I am a Black Belt.

I still can't help but to feel pretentious saying that but, in August 2013, I indeed earned a 1st Degree Black Belt in Karate with the Power of One studio in Long Beach, CA.

No, I can't kick over the top of your melon.  No, I can't do the splits like Van Damme.  No, I can't break a block of bricks with my head (or with any other part of my body).  No, I do not think I can fight in the UFC.  No, I do not know of any superior technique to defeat all others.  And no, much to my dismay, no, I do not know how to throw a smoke bomb and vanish without a trace confounding any would be attacker.  (My inner 10 year old boy is sorely disappointed about this fact).

I am however, more at ease with myself than I was nearly 5 years ago, before I ventured into the dojo.  There's no kidding myself now.  I now know I decide how I feel.  I now know I can challenge my mind and body more strenuously than I thought possible, and believe in my abilities to meet any challenge I dream up.

I have been putting off writing this entry trying to come up with a cool, creative way to describe the journey, to come up with decorative elaborations of what I mean in the previous paragraph.  My 2 cents  is this...shut up, get on the ride and lock the door behind you.

There were times when I was ready to quit.  There were moments that sucked.  I verbalized my doubt and created in my mind every excuse why I couldn't.  I lost weight.  I gained weight.  I was a lazy bitch (most of the time you're your own worst obstacle).  There were hundreds of bumps and bruises (of the body and ego), sprains and tears, literal blood, sweat, and tears, and one dislocated shoulder.

But it's the ride maaan! (insert cool hippy/cosmic guru voice here)  It's the ride.  Abundant were the moments I wanted to jump off, the regret would have been unbearable.  The mental gymnastics I engaged in my mind, such wasted efforts to justify quitting were so silly, and embarrassingly lame. (Only in hindsight now, because I was fully justified in my mind then).  And that's just it, in order to understand who you really are, and not what diluted projection of what you think you are, you have to put yourself in the uncomfortable.  The amount of bullshit you can conjure up becomes very limited when you are forced to "put up or shut up".  You can't improve if you don't know, or won't admit your short comings.  Testing for Black Belt in my studio has been one of the best vehicles for such a task.  I am thankful for every sweat soaked hour spent on the mat, and every single person along the way whether they were student or teacher.

The foundation has been laid.  No longer can I accept to be static.  Movement must continue.  I will continue to write, continue the martial arts, continue to better myself and my family.  More tools are at my disposal, more projects to undertake.

Oos!

  

Fearful, Loathsome, Lazy, Weak, Fat, Soft, Sloppy, Disheveled, Petty, Pathetic,

Sad, Slow, Sloth, Inept...Finite!

I want to be alive!

I want to die.

I want to overcome!

I want to wallow.

I want to stand tall!  I want to be strong!

I want to jerk off.  I want to eat ice cream.  I want to sulk.

I want to fight!  I want to be powerful!  I want to feel true joy!  I want to smile!

Fuck! I quit.

No!  Not today!

First Degree Brown Belt

First Degree Brown Belt


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!

     Fatherhood, nursing and martial arts define my life.  Home is a wife and two kids, Mady and Tristan, results of me and my wife’s “sexcursions”…uh, I mean loooove.  Okay "ewww!", but that’s what happens, penis plus vagina equals more humans.  They are equal parts sources of love and joy in my life, and stress and irritation.  I’ve managed to be able to put diapers on them, by making a living changing diapers.  I am a registered nurse.  Yes…there is more to nursing than changing diapers, but my goodness I do change a god awful lot of diapers!  (More than any manly man should ever have to).   I’m also a “recovering” couch potato…and if you ever saw me at my heaviest you wouldn’t think I had ever recovered from anything but a Hostess’ Zingers driven food coma. (mmmm…Zingers…and an ice cold cup ‘o milk! Shut up!).  At 33yrs old, 5’9” weighing a very plump and jiggly 2851bs, man boobs and all I attended my very first martial arts class.  Most of my time as a dad and in my career as a nurse I have to be in touch with my softer, more “man gentle” side.  After all I’m the guy taking care of grandma when she’s sick in the hospital.  But the Ying to my Yang was off balance.  Beyond out of shape, I also needed some “man time” for myself, and though it sounds a bit cliché I thank my kids for inspiring me to change and begin my journey to becoming a Black Belt.
     My daughter is now all of 8yrs old.  Out of the blue when she was about 3yrs old she came up with her own little karate jingle.  It went something like this,  “bing, bing, bing, I can do ka-raw-tee!…you can ask my mommy…bing, bing, bing!”  Maybe it doesn’t sound cute to you, but at 3 my little girl oozed cuteness.  It remained quite cute and charming through the first five thousand times she sang and danced her little jingle, and sometimes it would be followed by, “…Daddy, when are you going to sign me up for Kaaaa-raaw-tee?”  Two years later, as sick of hearing that jingle as anyone with ears would be, I relented and we took a “Mady and Daddy” trip to what is now our second home, the Power of One Karate studio in Long Beach, CA.  There we met, for the very first time, “Mrs. V” who took Mady through an assortment of what I assume were Karate “tests”.  She did well.  She loved it!  Dad signed her up, laid down a cool chunk of change and everyone lived happily ever after.  Uh…no.  

     Dressed in black gi, wrapped together by her white karate belt, Mady looked adorable.  With her scrunched up little mean face, in horse stance she’d punch at the air upon the instructor’s command and belted out a high pitched ki-ai.  Her first year at the Power of One (Po1) studio there was a very noticeable improvement in her confidence.  Most importantly, she was having a lot of fun punching, kicking, learning about dealing with bullies, and fending off strangers.  On occasion after class we would see some of the older kids and even adults during their karate classes.  It looked like fun.  I couldn’t help but on occasion to get caught up in entertaining the thought of “doing” karate myself.  I would get nostalgic about being 8 or 9 years old, watching Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris movies and remember how I would fantasize about becoming a Karate or Kung Fu master.  As kids my brother and I had been given (I don’t remember from who),  some type of Asian style pajamas as a gift.  Like comic book superheroes who dart out of sight and change into their costumes to reveal their superpowers, we became ninjas once we had on our “Kung Fu P.J.s”   Jumping over couches, swinging our arms wildly, kicking pillows through the air dangerously close to mom’s table top collection of glass adornments, and flinging cardboards cutout ninja stars at each other we were ninjas not to be messed with…in our own heads at least.  That is, until those fantasies came CRASHING down once someone “accidently” got kicked in the balls unleashing the banshee cry of pain, and then the real Kung Fu master of the house (yup, mom) would come in  stompin’ and screaming, “chancla” in hand, wielding it like a Mexican Miyamoto Musashi  (Oh did she master the ways of strategy of  “chancla” beat downs!), “Stop that right now before you kill each other or break my crystal!  And take those stupid pajamas off!”

Day earned my blue belt. Ooss!

     Anyhooooo…  Childhood scars aside, I had daydreamed of learning how to kick ass as a kid, but now my daughter was actually doing it, and making it look fun.  I managed to put the down Ho-Ho’s, Twinkies, Zingers, Cupcakes, and BBQ Potato Chips (Yes, all ‘o that) for a bit, and signed myself up.  When you’re 5years old there’s no repercussion to your body from kicking, punching, jumping and falling on purpose even.  But at 33 and pushing damn near 300lbs gravity becomes a son of a bitch!  I have been a student of karate at the Po1 studio for a little over 2 years now, and have shed blood, sweat, tears and fat off my ass, literally.  I’ve earned my blue belt up to this point.  There have been ups and downs throughout, be it work, family obligations, or injuries.  During and after achieving my blue belt in October of last year I dealt with a severe sciatica pain flare up.  I went through pain meds, acupuncture, and chiropractic therapy.  After a couple months the pain finally subsided, but my motivation was not where it was prior to testing.  I was inconsistent in my training, I was not making good nutrition choices and was putting back weight I had worked so hard to get off my frame.  Those hostess chocolate pastries full of yumminess call me to the “Dark Side” of the couch now and again.  Like Lord Vader I’m finding my way again from the Dark Side and finding Balance, chucking them Ho-Ho’s over rail into oblivion.  I’m not letting up.  I have no room for regret.  I will have that Blackbelt around my waist.


We all must suffer 2 pains.  The pain of regret or the pain of discipline.  
The difference is discipline weighs ounces while regret weighs tons.
                                     - Jim Rohn (courtesy Po1 Facebook page)


     I’m back on the wagon now.  I’m scheduled to test for my Green Belt June 24.  Putting the Zingers down, stepping away…Now Let’s Do THIS!  OOSS!