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I was archiving old blog posts when I ran across this one from February 2015, when I was eight months into my training. In the introduction of that post I wrote:

“I am not always comfortable with sharing my inmost thoughts… I don’t like opening myself up. But I’ve met enough of you to know that if I do step out of my comfort zone a bit I will come out better for what I’ve learned from you.”

I sat bolt upright in my chair and read the whole post. In that article I wrote that I had been waffling but eventually decided to go ahead and write about a punch that, fortunately, missed my sparring partner. I outlined how I processed my feelings about knowing that I could inflict great harm so unexpectedly early into my training.

Further down, I read my words:

“I have a feeling I’ll be revisiting this issue and working through everything that goes with it throughout my karate career. Am I correct?”

Oh I was absolutely correct. I read through to the end:

“If even just one person can benefit from what I’ve written, it’ll be worth everything.”

I had no idea how much my own words from my past would benefit my own self nearly two and a half years later. I stopped archiving old blogs and started typing the draft of this post. I had been waffling about writing this blog post, but I saw the courage I had then.  You see, shortly after my last blog post I landed in the same position I was back in February 2015:

“It was tempting for me to just never let anyone know [about the lethal punch that didn’t land], but this blog is about the experiences of a beginner. Sometimes us beginners have to deal with hard things.”

I still consider myself a beginner. My belt rank (currently 4th kyu – an intermediate rank) says I’m not a newbie, but there’s still a pretty wide gap ability-wise between myself and a shodan (1st degree black belt). I’ll still consider myself a beginner after shodan because I’ll still be learning new things. And yes, sometimes us beginners have to deal with hard things.

Earlier this month I accidentally injured someone while we were sparring.

It took me quite a number of days to process everything that went with the accident. Some people were concerned that I was taking it too hard. I dragged myself to the dojo and was grateful whenever my fellow students showed they weren’t afraid to work with me – particularly the teenagers of both genders. I received advice from sensei (instructors, plural).

One kind friend wrote, “Perhaps try to look on this as a liminal (transitional) experience if you can? You are becoming Joelle who has the genuine ability and power to hurt others; and to be a woman who can live and thrive well beyond the tight, dreary rules about what “femininity” is supposed to look like.”

I know very well that transitions can be hard (e. g. college to working world) or downright brutal (e. g. puberty). If we play our cards right, we come out better people for what we’ve learned. As another confidante put it, “As we used to say in the mountains of western North Carolina – sometimes you get the bear; sometimes the bear gets you. Just try to be better than you were the last time you met a bear.”

An interesting phenomenon to note is that the gentlemen I’ve confided in are quite pragmatic about the whole situation and about what I need to do and not do. There are some women who echo the gentlemen’s perspective. But most women have a different take on the incident. My opinion is that this difference in perspective exists because most boys grow up with rough-and-tumble play in which they injure themselves and each other fairly frequently. I simply listen to what everyone has to say and I try to learn from all.

“I have a feeling I’ll be revisiting this issue and working through everything that goes with it throughout my karate career. Am I correct?”

Yes, this has already happened nearly two and a half years after I wrote those words. Furthermore, I’ll bet some day I’ll have to counsel my own students through a similar situation.

On this blog I’ve been loosely translating “sensei” as “instructor,” but a better definition is “one who has gone before.” Sometimes being the one who has gone before means you’ve walked down some roads that nobody should walk down (but we’re human, so we do walk those roads sometimes). From raising my own children I know this is true. Sometimes your darkest moments and deepest regrets enable you to effectively counsel your children if and when they face similar situations in their own lives. I deeply appreciate the sensei (plural) who have said what needed to be said about what I did, especially if it was hard for me to hear. I am learning how to handle this situation so that when my own students go through it, I will have the tools to help them.

As a side note, I’ve been treasuring the continued confidence of a young girl kohai (a student lower ranked than oneself). She was a witness to the incident and immediately afterward she was the one who insisted that I take care of myself.  She brought me a damp towel and told me to clean up so I could see if I myself had an injury.  She has not been afraid to work with me during subsequent classes.  Her trust has helped me to regain my confidence.  Some kids just goof around and don’t do much then they quit. Some kids stay, and boy are they molded and shaped!  Hats off to my young kohai.

Two men were closing in, angling me in the direction I didn’t want to go.  They were taller than me and they meant business.  I tried in vain to position myself to where the evening sun would be behind my back, shining in their eyes.  Eventually I stopped trying for the optimal position.  For an instant, the three of us were still.  I only had a heartbeat to make a decision.  As I drew breath I threw myself forward and sprinted between the men.  On my right, a brief flash of pain as my thigh absorbed a kick.  The left sleeve of my jacket slipped between the other man’s fingers.  I was free, running down the soccer field like a rabbit.  I ran towards cars, people, safety.  I was grateful for all those times Sensei (the title for a karate instructor) had me sprint uphill, trying to beat my best time.  This sprint on a level field was much easier.

I laughed around my mouth guard.  My little experiment was a success.  I ran just far enough to make my point, then turned back.  I raised my padded fists in challenge to the two tall men, who were closing in once more.  The whole point of the exercise was to engage, to experiment in a mostly safe way, so I threw myself into the fight.  When circumstances permitted, I tried sprinting again.  Sometimes I got away, sometimes I got caught.  I learned the ideal times and relative positions for running away.  This was as close to street fighting as I care to get.

Quite frankly, common sense, not Karate, has kept me alive for 47 years.  First my mother’s common sense, then my own.  To date, I have had to make a decision to fight or flee only once.  The decision to run kept me alive.  So in this more-or-less safe setting I practiced fleeing.  But I also practiced fighting – after all, this was my chance to experiment with that too.  My fellow students pressed me hard, and Sensei called a halt only when I was clearly exhausted and overwhelmed.

You learn a lot about yourself when your brain refuses to believe that you will come out of the situation with only a bruise on your thigh and some grass stains on your gi.  I really am my own worst enemy.  I’m glad I am learning how to deal with this in mostly-safe settings.  That evening, yes I fought terror, but there were also moments of elation when something I did worked.  Like when I got thrown to the ground and I twisted away from one opponent while planting both feet in the stomach of the other, pushing him hard with my legs.  The elation I felt when I regained my feet was sweet.

So what did I learn about fighting in a life-or-death scenario?  I learned I can’t be “nice,” otherwise I’m toast.  I was “nice” to my two senpai (more senior students).  I didn’t target joints, the throat, or (cough cough), um, “that.”  I didn’t use very many techniques against these gentlemen because I don’t trust my ability to perform some of the really nasty joint-shattering things we learn from kata (forms) unless I’m going slowly in a highly controlled drill.  So if I couldn’t kick knees, punch throats, or grab wrists and slam elbows, that left me with…  Not much of anything.  But conquering my opponents and looking like a superstar really wasn’t the point of this exercise.  The point was to come as close as we could to real fighting without harming each other.  The point was to see what worked and what didn’t work in a two-versus-one scenario.

Eventually it was my turn to be one of two opponents against someone else.  Again I was the smallest of our group of three, and the only lady.  My partner and our opponent fought hammer and tongs.  I darted in at the worst possible times for our opponent.  Sometimes our opponent saw or heard me coming and had a counter, sometimes he didn’t and I’d get a quick (light, controlled) hit to the kidneys or face.  A dark glee rose up in me when our opponent went down.  I have to admit at one point I even crowed, “He’s down!” and punched his nose (lightly).

Later, when I was driving home and processing things, at first I felt a little ashamed of this dark glee.  I thought, “Two against one isn’t really fair, after all.”  But then I realized that there is a time and a place for two against one.  It is always OK to stop evil from happening.  If the bad guy is outnumbered, too bad for him.  Learning how to work with someone to bring someone else down is a valuable exercise.  Processing the emotions that the successful execution of violence brings is also a valuable exercise.

I’m not sure I quite understand all the aspects of that dark glee I felt, but I’m working on it.  I don’t think I can explain it – and I tried while writing the draft of this post.  Most importantly, I’ve come to terms with that particular emotion and I recognize it has its place.  I’m very glad I had a more-or-less safe setting and hadn’t actually hurt anyone.  I wonder if policemen and soldiers sometimes feel this dark glee.  I wish I could ask my late grandpa (a WWII veteran) about it.

What we learn in Karate is not just physical.  I’ve come to appreciate being pushed and being pushed hard.  Quite often, the most difficult physical exercises lead to the deepest lessons.

On a lighter note…

While I was watching the first trio of fighters I heard a little boy call out, “LOOK!  A black belt is fighting two guys at the same time!!!”

Ya know, when I got through with my fight, nobody shouted, “Hey look!  A slightly-lumpy middle-aged matron survived being beaten up by two big guys!!!”

Life just ain’t fair…  LOL!

It’s not unusual for me to lead warm-ups at College Dojo (a community college Physical Education class).  At such times, College Sensei (instructor) might take attendance, get equipment out, consult with people who are sick or injured, or do other tasks he needs to do.  If he finishes quickly, he might then quietly go to the back of the class and follow along with us or warm up on his own.  Other times, College Sensei will take the space in line that I just vacated and he’ll do whatever calisthenics I have the rest of the class doing.  Recently when College Sensei took the sempai (most highly-ranked student) position in the lines and I took his place in front of the class, half my brain was involved in choreographing, leading, and doing the warm-ups.  The other half of my brain was engaged in observing and analyzing.  I noticed things I never noticed before.

During the early weeks of each quarter, the vast majority of the college students taking this Karate physical education class are still not used to acknowledging commands with a loud “Osu!” (in this context it’s the equivalent of “Yes, Sir!”) and they don’t quite know how to echo the Japanese counting of each repetition of the warm-up exercises.  New students need second-quarter students and more highly ranked karateka (those who study Karate) to model these behaviors.  Recently, College Sensei was in “my” spot in line and he was doing an admirably spirited job of modeling dojo (Karate school) etiquette.

I have to admit, hearing College Sensei, one of the more highly ranked karateka in our organization, shouting “Osu!” in response to my commands was, to me, both a little jarring and a tiny bit amusing. Given the vast disparities in rank, experience, knowledge, and ability between him and I it’s like a sergeant giving orders to a general!  I hadn’t really noticed my internal response to this situation before.  Maybe I’ve led warm ups so often that I now can devote some brain power towards internal reflection and observation.

As I listened and observed while sweating along with the class, I started feeling grateful for College Sensei’s spirited modeling of behavior.  I noticed the class growing more confident in responding with “Osu!” More students tried counting in Japanese.  I invest quite a lot into my kohai (students who are more junior in rank) and I’m glad to see them learning.  College Sensei was helping my kohai along, and their positive response helped me be a cheerful and spirited leader.  I really appreciated his support.

Knowing that College Sensei was giving the class a boost made my job as warm-up leader pleasant.  I experienced the positive “glow” of doing something together with a whole bunch of other people.  This is a very real phenomenon – I’m sure doctors can tell you all about the endorphins that are generated and the physiological responses such as lowered blood pressure.  All of this is very healthy for one’s mind and body!  I’m not sure I want to know the physical things that lack of spirit does to one’s mind and body.  All I know is it’s not fun.

Within the dojo and outside the dojo I’ve been both a student and a teacher when students (including me) are dragging a bit.  Nobody’s engaged, nobody’s having fun.  New concepts don’t sink into a brain that’s bogged down.  The instructor starts to wonder why he or she bothered to come to class.  Every class has its “off” days, but these can be turned around if someone takes it on him or herself to support the leader.  This is absolutely the job of the senior student(s) but really, everyone should take responsibility.  Even one person with good spirit makes a world of difference.

I find it interesting that there are lessons to be learned even during warm-up exercises.  Certainly as a student I’ve learned lessons during warm-ups.  When I was a teenager I first learned how to lead warm-ups by simply running through our sensei’s usual routine.  Of course I learned leadership skills and self-confidence even when all I did was run the class through a warm-up routine I’d memorized.  Last year I suddenly found myself in the role of senior student at College Dojo and I’ve gone beyond what I’ve learned as a teen.  I’ve been adjusting my leadership style and developing warm-up routines that work for College Dojo.  I have a feeling this will be an ongoing process.  But now there’s something new in me.  I’m starting to think about the psychological things that are going on not just with me but with the whole class.  I have a deeper appreciation for how my sensei (plural) are supporting me in my own development.  I hope I remember these lessons so one day I can help someone else grow into the role of senior student and, eventually, a sensei.

From time to time I need to be reminded that how we conduct ourselves in the dojo (karate school) is utterly foreign to a lot of people.  There are many people who are good-hearted but at the same time tend to struggle with remembering basic manners.  The more martial aspects (like shouting “osu” and having a hierarchy) will be alien to most.  At least three times per year I am reminded of how new students might view dojo etiquette.  In college dojo we get new students every Fall, Winter, and Spring quarter.  College Dojo is a Physical Education class that students take for credit.  Two quarters are offered, and we occasionally have a student or students audit more quarters just for fun.  So assuming on the first day of the quarter we have College Sensei (instructor), me (almost three years into my training), two second-quarter students and one auditing student…  What might we look like to the new people?

Student A speculates, “Is this some sort of cult?”

Student B wonders, “That’s not how we did things at the dojo I was in when I was a kid.  Which dojo is right?  Which one is wrong?”

Student C overdoes it and does some extra bowing.  Just in case.

Student D inwardly scoffs, “What a bunch of baloney!”

Student E nervously thinks, “All this is really strange and I’m feeling a bit intimidated.”

Student F tells himself,  “I’ll just roll with this and cheerfully do the best I can.”

I’ll bet you can spot my least favorite type of student among the five.  Yep (groan) – Student D.  That said, sometimes it’s that student who will often inspire me to explain things the rest need to learn.  Student F is pleasant to deal with, but if everyone were like Student F, would I remember to explain dojo etiquette?  Maybe not.

So why do we need to think about and teach the reasons why we do what we do?  It’s not just to reassure Students A, C, and E or to give Student B a deeper appreciation for the diverse world of Karate.  We could dissect each rule and discuss its origins and benefits (and that’s a fascinating study for some of us), but what it all boils down to is etiquette benefits everyone.  Etiquette provides a framework for building respect.  This includes respect for those who have learned more, for those who haven’t learned as much, for facilities and equipment, and most of all, respect for one’s very self.  Also, etiquette keeps things running smoothly.  Not only that, simple rules like bowing to Sensei (and Sensei bowing back) paves the way for the future – not only the future Karate career of the student, but also the future of the dojo and/or organization.

As I get more and more involved in helping with various things, I run into more etiquette.  Here are a few examples.  Deferring to the dojo’s Sensei on matters that are not mine to deal with.  How to treat VIPs.  The relational dynamics of sub-groups (such as a fundraising group interacting with the yudansha-kai).  Inter-organizational etiquette.  Working with service providers (recreation centers, catering, special event venues, etc.).  Fortunately I have any number of mentors to help me navigate the trickiest situations.  Those mentors have many more years of experience than I do, so I trust them.  And yes, sometimes the etiquette lessons “sting” a little bit because I’ve crossed a line that I shouldn’t have.  But if I learn my etiquette lessons well, my cooperative and respectful involvement will help the organization run smoothly so we can keep on having fun things like tournaments, seminars, and camps.

Remember these characters?  Id and Super-ego?  Long-time followers of this blog will recognize them from this post and from this post.

Sensei (instructor):  Everybody down.  Push-ups.  Hajime (begin).

Id:  Ugh.  Push ups.

 

Super Ego: Let’s rock & roll!  We’re getting stronger!

 

Id:  Aaaaaugh!  Sensei isn’t saying “Yame (stop)!”

 

Super Ego:  Chill.  Get ‘er done.

 

Id:  No more strength!

 

Super Ego:  Modify.  Keep going.  We’ve got this.

 

Id:  Ohhhkaaay, but I don’t know how much longer…

 

Super Ego:  Hey, you know what?  We’ve improved since last week – we’re doing more!

 

Id:  Oh man, seriously – now there’s nothing else left to give!  Ahhhh, sweet floor, how I love you.  Man, it feels good to lie here.

Super Ego:  We’re going to try anyway.  Rrrrrrgh!  Fight it!  Oh, look!  Here comes help.

 

Id:  That’s not HELP – that’s Sensei!  We’re DOOMED!

 

Super Ego:  You be quiet – I’m listening to Sensei.  He’s explaining how to do this.  KIIIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAIII!  There, see!  There was one more push-up in those muscles.  Sensei said to stand up now.

The sound that came out of me was unlike anything I’ve ever vocalized before.  It was a cathartic roar that came not from my throat but from the gut.  I’ve learned a little bit about vocal techniques from singing, so I know I could have damaged my vocal cords if they’d been tight.  Of course there wasn’t tension in my throat because the cry came from my gut.  Among other things this exercise was meant to teach us how to kiai properly.  But I gained more.

I was charged full of energy and ready to learn.  I usually am able to lock my problems in the locker along with my street clothes, but that day I was still dragging when I came to class.  With that one yell I shed the weight of those problems right off.  Afterwards I was focused, clear-headed and light-hearted.  My attitude had turned around.  I was full of wonder at what I’d just accomplished.  With a little encouragement from Sensei I won a battle with myself (the Id and the Superego).  I’d pushed beyond what I’d thought was a limit.  I admit I was feeling a little proud.

[sound of a record needle scratching]

I hear you asking, “Wait – you felt good afterwards?  Don’t you think your sensei was being mean by making everyone do all those push ups?”

I see you reaching for your phone to call the funny farm.

Sensei wasn’t making me do anything.  I could have walked out, changed back into my street clothes and driven away never to return.  That was totally an option.  I could’ve flopped around in a half-hearted effort and been scolded for it – that was totally an option too.  But I value my training.  I also respect myself and my Sensei.  So my “Superego” overpowered my “Id” and I listened when I was told how to get one last push up done.  Once again, I learned I am capable of more than I think.  It’s a lesson that I need to keep on learning because I am human.

Sometimes in life we face adverse circumstances.  We might think we’ve hit a limit and we’re helpless to do more.  We might be right – there are some circumstances that are too dire for anyone to overcome.  Or…  There might be enough strength left to fight back.  Sometimes we need someone to remind us of that and to help a little.  Our challenge afterward is to pass on what we’ve learned to someone else who needs to hear it.

After class was over I felt more equipped to face my real life challenges.

Interestingly enough, within two days very positive progress was made with those problems that I’d dragged with me to class.  The progress wasn’t due to anything I did – if anything it was the prayers of good people (yes, including Sensei), the grace of God, and a whole bunch of recruiters who called my husband so often that he couldn’t finish taking notes from one conversation before starting another.  But I could’ve done a lot of damage to myself and to my husband in the day before the phone started ringing off the hook.  The positive experience of getting through a physical challenge helped me find that strength.  It turned out that I just needed strength for one more day, one last push.

Do you still think Sensei is mean?  Well, you’re entitled to your opinion, and my Id actually agrees with you.  But my Superego knows better.  My problems aren’t solved yet, but things are looking better.  Even if my family and I end up putting four boxes and the dog into a car and driving off to another city, we will find the strength and courage to face that.  But I have a feeling things won’t come to that.  I think this could very well be the last push up.  I am roaring my battle cry in victory.