| Subject: Isabel |
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Holly
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Date Posted: 15:40:43 03/04/01 Sun
*The Saga of the Black Belt Test*
Dear Anne,
You asked me in your last letter what I did over the weekend. I’m not sure that you would believe me if I told you. I
spent this weekend going through shugyo, an intense form of training meant to break you down and test your limits.
You see, this was the weekend of my black belt test in tae kwon do.
I’m probably not what you would imagine a martial artist to look like. Most people think of movies like “The Karate
Kid” or “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” or people like wise, old Pat Morita or death-defying Jackie Chan. What
they don’t picture is a thirty-year old woman of slender build and an intellectual disposition who actively dislikes
confrontation.
Yet there I was after seven years of training testing for my second degree this past Sunday. Fun thing to do on the
weekend, huh?
The day started at 6:30 am, when I got up to meet everyone at a local diner. (Ugh. I’m not a morning person.) The
test was to start at 8 and one of my fellow black belts (may her name go down in infamy) thought that it would be a
good idea to eat together and then arrive at the dojang (training hall) en masse.
I had been up until 2:30 am the night before finishing a set of essays that were part of the exam (What has training
meant in your life? Tell us in 50 different ways how wonderful you think we are for making you write this. That sort of
thing.) I also had to memorize one of my forms in Korean (oreun dwitkubi, kodureo bakkat makki). I stopped at
2:30 not because I finished, but because I thought I needed the rest. I never did finish the memorization and just
figured I would wing it. (First aspect of my character the shugyo laid bare -- I have a rebellious streak. More on this
below.)
Anyway, so I *did* get up, after fifteen minutes of arguing with my inner bed slug. And got my things together and
went to meet everyone. We had 11 people testing. 5 were testing for their first degree black belt (which meant they
had never gone through this before) and 5 were testing for their second like me, and 1 was going for his third. They
ranged in age from 11 to 45 and included four men and seven women.
Breakfast was sleepy yet tense, and I amused myself by noticing how the various people responded to stress. One
guy got snarky -- at me! Bastard. One girl looked really really worried. Me, well, I got clingy. I developed this
overpowering urge to hug people. It made me laugh. (Second insight of shugyo -- in times of crisis I like to comfort
and be comforted; third insight -- and then I laugh.)
So, we ate a bit (I had very little. I can’t eat before exercise.) and arrived at the dojang with plenty of time to fret. I
swallowed a handful of Advil as everyone got dressed in their uniforms (white pants and top, belt, tape around
various aching body parts) and we stepped on the mat. We had a group back rub (very soothing) and the test
started.
Master Partridge, my head instructor’s instructor, ran the test, as he had my first degree test. He is an amazing martial
artist, light and quick on his feet despite being a heavyweight, and inspirational in his enthusiasm for the art. He is also
very very tough.
We started with a nice hello. Then got some ribbing about something we did (more on this below.) and began in
earnest.
Our first hour was spent on basics -- blocks and punches going back and forth across the floor. It was a good
warm-up, though it got tiring after a while. We did a lot of funky blocks that we don’t usually do (Master Partridge
likes to *challenge* us. Sweet man. I am also convinced that he makes up things to watch us look silly.).
After the basics, we went on a run -- it was a hilly 6 or 7 miles (I don’t know exactly as they didn’t let us run the
route we trained on, but made us do another one.). That took over an hour. (Can I just say that I hate running? Most
miserable exercise activity known to mankind, in my opinion. It is my vision of hell.) Once everyone finished, we
made our way back to the training hall.
After our return, we did an hour of forms. Forms are a choreographed series of movements. Our school teaches the
Tae Geuk series, which has eight forms, plus the basic form that is the first you learn. Black belts also have their own
forms to learn. (this hour was grueling -- forms sounds easy, but *damn*. This section of the test made my best friend
there, who is like the Energizer Bunny on steroids most of the time, feel like quitting she told me later.).
Then came an hour of kicking. (Thoughts going through my head -- huff, huff, huff -- what the hell am I doing here? I
can’t believe I am doing this by *choice.* Normal people are still sleeping right now. Mental note: check out therapy
groups for both Overachievers and Masochists Anonymous.)
Anyway, that was the most difficult part. Four hours so far. We got a ten minute break. But little did we know that
we had four and a half hours to go. (I kid you not.)
People looked tired, but did reasonably well. One of the 1st degree candidates got sick and threw up in the
bathroom. She had made the mistake of drinking Gatorade for energy, but had never done so before, so her stomach
was rebelling. I was exhausted, but hey, it was nothing I hadn’t done before (remind me to tell you about beach
camp.) Generally in these situations I figure that if I’m not passed out then I can keep going. I swallowed more Advil,
ate a half a banana, drank some Gatorade, and went back. Of course, I cursed my instructors some. Made a pact
with the devil for more energy. But no biggie. (Fourth insight of the day: I am either a glutton for punishment or just
remarkably stubborn. Fifth insight: I honestly don’t know which.)
The rest of the test was taken up with sporadic activity and material we had prepared. First, each person showed
kicking combinations that they had designed. First and second-degree candidates had created ten combinations,
which we performed one-by-one, repeating each combination six times. This meant about twenty minutes more
kicking for everyone, with breaks while the others went. Twenty minutes may not sound long, but. . . My heart went
out to the third-degree candidate, who had been asked to prepare not ten but twenty combinations.
Then came the section where we performed self-defense movements that we had had to create. For first degrees --
10 choreographed self-defense scenarios. For second degrees -- that plus five knife defenses. The third degree had
to do twenty unarmed and ten armed. I had stuff on how to defend from a punch, a grab from behind, a choke, and
so on. For example -- a bear hug attack from behind. I would head butt the person, bring my foot up, scrape down
their shin, and stomp their instep. Then I would shift my hips to the side, do a groin grab or monkey pinch, and slip
out from the side.
After that, we put on our sparring gear. Full contact. This meant we had shin and elbow guards, a chest protector, a
helmet, and a mouth guard. In taekwondo, you pad the parts that will be hit, but leave your feet bare. It’s the
opposite in karate, where you pad the tops of the feet and shins. I always thought that was interesting.
So now we were going to fight. Each match started with one-on-one Olympic-style point sparring (or at least that’s
what all but one did) and then at a signal from Master Partridge another person came in and it was two-on-one and
the rules flew out the window. You could kick and punch, and grapple. The goal was to get people to the ground and
whale on them. What fun, huh?
Oh, did I mention that we didn’t just fight each other, but that new people were brought in just to spar us, people
who were there just for the fun of fighting us -- fresh as daisies?
There were some good fights. One girl actually got her two attackers on the ground and immobilized them -- sitting
on them. One guy got taken down in a beautiful wrestling move (one of his opponents was a college wrestler). People
tried lots of things, from hiding behind furniture, to running out the door, to getting their backs to the wall and trying to
protect themselves from there.
Let me tell you about my fight. Well, the one-on- one was just Olympic style sparring and it was a good fight. I was
facing a girl going for her second-degree who had actually tested with me for first-degree three years earlier. She is
16 or so, my height but more muscular. She’s generally tough and has a lot of spirit, but she’s got a bit of a glass jaw
-- she’s young and gives up pretty easily sometimes, especially if it hurts. Anyway, we were both very tired, but
fought pretty energetically. Master Partridge let us finish an entire round (he was stopping people earlier) so I think
that meant he had enjoyed watching. I enjoyed myself, actually -- I got a nice hit of adrenaline and felt almost peppy,
especially after I kicked my opponent once in the head (I have a reputation as a headhunter.) So, we didn’t keep
score, but I’m pretty sure I would have won if we were.
And then it was two-on-one. This part was kind of lame because instead of having fresh people, our fight was among
three tired candidates. We really took it easy on each other, I think. Plus, the girls I fought were both teenagers, and
they just aren’t as mean as, you know, thirty-year-old unemployed academics. So, it was two on one on Anna first.
We took her down. Then it was two on one on me. I just grabbed the chest protector of one of them (the one who
didn’t kick very hard) and kept her between me and the other one. It was easy and it worked. I didn’t get taken to
the ground and none of the blows that landed on me were very hard (not that I probably would have noticed much
anyway -- nice side effect of adrenaline). (Sixth insight -- I don’t like to do more than I need to.)
I should probably tell you that the kicks and punches in sparring don’t actually injure you. You are pretty much
protected, though you can potentially get knocked out or get bruises (bruises are common, but real injury from an
actual blow is rare). But mostly you get hit, and it’s just something you can shrug off in seconds. And, well, you get
used to being hit. And there are no punches to the head and nothing like finger breaks or joint locks. I came out if it
with some bruises on my forearms and one incredibly nasty looking one on my upper arm from someone grabbing me
while grappling. My husband says it is the ugliest bruise he has ever seen. It’s green and purple with red dots. I am
quite proud of it.
One of the most interesting fights was with the third degree. He had to fight three on one, and that wasn’t even the
worst he had had to endure. Earlier in the day, he had not gone on the run, but had done some sparring instead. The
instructors had brought in the toughest fighters for him, and at one point had him fighting six on one. He was getting
whaled on so badly that his wife had to leave because she couldn’t watch. I didn’t get to see that for obvious
reasons, but the later fights were pretty impressive. He has a good back kick.
Well, after that there was just one thing to do -- the non-testing students were dismissed and boards were brought
out for breaking.
For me, this was the heart of the test. Now this was not because I consider board-breaking very important, or even
indicative of much in terms of ability, but because I learned a lot about myself through those boards. Remember the
rebellious streak I mentioned above? Well, it came to the fore here. You see, I kind of tried to pull a fast one.
The night before, most of the candidates had gathered at the dojang to clean it in preparation for the test. While there,
we got a gander at the boards that we were going to be breaking the next day. Holy shit! Those boards were made in
hell, I swear. They were sticky with sap (wet boards are more difficult to break) and they weighed about three times
as much as a regular board. They felt *hard*. Everyone bitched and complained.
But what were they going to do, right?
What indeed.
I bitched and complained with the others, and when most left, I felt something in me *resist.* I didn’t want to break
those boards, but even more, I didn’t want my other candidates to have to break those boards. I thought of all the
work that everyone had done and about how unfair it was for our instructors to set the bar so high it was impossible.
I got angry and something in me snapped.
I decided to take action, and after discussing it with a few of my fellow candidates I drove to Home Depot with
Anna, one of the younger candidates. We bought and cut new boards.
Then we returned to the dojang and moved the evil boards to the closet leaving the good boards in their place. I told
myself they wouldn’t notice but mostly I didn’t care. We didn’t take much care hiding the bad ones, just moved them
out of the way in favor of the sane alternative.
Master Partridge got a tremendous kick out of it and praised our teamwork, saying it was a very good try. Then he
chastised us for not having faith in our abilities.
He found and brought out the hell boards anyway.
Some broke. Some didn’t. And I’m still not sure if he was right in telling us that we let the boards beat us before we
ever got on the mat. For me, that was beside the point.
(Final insight of shugyo -- After seven years of training, I’m free.)
The Saga of the Black Belt Test
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