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She haunts me. She tells me that I'm inadequate, effeminate, not a man. She tortures me. She taunts me. She weaves her evil web. Here is but one of many scenarios: I pass a newsstand. I know there is something I must avoid: martial arts magazines. Time, Newsweek, National Geographic, so far so good, let's see, Sports Illustrated, GQ, low and behold, a martial arts magazine!

A wave of irrational thinking takes over. "OCD" suggests to me that if I just look—just this once—the pain that I feel when I think about the women of martial arts will evaporate into thin air. I open up a magazine that I have no business opening. My chest tightens as I flip through the pages. The title: "Using Anger to Your Advantage." A pretty woman with auburn hair and a graceful figure appears with intense, piercing eyes. Very much a woman, strong, overflowing with confidence and appeal, she is an accomplished female warrior.

Then I look at the moves on the next page: hand-on-shoulder, twist, grab, turn, lift arm to neck, kick to knee.

What does it feel like to be kicked or punched? Let's choreograph it in our minds. Sometimes on [my commute] I'd have to know this slender woman at the head of the train with Asian symbols on the back of her coat. Is she a black belt? I must gain her approval. Somehow this makes her less threatening to my manhood. I'll engage her in conversation. Alas, she leaves before I can "charm" her. What on earth would she have said?

My enemy is coming. Her name is obsession and there I stand cornered. I feel tightness in my chest. My hands feel light and my whole body is apprehensive.