Arriving at one goal is the starting point to another. ~John Dewey
When I started Karate a little over 4 years ago at the Power of One studio I didn't give thought to reaching black belt status. In the past, I would have only considered such a notion with cynicism and sarcasm, but I'm whole heartedly committed to the goal now. There have been plenty of obstacles, and I expect there will be more to face before I get there. After my latest belt promotion test, one shoulder dislocation, and a long night in the E.R. I am a 1st degree brown belt. Here's what went down.
After a hundred jumping jacks, sweat starts to drip down my forehead, and after a few more "warm-up" exercises the pool of sweat for which I have become infamous for, begins to envelop my spot in line on the studio's mats. Time, and all stressors in life disappear, and only to make evident the pursuit of flawless technique is of consequence. Strikes! Forms! And Techniques! Oh my! All the prerequisites of a belt promoting test in Karate. Every single strike is done with proper hand position, foot position and pivoting, rotation of hips, weight distribution of stance, and all in coordination. All at 100% effort.
The moment is intense, though you consciously make the effort to maintain calm and focus. Yet the thought, that moment in what is my very human, at moments very weak mind, and susceptible to all its corporal weaknesses, allows whispers of doubt to intrude. It is critical. It never relents in reminding me of that time I talked myself into staying on the couch, and missing class. That time I missed the opportunity to improve, reverberates across the consciousness of my mind. An insidious thought bomb ignites to thwart the struggle to rid myself of the old couch potato still festering within the darkest recesses of my soul - still holding on, gripped into my entrails in an instance of struggle during the test. But I still manage to temporarily shake the thought away as I roundhouse kick, "Wap!" into the pad, returning into fighting stance and just as quickly again..."Wap!" Into the pad, and again repeating the motion inhaling and exhaling as calmly and as efficiently as possible.
"Pad up!" "Quickly!" "Hustle up!" The commands echo through the studio from different directions, from which instructors I cannot discern, my only thought is to move! And breathe...deeply!
Oxygen!
Oh beautiful oxygen, I welcome you into my lungs, and the sentiment is intensely shared by every cell in my body. Thankful for this brief pause, I shove my mouth guard in place. Head gear, hand and foot pads on, I quickly run (though if I had to testify in court, I would more accurately have to say walked briskly), finding my place in line designated by the green belt wrapped around the Gi top drenched in sweat and still profusely dripping onto the mats as if several swimmers exiting a pool just walked by.
It was now time to spar. Karate point sparring. Already exhausted, a sense of excitement filled me. The thought of sparring always gives me butterflies. I hate it, and love simultaneously. I never want to hurt anyone, but it feels great to score a point, and it sucks to get scored on.
I've tested for rank promotion several times before, 5 times previously is my count. I've always had my doubts and fears. I've debated within myself whether this "hobby" is worth the risks of all the small nagging little bumps, and bruises. For awhile, I had even developed an inflammation of my sciatica nerve. It can be debilitating and can drive you crazy (If you've ever had it, you know what I mean). I was real close to calling it quits then, and in actuality I had, and was back to riding the couch deep, enthralled in the joys of ice cream dreams, and pineapple...well you get it. And I was sporadically attending class, if at all. But I had recommitted myself to see this goal through. On the night before testing for my brown belt I had one of those dreams where you don't really remember anything, but one or two things stand out enough to scare you a bit. In it, somehow I hurt myself, and I saw myself wearing a cast on my arm. I joked about it to my wife the next day before heading out. Nothing new about that with this self critical, pessimistic dude that is me. Walking out the door she says, "I'll see you at the studio..." I'm so clever I say, "...or maybe in the E.R." Slightly shaking her head she glared the "Whatever dumb ass!" look at me, as I walked away wondering to myself why the shit did I say that.
All of my muscles fatigued, lungs on fire, gasping for air, my heart pumping blood oxygen to the furious demands of every cell in my doughy body... it was now time to grapple. And again doubt and self defeating thoughts were creeping into my mind, but I shook them off. Starting on our knees we battle for position, and for a fleeting moment I thought I had secured a full mount, but was quickly reversed, and while I wasn't technically submitted I was being smothered, and in the weakest moment I have ever experienced while grappling I tapped... to nothing. Just the weight of my opponent. Near to being mentally defeated at this point, we reset. I did not want to continue, but I shook off that insidious whisper of self doubt once again. Grabbing my opponent's lapel, I fought against his strength, forgetting any technique, push-pulling to my left vying for that coveted top position, then...
Crunch!
That was the sound I heard and felt from my left shoulder reverberate throughout my entire skeletal structure. A sharp, intense pain unlike I have ever felt in my life. "My f&%$ shoulder!" Shouted the clever man on the studio floor near tears. I'm a big MMA fan, and I remember the fight between Big Nog and Frank Mir. Nog did not tap to a deep kimura Mir had him in and Mir just cranked it until it snapped. Nog being the beast of a man he is seemed to lightly tap after the fact, and just peered over to his shoulder with disappointment. That level of warrior, of manly man shit seems so out of reach, like it would be out of reach for a weekend warrior who enjoys pick up b-ball games trying to dunk a ball a la LeBraun James style. None the less, my shoulder dislocated with about 5mins of the test remaining, though it won me a one way ticket to the local E.R., I did receive my 1st Degree Brown Belt two weeks later at my first class back.
Oos!
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