Sport. Life’s Looking Glass

Since I rather enjoy a sense of humour that strays a little from the norm, I honestly believe that whoever came up with the idea of calling a cigarette brand “Sport” in communist Poland deserves a special commendation. A grown-up version of the Order of the Smile (a UN-recognised decoration awarded by children in Rabka – City of Children from around the World), or something along these lines.

Sport is a lifestyle and a way of life. It’s a challenge you set for oneself, a test of your limits, and a constant push to go beyond them. It’s also full of paradoxes: it’s deeply personal, because no one can do your training for you, but on the other hand, it demands teamwork, and the ability to form a community.

Sport is for the hardy, not the half-hearted.
And to be clear: I mean proper, regular training, and not a leisurely bit of badminton on a Sunday afternoon.

If you decide to take up a sport and intend to be serious about it, you need to accept that what lies ahead is hard work. In fact, real graft.

And that’s how it’s meant to be. No shortcuts, no cutting corners.

I know what I’m talking about: I’ve experienced all this myself.
Sport has given me a lot, and it still does. But I too have given it a fair chunk of my life in return.
I still remember the sheer exhaustion I felt as a young boy coming home from the pool. How old must I have been? Nine? Ten? Every single day, from morning till night, was packed with duties, starting in school, continuing in music school, and ending in the pool. Exhausted, I’d collapse onto my bed and fall asleep instantly. Only to do it all over again the following day.

Yes, it was a repetitive grind, no doubt about it. But was it more than I could handle? Evidently not. Did it do me any good? These days, I know it did: a lot. Maybe that’s when I learnt how important it is to be organised and keep things in order. When you’re in control of your schedule, the overload becomes manageable, and you may even come to like it. Being busy filters out unnecessary things. You only do what serves you. That’s just how we’re wired.

I learnt discipline, how to structure my time. And that made me realise that repetition is not a soulless routine, but the way to the best possible results.

Training, and the so-called sporting lifestyle that goes with it, meant giving up a lot. But it was an investment. I gave up leisure, fun, time with friends — to gain something more valuable down the line. I don’t think I fully realised that at the time. And to be honest, everyday effort may often cloud your view, not unlike the sweat in your eyes that can make it hard to see past the gym floor, the punchbag, or the track in front of you. That’s why I’m so grateful to my parents for their support and encouragement. Without them, I’d never have made it into music school or the swimming team. And I wouldn’t have been able to thread all these things together…

At a certain point in life, a young person needs someone who can guide them – someone to say, “What’s hard now will be worth it later”. That’s why the family home matters so deeply, with the values it instils. That’s also why the master–apprentice relationship matters more than we realise, as it stretches far beyond the ring, the track, the pool. That used to be a common model of learning. Today, it’s harder and harder to find at the successive stages of the education system. And yet it’s this kind of relationship that guarantees growth and energy throughout the whole process. The student doesn’t just take over the master’s ideas but builds on them creatively. The student doesn’t just copy the techniques a given sport uses but takes whatever fits and pushes the bar higher. One day, the student becomes the master, whose job it is to pass on knowledge and skill to the next generation. That’s what keeps our culture alive in mind and body.

The coach was someone you trusted unconditionally. A role model, an authority, someone who helped you make decisions. What now? What would the coach do if he were in my shoes? And it wasn’t only about sport.

I grew up in a rough part of the city. Life wasn’t easy. But I had two shields to protect me from the bad influences that surrounded me. One was music. The other was sport.

Looking back, I can see that most, maybe even all, the success I’ve achieved is rooted in those early years.

Sport is nothing else but a lesson in life distilled, showing you all life’s faces: moments of joy, defeat, effort, and pride at what you’ve achieved. Sport is laughter and tears, often coming together.

I never became a champion swimmer, even if the good habits I picked up in the pool have stayed. No cup of coffee can energise you like covering a decent distance in the water. Whenever I get the chance, that’s how I try to start my day. With each stroke, with each kick, I acquire that confidence that, however big the waves ahead of me, I’ll swim through them.

Years after my time at the pool, a friend persuaded me to don a karate gi. I just knew it was the right path for me. Like so many boys at the time, I admired photos of heroes like Mas Oyama and Jean-Claude Van Damme, today a pop-culture action hero. I wanted to be like them. I had no idea our sports worlds would briefly cross one day. But I certainly dreamt about it. And the dream came true.

Karate may be a solo discipline, but the group training together creates bonds as strong as those of people who have shared life-changing experiences. That sense of community is a value in its own right.
We moved like a single, well-tuned organism. That closeness, however, had a downside. I was forced to take a year off due to injury. By the time I came back, the group had disintegrated. They had gone their separate ways across the globe, and I couldn’t find my place in the new circumstances. On the surface, it looked the same, but nothing was the way it had been before.

Once you’ve tasted the thrill of sport, you’ll seek it forever. I furthered my passion at the Academy of Physical Education, which taught me resilience, the importance of a fair fight, and a fondness for playing by the rules.
If someone’s not playing fair, you don’t play with them at all. That goes for sport, business, music… Cheating is cheating, whatever the arena.

My karate practice taught me a lot, but one lesson in particular resonates throughout my life: always look your opponent in the eye. This matters for several reasons. If you’re alert, your reactions will be quicker. Daring to lift your eves shows courage. But most importantly, the honesty that gaze stands for means that you are victorious, even in a lost bout.