Shane's Experience at the Amateur World Championships in Vietnam

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Written by Shane Dobie

Shane went to the World Championships in 2005 with myself as Canadian Head Coach, Melissa as Sanshou Team Organizer and School Representative, Dan as Team Doctor and Bart as fellow athlete. This is his story told in his words.

It didn’t really set in until we were driving in a beat up old van down a seemingly bombed out stretch of highway. I’m in Vietnam...to fight...in a world martial arts competition.

I looked across the landscape. It looked completely barren, with sparse abandoned farms. The buildings looked either war or weather torn and the driver keeps honking at every one he passes. I thought to myself I don’t trust this guy. I’m far from home. I have had two fights. I have been training for less than two years and I am now facing the world stage. I thought about how the soldiers felt in the Vietnam War and laughed to myself. My obstacle ahead is tiny in comparison. I should leave with no broken bones. Some of our grandparents never returned. It was still scary to say the least.

My last fight was no walk in the park. My training made me fully aware of my limitations and I truly felt I didn’t belong there. I thought, I can do this, It’s just a sport…but holy crap I’m in Vietnam …to fight …in a world martial arts competition. I reflect on all the scary bullies I faced as a kid in school, will my opponents be as scary as the guy that picked on me back home? Or will I meet someone much scarier?

Before I got there I had heard the Russian, Chinese, and Iranian teams had military experience. I had been training 2 maybe 3 times a week while working a night job, full time. I’m way out of my league. Either way I am here to fight and I will not back down. I can’t worry too much about that now. The anxiety will drive me nuts. My fight is still 12 days away. I have two weeks to see the city of Hanoi and I’m going to have fun. This will be a great experience.

Once we got close to the city I began to notice the cultural differences between home and Hanoi. The amount of Mo-peds and Scooters began to increase. They lightened my spirits. Back home in Vancouver people laugh at these because they look funny amongst all the cars. In Vietnam it’s the way they get around. There were literally hundreds of Scooters and Mo-peds driving down the streets. It seemed there was one to each person that lived there. They were so close to each other. Driving so close to accidents every minute but rarely touching. Road rage didn’t exist. Nobody seems to mind. They seemed at peace with what looked to me, like chaos. Red lights at intersections were clogged 20 deep. The Scooters sat there idling as a unit until they exploded from the traffic lights all honking to make each other aware of their presence. A traffic cop back home would go insane trying to keep it organized.

The retail businesses were all so close. There was only a wall separating the doorways. The buildings were tall and thin all rectangular and placed directly beside each other. Space was very tight in the city. If it wasn’t a cell phone dealer it was Pho joint with tiny PVC patio furniture. It was very different from the storefronts back home.

My stays in the hotels were fairly normal. They were smaller but not much different than home. We shared the hotel with some of the teams and got to meet people from all over the world. I was amazed at how many lives martial arts had an influence on. People from completely different countries with different social backgrounds were able to find a passion in common. I was very proud to be apart of that. It made me realize how similar everyone was and it really put the whole war thing in perspective. What is the point? We are all here to live. We all want the same things in life and that’s love and happiness. Here I am finding beauty in a time I’m supposed to be thinking of taking a man’s head off. I’m sure a trip to the training facility will take care of the beauty fast.

A Room filled with fighters, of every shape and size all eyeing you up. Which ones will I fight? Will it be one guy or a few of these guys? It’s an intense feeling to say the least. The beauty is definitely gone. It’s back to the reality of the fight ahead. It was re-assuring to watch some of the fighters train. As a fighter I could pick out things they did wrong and things I thought I was better at but looks can be deceiving so it’s best to put my head down and continue my own training.

After the weigh-ins the number of fighters per weight category was posted. My category had 8 and 2 didn’t show up. The next day it was time to draw the fighter’s names and see who would fight who. I stayed at the hotel while my Sifu went to the stadium to draw my name. As luck (or whatever you want to call it) would have it Sifu drew a buy. This meant I automatically advance to the second round and it actually guaranteed me a medal no matter how the fight turned out. In my opinion no fighter should be happy to get a medal in this fashion. I was not really sure what to think about this. Fighters have worked really hard to get here and it was very weird to me that you could place just by circumstance. The one good thing I told myself is at least you will be fighting a good opponent. It meant I would be fighting one of the best.

I got to see some amazing fights in the first two days. The skill these fighters had blew my mind. They had so much finesse and power at the same time. I watched fighter after fighter hit the mats. I watched several taken out on stretchers and swore I would walk out on my own. No stretcher. During the first round I saw my opponent fight. It would be the winner of Iran and and of course Iran won. My Sifu would speak very highly of this team. They were respectful on and off the mats. They were actually nice guys. They were also the team that has produced one of the longest reigning world champions. The luck of the draw came back at me. I would get a medal but I would be fighting one of the best team members in the tournament. I didn’t feel so lucky at that time.

I watched the Iranian make short work of his first opponent and I knew I would earn my medal no matter what I thought at the point of the draw. I remember hearing a fighter at the nationals weigh in talking about the room of fighters. He talked about how he wasn’t really intimidated by anyone there and how scared he would be if some big guy came walking in at the last minute. Who wants to win that way? Who wants to be a fake champion? I was happy to be fighting one of the best fighters. That was part of the whole trip. Go to Vietnam and fight the best. My Sifu taught me that. That’s how you get better. It was a privilege to even be there and be part of a national team. I don’t want to go there and skim by. I want to fight the scary guy. I want to show myself that it’s not that bad. I will be o.k. That’s martial arts. Train your mind and body to overcome your physical and mental obstacles.

I couldn’t wait to fight a good fighter. I had one more day of rest and then I would fight. I was able to eat and drink virtually what I want because I didn’t have to cut weight. I actually weighed in the lightest in the category. I could use an extra pound to help muscle my punching. On the day of the fight I felt a bit hollow. You realize how alone you are at that moment. No one will be there to help you in the ring. You have to do it alone. Your opponent is going to try to hurt you and you cannot run away. A gym full of spectators and your team will be watching. I have to do my best. I put on all my gear and warmed till I had to hit the floor. I was ready.

I didn’t have close to as many butterflies as I did in some sparring sessions. I was pretty comfortable knowing I was close to achieving my goal. I didn’t care about the outcome. I will hit this guy with what I have and walk away with the experience of a lifetime. I sat across from my opponent, a huge elevated mat separating us. As they called my name I stepped on the mat. I could see blood from previous matches all over the canvas. I bowed to my opponent and said “Salaam.” I wasn’t mad at him. Not one person in that room had more in common with me at that moment. I knew exactly what he felt. This guy is as worried and as charged as I am. We are gonna clobber each other. It’s just like a game of chess. Only it will hurt.

As we began to fight I went on auto pilot. To try and describe it would be a lie. It was a blur. I do remember the look in his eyes. I think I had him a bit scared but his experience pulled through. My takedown defense was good but my plan of attack was neutralized by his striking. I was unable to defeat my opponent. Our match was stopped. TKO Iran wins. I went down but didn’t go out cold…I think..:) I took a roundhouse to the mouth and hit the mat. I got back up and knew I was ok. I also knew I lost. I was fine with it. My pride was a bit bruised but my training prepared me for the worst. I was pulled to the centre of the mats. The Iranian’s hand was raised in victory. I went to his corners and said thank you. I bowed and walked to my corner. My friends were there. They were Smiling and proud of my efforts.

I was a bit banged up but able to smile myself. I was proud too. I walked away from my goal with nothing but a black eye and a fat lip. I now had a world martial arts tournament under my belt. I was now able to take my place on the podium but I was honestly apprehensive. I felt silly up there after losing in front of everyone and now getting a medal like a conciliation prize. That’s the way it is I said to myself. I was able to help Canada make a mark on the world level and that was good enough. I’ll take what I have and I will be proud no matter what.