I Am The Fighting Ninja Girl

With the prospect of graduating in a few months, looking for a new job, and facing the fact that I’m growing up, I’ve been rather stressed lately. But when I stumbled upon this essay that I wrote a few years ago, I was reminded that I can be strong, I can be brave, and that I can face challenges with confidence. That I can be the ninja who perseveres. So here is a throwback to a few years ago that it may encourage you in whatever challenges are present in your life. :)

Ninja Girl - 01/29/25

November 8, 2022

I Am The Fighting Ninja Girl

As I faced the enormous challenge that lay before me, I couldn’t help but reflect on one of Lloyd’s favorite lines in the Ninjago television series, “Ninja Never Quit!” I tried to remind myself that if poor little Hiccup in How to Train Your Dragon could fight off the enormous Red Death with the help of his dragon buddy, Toothless, I, too, could face this obstacle that stood in my way. There were both mental and physical struggles that I encountered, affecting both my mind and body. It took much courage on my part to overcome these difficulties, but eventually I did it. Let me start from the beginning.

It was a beautiful day outside, but in the workout room of our Krav Maga school, tension was high and hearts were already beginning to increase the number of their beats. Krav Maga, if you do not know, is a martial art that originated in Israel's military. It is tough, it is strenuous, and that day, it was a test, my first one ever in Krav Maga – combatives test level one. It was the antecedent to all the other tests yet to come, and everyone in my class knew it. Our instructor (who went by the name “Coach”) said that this test would be easy, that we knew all of the things well, and that it would be like any other day in class. That, however, was the understatement of the century.

The test started off with pivoting and weight transfer techniques. Coach barked out his instructions fast, forcing us to respond quickly and speedily. I was determined, and I concentrated very diligently on his words and my movements. All was well so far, but that’s when the first challenge began.

It was a rather simple routine – we’ve all done it before – someone holds a hand out as a target, and their partner punches. This time was different, though. We were moving hastily, throwing punch after punch towards each other’s hand-mitts. I sped up to show my speed; I punched hard to show my strength. Not before long, my body began getting tired and weak and my asthma was kicking in. The constant back and forth movement might have been hard on my windpipe, but my spirit was determined, so I led on. It was tough, and we were only offered a few short breaks, but I was making it through. I reminded myself of Ok-Nyeo in Flower in Prison, how she fought five men with only a small sword in her hand and won. My lungs may have been tingling, and my throat may have been sore, but my heart was still on fire. I was doing it, and I was doing it well! We then came up on the next part of the test, one of the worst challenges of all. I would have to fight people, and I absolutely hated doing that.

Unlike previous drills, where we would gently tap our gloves on each other’s shoulders, this sparring drill had us battle against each other as if in a boxing ring. That meant punching each other in the face, that meant potentially getting hurt, and therefore meant potentially hurting others as well. Could I do this? My mental determination quavered at the thought of me actually punching someone, slightly bruising them, injuring them just a little. I couldn’t do that to anybody – I could barely wrestle my niece, let alone a grown adult. I was also afraid for my own self; I was scared of getting hurt, afraid of the pain that could be caused. I always have been. That’s why I’m scared of heights, why I’m scared of riding a bike – I can topple over and get hurt. Would I make it through this drill? Could I override the hesitation, and fight with all my might? I hoped so. I had to prove it to my friends, to Coach, and to myself that even though I was a scrawny little sixteen year old, I could fight, and fight well.

I stepped up to my first partner, my dear friend Emma. She is smaller in height than me – probably so by eight inches. We fought carefully, minding each other’s sensitivities and punching softly at 20% power, as Coach had instructed. We did well, it went great, I was feeling better. Then our instructor had us switch partners. Who else did Coach make me end up with but a seven-foot tall man, seemingly twice my height, almost a giant? His size intimidated me, for theoretically he could throw a successful punch at my face without even leaning forwards. His arms were that long, and he was that tall. The man’s kind puppy eyes stared into mine, seemingly reassuring and gentle. I didn’t want to punch him – and it was hard to try. That was my second challenge: overcoming my insecurities about others, and fighting as if for my life.

The sparring match began. I ducked away from his punches, and aimed several at him. We missed each other mostly; I had blocked most of his, and was too low to hit him. Tension got higher as each of us wanted to throw a good punch. I still hesitated, throwing my punches at 20% capacity. I didn’t want to accidentally hurt him. He, on the other hand, with his height and strength, started throwing his punches at full power – puppy eyes slowly morphing into that of snakes – fierce and mean. The man succeeded in landing a punch directly on my nose. Pain began searing through me, causing my eyes to water and my nose to run. It was like I couldn’t breathe. I almost couldn’t move. My body obviously knew this, and began assessing the danger by immediately pumping loads of adrenaline through my veins. At that moment and continuing, seeing he had no mercy, I threw aside all my morals, and began fighting with all my might. The ninja in me wanted to fight on, “Never quit,” she said. No longer did I punch at a measly 20%, I punched with all my power. Finally, just before Coach yelled, “Time!” I managed to land one, soft, but pinpointed punch at the side of his cheek. I felt good. So the match ended, and we all took a water break. My nose was still runny, but my eyes had cleared just fine. I had managed to hit the man back – I had managed to be tough, not gentle. All my life, I had chickened out of a confrontation, acted like it never happened, or worse yet, let my opponent win. This time, however, I actually did it. I stayed in the fight, I endured through the finish.

There was one more challenge in the test to overcome. This time it was one of both body and might. It was the final drill: punching till we couldn’t stop. I stood in front of my partner, Emma, and she held out her gloved hands. Coach said “go!” and I began. Punch after punch I threw, going faster and faster, and then slowing down. Coach hadn’t said stop yet, so I knew I had to continue. My arms were tired, but I couldn’t fail. I pushed on and on, reminding myself of the ninja, reminding myself of Hiccup, of Ok-Neyo, reminding myself of all those people in the movies who beat their obstacles and overcome their challenges. So, though slow in my punches, I continued on fighting, fighting my urge to quit, fighting my urge to just fail, and eventually Coach yelled “Time,” and I knew I had passed the test. Surprisingly to me, Coach and several of my classmates even praised me for how well I performed. I did awesome! I was fierce! I was a ninja. I was a fighting ninja girl.

Since then, the ninja girl has faded in and out. Sometimes I’m the scrawny little teenager who chickens out of things, but other times, when needed, I am her: The Ninja Girl. I am determined that no matter what, even if it takes me a lifetime to do it, I must continue to overcome my insecurities and fears. I trust that, if I keep practicing, I will become brave and strong like Lloyd in Ninjago, like Hiccup in How to Train Your Dragon, like Ok-Neyo in Flower in Prison -- like all of them. Most of all, I know I will become like the fighting ninja girl, who in all actuality, is really just another side of me.