mind. But “it’s not about me, you selfish bastard.”
Never again.
Why do I train? Why do I head straight to the gym after a sleepless twenty four hour shift from the firehouse, even while I’m pushing forty? Because I never, EVER want that to happen again. I never want to ignore someone in dire straits. I want to be strong for my future kids, an example. Hell, even for your kids. I want to be able to protect my family and the people around me, those I love (if you’re reading this, that’s you!). More than anything, I want to do the right thing for anyone and everyone. Look, there will always be someone stronger than you, faster than you, smarter than you. But does that mean we should stop striving to be our individual best? It’s not about being better than everyone else. It’s about being better than you were yesterday.
Don’t get me wrong, helping isn’t just about physical strength or power, or doing so only when it’s a life and death situation. Compassion is something as simple as a kind word or gesture, a smile to battle a frown, opening a door, or helping someone with groceries. How does training help with this concept, seemingly unrelated? Training teaches you discipline. It teaches you to accomplish difficult goals in the face of adversity, to keep reaching, keep striving, keep improving. It makes you get up and do something that sometimes, you just don’t want to do, but you know you should. And trust me, you should.
Doing the right thing- it isn’t always easy. If it were, we would be living in a utopian world, holding hands and all singing on key. No one would be in want of anything and we would defecate skittles and urinate rainbows. Let’s face it- that isn’t real. What is real is that people need help every day. And we have the ability to make a difference, big or small. Doing the right thing isn’t about taking action only when it’s easy, or when others are watching. It’s not about bragging, or about patting yourself on the back, or waiting for others to do so. It isn’t about you, it isn’t about me. It just is.
Why do I train? Because I remember. And……it’s the right thing to do.
by Aric Lee