Blue Sky Belt

A blue belt in Tae Kwon Do represents the sky. I began with a white belt, a blank slate. As I began to build my foundation as a martial artist I moved through my yellow belts (the first bit of color), then through my green(symbolizing a tree or your growth)and next Monday I will be testing for my blue belt. In order to do so I had to write a short essay. The following is what I wrote, plus a re-print of something I published on my other blog in January...

Tae Kwon Do is a commitment. When I signed up for my trial membership over a year and several belts ago, I didn’t really know what I was getting into. It felt awkward. Every stance, block, punch, and kick seemed complicated. Then I would look at the upper belts and think “I can’t do that. I’ll never be able to do that.” My commitment to TKD has meant having to unlearn limitations. I have learned that if I practice and practice that I can do so much more than I ever thought possible.

I have also had to learn discipline. During my first few belts, I was so excited to go to every class. Now, while I am still committed and proud of what I have been able to accomplish, sometimes it is hard to make it to class. Life happens. Meetings run late at work, or my other life commitments interfere. I get tired or just don’t feel like taking two buses to get to the Dojang only to get bruised up in sparring or frustrated that I am still over rotating when I do my turning side kicks. It isn’t always easy, but when I get beyond time constraints and low energy and make it into the dojang anyway, I always feel good about it. I never feel like I am wasting my time. I always feel like there is something new for me to learn or some way to improve upon what I’ve already learned.

I have also found an unlikely and very cool community in the people at my school. Last year, when I couldn’t afford sparring gear, one of the women in my class gave me a job babysitting her kids and within a few days I was able to spar. When I was having trouble getting the timing down on my form, another person took time before and after class to help me get it right. Now as I approach my test for blue belt, I find the newer members of my school asking me for help. It is a great responsibility and an honor to feel like I am contributing member of my school and that I have something to offer.

I have found strength in TKD. Not only am I physically stronger and more comfortable knowing that I can defend myself at need be, but I have learned discipline, self control, and how to engage in and provide support to my school community. I look forward to my blue belt and know I will prove myself worthy.

Breaking Boards
(As published on my other blog in January of 2008)

Mrs. P. is my Tae Kwon Do (TKD) instructor. She looks like an Amazon. She’s tall and thick with muscles from years of being a professional rower. Her hair is always slicked back in an efficient pony tail and her uniform is impeccably white. She is pushy. I remember the first time I walked into the Dojang a little over a year ago. It was like walking through the markets in Senegal and accidentally making eye contact. She latched onto me and she wasn’t going to let me leave without making a commitment to try TKD, so I did and after the first month I was hooked.

It’s never easy. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes I get frustrated because I’m practicing all the time and it doesn’t feel like I’m getting better, even though I know I am. When I first started I had to unlearn the stances and style of punching I’d practiced during my brief stint as a boxer. Since then, I’ve leaned how to stand, block, punch, and kick. I’ve earned my Green belt, which is exactly in the middle between being a white belt who doesn’t even know what things are called and a black belt who can practically levitate while kicking and spinning at the same time. More than the basic techniques and sparring, I’ve learned a lot about self discipline, control, and faith. There have been moments when Mrs. P has looked at me and asked me to do things I either didn’t know how to do or was absolutely convinced that I would never be able to do. I felt that way the first time I did a hook kick, but I also knew that if she asked me to do it, I didn’t really have much choice but to comply.

So on Thursday when I showed up to class and Mrs. P said we’d be breaking boards, I knew I had to do it, moreover I had spent the whole day excited and looking forward to it…..but suddenly I realized that as cool as it sounded, I really didn’t want to do it. I felt this intense rush of fear course through me. Who was I kidding? I was about to break my hand. Yes, I am strong, but I am still so sloppy sometimes. I over rotate through my turning side kick, my fingers are never close enough together when I knife hand strike. Even when we were doing warm up punches, I accidentally left my thumb sticking out too high on my fist so that I smashed it against the target, something I have never done before. I was mortified. This is stuff I work on everyday, but I’m not done working on it yet, so it occurred to me that I shouldn’t really be trying anything like board breaking.

Like I said, if Mrs. P. asks you to do something, you do it. Sometimes when she looks at me, I feel like she has these special BS goggles that see straight through my facade into my insecurities, which is why I wasn’t surprised that she picked me to go first. We had to do two hand techniques and two kicking techniques. I chose hammer fist and back fist. A hammer fist, as you can imagine, is when you use all your body weight and come down from above.

The Dojang got really quiet. One of my classmates held the board and Mrs. P explained what I was supposed to do, then everyone got really quiet again and I stared at the board. I took a deep breath and made a conscious decision to have faith in myself. My fist came down at the precise right angle and the board snapped in half. Everyone clapped. The second time I tried back fist. My fist hit the board and made a loud noise, but didn’t break. Thankfully neither did my hand. I came in at the wrong angle and didn’t follow through. It was embarrassing and kind of painful, but Mrs. P gave me that look and told me to do it again, so I did and this time I shattered it into three pieces that flew across the floor. It hurt, but I was okay. I broke two more boards, one with an axe kick and one with a side kick, both on the first time. When we had finished Mrs. P took the opportunity to dispel a myth. She said the reason we break boards isn’t about conquering a piece of wood, but rather it’s a very practical test of our ability to endure the impact of striking a solid object without padding. It’s seen as a type of conditioning. It made me think about all the other tests I’ve had in my life. Often I think about these challenges as something to conquer, when maybe it’s enough to be able to withstand their impact and get through them unscathed and with a little more faith in my own ability