Why am I happy about being exhausted? It’s because I’ve done more today than I ever dreamed possible. I’ve been pushed hard physically and was literally dripping with sweat after the end of a brutal three hour training session. Three hours every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday since May 26th. Jogging. Sprinting. Brutal arm, ab, and leg work. Kumite drills. Kumite. Kata. Kihon. Today I broke my records for the fiendish variations of push-ups that we do. On one fiendish arm exercise, I have suddenly gone from 12 to 26 reps. On another, I went from 10 to 20. Yet another – five to ten. I really can’t explain this sudden explosion in ability.
One week ago today I pushed hard to get to the number we were told to do, but I still couldn’t in spite of weeks of training and, most importantly, doing these exercises at home on non-training days. Sure I had improved since the first days of training, but last week I couldn’t do the number of reps we were told to do. I fought my weakness and I fought hard.
Something beautiful happened. Every time I struggled, one of the black belts came and physically assisted me so that I could finish the required repetitions. He did not let me collapse, which, in some of the exercises, might have resulted in injury. I was fighting so hard that I didn’t really hear the encouraging words, just the soothing tone. When I finished each exercise, I allowed myself three seconds on the mats, no more. I wanted to cry from a combination of frustration, relief, and from the sheer wonderfulness of having someone support and encourage me.
Thursday and Friday of this week the arm workouts were lighter and I did pretty well. Then came today – we were told to do what we usually do. And I proceeded to blow my previous records out of the water. At the end of each exercise I would say, “I can’t believe I did it!” Maybe it was the psychological boost from last week that made the difference? What do you think?
The stars didn’t align in the right way for me to go to the USA Karate National Championships this year. Nonetheless, sometime in May I was invited to train with those who are going. I did a tiny bit of this last year, but only on Saturdays. This year, I’m doing it all. Three hours on Thursday, three on Friday, and three on Saturday. Then there’s the “homework” I have to do so I don’t die over the weekend – jogging, sprints, working my abs, arms, and legs… It’s brutal training but fun. The format is a little different this year. We start with jogging for 15 minutes, maybe 20, I really don’t want to know. This is usually followed by sprints. We have to meet or beat our record time in three sprints, or else we have to do an extra sprint.
A week ago (Friday, 6/24/16), our coach (Affiliate YMCA Sensei) had us do a variation on our usual sprints. We were to jog about a block, then jog back, increasing our speed gradually so that we were at a full out sprint by the time we ended. He said the winner would get a rest.
The results were predictable and by age. The teenager came in first.
Sensei asked the teenager, “Did you win?”
She beamed back at him, “Ossu, Sensei!”
Sensei asked her, “How did you know you won?”
The young lady said, “Because I was the first one back.”
Sensei had everyone line up again, yes, even the “winner.” He instructed us to meet or beat our times.
The results were the same. I pushed myself hard and beat my previous time. As I fought to control my breathing and my rebellious stomach, Sensei asked a couple of my training partners if they’d won. They responded that they had. I didn’t have the energy or attention to puzzle out their responses. As I was sucking air and trying to hold down the small drink of water I’d had before we started, Sensei turned to me.
“Joelle, did you win?” he asked.
Still sucking air, I shook my head and scowled in frustration. Sensei briefly and gently chided me for lack of manners, then continued, “I think you did.”
Sensei went on to explain that we’re competing against ourselves. I had a “d’oh!” moment when he said that a win or loss doesn’t really matter. What does matter is what you learn, and if you’re better than you were. Sensei said we need to focus on our own karate and not compare ourselves to anyone but ourselves. This is something I know, but I had forgotten it in the face of an extreme (for me) physical challenge. How often have I blogged about lessons learned that were in accordance with what Sensei said? Yet in a completely different context, the lessons I’ve learned in the ring went out the window.
I definitely had an eye-opener about myself and the martial-arts mindset, and I have to humbly admit I’m still a beginner. Andrea Harkins is a master at applying lessons learned on the mats, and I draw a lot of encouragement from her blog. As much as I’ve read of her writing, and as much as I’ve learned from time spent on the mats, I still don’t always “get it.” But then again, to use the words of Jackie Bradbury, martial-arts growth is not linear. I just need to be patient with myself when I don’t quite measure up to my own ideals.
A recent blog post by my online friend reminded me of something I forgot to write about quite some time ago. Last summer my husband and I were invited to try out square dancing lessons. We could do three free lessons, then decide if it was right for us. The lessons fit into my Karate schedule, so this was perfect. My husband and I had thoroughly enjoyed a semester of ballroom and country dancing back in our college days.
Our first square dancing class was not ideal. It takes eight to make a square. There were eight people present, and four were new students. The caller was an hour late, so we spent half the class without music. That was OK, by then we were up to speed on a few basic calls, so when music was added we had fun.
Grab yer pardner Smash his face Bring yer leg ’round Turn in place Side kick left and Side kick right Do-si-do Hammer fist To yer right!
As a martial artist I found it fascinating to be moving cooperatively with a group of people. I had to continually curb instincts to take advantage of opportunities to throw, joint lock, or strike. I do have some experience with sparring against two people simultaneously and kata could, if one uses one’s imagination, be a fight against a group of attackers. Square dance was very different, that’s for sure!
We decided to give the group another chance and went back for a second free class. This time, the caller was on time, but we didn’t have enough dancers to make a square. Only two experienced students showed. The start of class was delayed in hopes more would show up. I practiced a lot of kata while we waited. When the caller gave up and started class, we limped along as best we could with what we’d already learned.
I have no idea why my husband and I went back for the third lesson. The first lesson we wrote of as a fluke. The second lesson we figured people had stayed home to watch the football game. We decided to use our last free lesson. This was it – make it or break it. Once again we had a dismal turnout with not enough folks to make a square, and only one experienced student. We quit – the high price tag was not worth it.
It was obvious the senior students were not interested in the success of the beginners. This is a club that has been around for years and boasts a membership of about thirty people. I’m betting it’s pretty much the same group that started the club in the first place.
Did you catch that, fellow martial artists? The more advanced dancers simply weren’t invested in the future of the club. New students weren’t valued. We left after only three lessons even though we probably would’ve enjoyed square dancing immensely. Please teach your senior students the value of coming alongside to help someone who is just starting – even if it’s just to be a partner in a drill or to run through a form before class.
The first time I saw the Spruce Goose, the largest airplane ever constructed, was in Long Beach, California. I think it might have been 1987 and a couple of months prior to that family vacation, I’d made the decision to quit Karate. If someone had told me then that at age 46 I’d be one belt rank higher and competing against people who significantly outrank me in a tournament held under the tail of the Spruce Goose, I’d have told that person, “You’re crazy.”
Life is crazy.
In 1992 the Evergreen Air and Space Museum acquired the Spruce Goose and built a new home for it in Oregon. Someone got the idea to rent part of the building for a Karate tournament. As someone I spoke with put it, “I’m spoiled now. Smelly old college gyms are never going to be the same for me again.” I agree. For one thing, there was plenty of daylight – I hate not being able to have at least some natural light. Best of all, we were surrounded by really awesome airplanes and jets.
I almost cried when I first saw the good ol’ Spruce Goose again after so many years. I’ve come so far in the last two years. Even though I’m only one belt rank higher, I’ve done far more than when I was a teenager. I am more than I ever was. I understand more but at the same time I’m dimly aware that there is so much that I need to learn. Yeah, I should not have quit then. But on the other hand, I would not be having the same adventures I’m having now.
My first lesson from the tournament was during the opening ceremony. Someone was complimenting the head of the organization that was running the tournament, or maybe it was the head of the entire style that organization studies – I don’t remember. But what I do remember is the gentleman saying this: If you say, “I can’t,” a Sensei says, “You can’t? Oh good! Let’s get to work!” Words to live by for sure.
As I started practicing my kata on the mats before the tournament began, I noticed a gentleman practicing Rohai Shodan. I enjoyed watching this gentleman practice because not only am I learning Rohai Shodan for my next belt test, but the gentleman practicing was from a different style and I loved comparing what he was doing to what I was taught. After the tournament began, we had the same idea – the staging area was not very busy, had plenty of space, and overlooked the main floor, so he and I headed up there to practice while we waited. The gentleman inspired me with his patient practice, so rather than loaf around, I followed suit. Both of us settled into our own rhythms of practice, watching the tournament, and walking. In addition to my kata, I occasionally threw head-level roundhouse kicks at a concrete pillar in order to practice hitting without harming an opponent.
Soon after my division was called to staging, the usual ladies from Oregon trooped in. Three times now they’ve driven four or more hours to beat me up, so this time I thought I’d make the drive myself so they could beat me up more conveniently. I have no idea why they weren’t at the last tournament I was in. That’s the only tournament this season in which I’ve won a medal. That said, they’re a neat bunch of gals, and it’s a pity we live so far apart.
Photo courtesy of Sami
While we were waiting for the competitors in our assigned ring to finish, I felt an irrational desire to run away. I breathed deeply and looked up at the tail of the Spruce Goose. I couldn’t quit, not with that huge tangible reminder of all the could-have-beens and all the regrets. I thought to myself, “I’ve come way too far to back out now. I’ve got to trust my training.” I looked around. The competitors in the ring next door caught my eye – they were in the division I was in last season. Yeah, the season when I won all those shiny medals. I watched them while they practiced and I concluded that I was exactly where I needed to be even if it meant not placing.
Four of us competed in kata, I tied for third place. I know I did wonderfully on my kata until I got off balance during one of the final movements. Of course I lost. After I exited the ring I had to remind myself to see the big picture. I first started memorizing Bassai Dai kata last winter and I’ve worked hard on it since. This is a kata most styles wait until black belt to teach – my organization requires it for the 5th kyu test. I have only begun to scratch the surface of it, and I’m improving and learning more. Yes, it was disappointing to wobble but I recovered and finished the kata with the proper demeanor – and that alone is something I can be proud of. I looked again at the huge airplane tail looming above the venue and knew that the loss was nothing compared to what I’ve gained in the 29 years since I last saw the Spruce Goose.
One of my fellow competitors bowed out of sparring, leaving only three of us. I didn’t get the bye – it was just as well because I get nervous watching other fighters before I’ve had some time in the ring myself. Once I’ve had a fight, I’m OK with watching. As we entered the ring, I looked at my opponent and knew I was in for a heck of a fight. I’ve seen her fight before and I’m fairly certain she significantly outranks me (competitors wear only red or blue belts for tournaments). I reminded myself I have more tools to use than I did at the last tournament. I happened to be facing the Spruce Goose as I entered the ring and took up my starting position.
The huge aircraft dominated the scene behind my opponent. I reminded myself again of how far I’ve come. I knew that in the face of almost certain defeat, I had a choice. Knuckle under and hope it was over quickly, or stay calm, do my best, play the game, and learn. I chose the latter.
I was right, it was a heck of a fight. I slipped and fell once and went to the mats again later because my opponent dumped me on my can for kicking too slowly. The first time I went to the ground, I rolled out of the way before my opponent could score three points. The second time I went to the ground, I saw an opening and side-kicked while I was still on the ground. Unfortunately the shushin had already called a halt the instant before my foot connected with my opponent’s abdomen, so I didn’t score. But at least I’d prevented my opponent from getting three points. I’ve never tried that before. All in all, I didn’t do too badly. She won with eight points, mostly punches. I scored five points – two with punches, three with my signature move (roundhouse kick to the head). Not bad. But I missed my coach, who is a Sensei at a sister dojo.
I’m not going into all the details about why my coach wasn’t there and all the assumptions that went down on both sides. I let Affiliate YMCA Sensei bring up the subject, and he did. “You need to learn to text me when you’re in staging,” he told me. What could I say but, “Ossu!” I suddenly understood the beauty and efficiency of that word. Frankly, if I’d made excuses, thrown blame, etc. I’d have still eventually ended up saying, “Ossu!” at the end (maybe after a bazillion push-ups). And really, I do need to move into the 21st century. My cell phone was in my car because I couldn’t imagine needing to make a phone call, I didn’t want to receive phone calls, and I didn’t want the phone stolen out of my gear bag. I totally forgot that a thief recently stole my credit and debit cards but left my “Dumbphone!” Anyhow, I still think push-button phones (as opposed to rotary dial) are pretty groovy, so it never occurred to me to call or text someone who is in the same building as I am. Go ahead and laugh.
So I came home with two bronze medals for losing the first rounds of both kata and kumite. Funny how that works, but hey, they’re nice souvenirs. The host organization had nice goodies for every participant, including Kung Fu Panda stuffed toys (I gave mine to my younger daughter*). But the best takeaways from this tournament were not the material things. The best takeaways were the lessons I learned in the shadow of the Spruce Goose.
Photo courtesy of Sami
* My younger daughter is autistic and has had a hard time controlling herself this school year. She has lashed out physically at people in her frustration. I gave her my Tigress doll from the tournament and talked with her about how Tigress never hits people for things like being told she can’t use a calculator to do math. I hope my daughter will remember that and think about it this summer. I might have to bring the stuffed toy out again before the first day of school. Time will tell, but my daughter really appreciated the gift.
Friday, June 3 was my two year “Karateversary.” I would have been training with the folks going to the USA Karate Nationals but before I was invited to participate in that, I’d already arranged my visit to Faraway Dojo.
I visit Faraway Dojo bimonthly. It takes a couple of hours to get there when there’s traffic, half the time when the roads aren’t jugged up. Last time I was there, Faraway Sensei went over bunkai (interpretation) for Bassai Dai kata (one of our forms) with partners. We continued that during the first hour. This was hands-on learning with partners, and I loved every minute of practicing these crippling moves (gently and without hurting each other of course). Later on, I spent half an hour writing it all down. I spent a good bit of Saturday morning refining and practicing Bassai Dai, and I think my time at Faraway Dojo has made a difference.
The second hour was spent on bo. I have only picked up a bo maybe six times in my life. But here’s the interesting thing – I didn’t have much difficulty following along with the bo kata. I’ve learned two new advanced katas since the last time I was at Faraway Dojo – the day after I earned my green belt. I was making connections right and left, and I found that a good bit of what I’d learned empty hand translated well to the weapon. We finished up with a drill where we had partners and clacked our weapons together. I learned quickly not to visually track the weapons, but to see my partner as a whole and respond accordingly.
The time flew by. It was a great way to spend a “karateversary!”
Wednesday 6/8/16 was the last day of two academic years with College Dojo. At the start of the 2014-2015 academic year, I asked College Sensei if I could work out with his class in order to solidify my basics and get in shape for an upcoming tournament. I ended up staying for quite some time. Last Spring, the black belt who assisted College Sensei with the class retired. In February, the brown belt assistant moved away. This left me as Sempai. Getting a little more authority in College Dojo was a major motivation for me to test for my green belt a couple of months ago.
The last day of every quarter, College Dojo holds its own belt test. Usually College Sensei has me working out with everyone as a kind of practice run for me. This time he decided I could be of more use as an assistant. I didn’t do much, but what I did saved him some time. For one thing, he didn’t have to come up with a fiendish combination of techniques and stances for me to do 🙂 I did a couple of little tiny tasks. The biggest thing I did was console a young lady.
This young lady was supposed to test today. Unfortunately, on her way to the dojo, she fell. She came hobbling into the dojo late. I was able to quietly console her and give her information about the upcoming belt test at my Home Dojo later this month. After this I was very, very glad that I wasn’t working out with the rest of the class!
I was, however, needed to spar with a young man who has dumped me on my can a few times. The rest of the candidates were too low in rank and I am also the best match for his height. I had been quietly warming up off to the side, so I was ready for the match. He acquitted himself well and I was pleasantly surprised that I didn’t get thrown even once. I barely had time to shed knuckle pads and mouth guard before I had to hustle to the front of the dojo.
Presenting newly-promoted karateka their new belts is an honor usually reserved for black belts. For four quarters now, the honor of presenting the new belts at College Dojo has been mine. I have wonderful memories of being presented with my new belts, and I feel incredibly honored filling the same role as some of my favorite black belts.
One thing I must get used to is college students are in transition. I said some goodbyes. I “grew up” with a few of the colored belts (students who continued beyond earning their two quarters of credit). These “siblings” of mine slowly filtered out of Karate over the course of this year, and now the highest-ranked among them (as of today only one rank my junior) is moving away. I’m sad about this, but maybe some of the newer students will stay on awhile. Time will tell.
The stars didn’t align in the right way for me to go to the 
Still sucking air, I shook my head and scowled in frustration. Sensei briefly and gently chided me for lack of manners, then continued, “I think you did.”
I definitely had an eye-opener about myself and the martial-arts mindset, and I have to humbly admit I’m still a beginner. Andrea Harkins is a master at applying lessons learned on the mats, and I draw a lot of 
The first time I saw the 
Life is crazy.
I almost cried when I first saw the good ol’ Spruce Goose again after so many years. I’ve come so far in the last two years. Even though I’m only one belt rank higher, I’ve done far more than when I was a teenager. I am more than I ever was. I understand more but at the same time I’m dimly aware that there is so much that I need to learn. Yeah, I should not have quit then. But on the other hand, I would not be having the same adventures I’m having now.
As I started practicing my kata on the mats before the tournament began, I noticed a gentleman practicing Rohai Shodan. I enjoyed watching this gentleman practice because not only am I learning Rohai Shodan for my next belt test, but the gentleman practicing was from a different style and I loved comparing what he was doing to what I was taught. After the tournament began, we had the same idea – the staging area was not very busy, had plenty of space, and overlooked the main floor, so he and I headed up there to practice while we waited. The gentleman inspired me with his patient practice, so rather than loaf around, I followed suit. Both of us settled into our own rhythms of practice, watching the tournament, and walking. In addition to my kata, I occasionally threw head-level roundhouse kicks at a concrete pillar in order to practice hitting without harming an opponent.
The huge aircraft dominated the scene behind my opponent. I reminded myself again of how far I’ve come. I knew that in the face of almost certain defeat, I had a choice. Knuckle under and hope it was over quickly, or stay calm, do my best, play the game, and learn. I chose the latter.
