Karate Chronicles

In 2006 I was trained in Shotokan, a Japaense karate style, for about a year.  The immense amount of understanding and knowledge gained will never outweigh the pain and difficultly I experienced. 

As I drove home at 6:15 one morning with aching neck pain and a clear mind, I decided to keep a log of my struggles in learning shotokan karate.  Thus far I’d been: ridiculed, mocked, embarassed, and sore.  I’d been made to do exercises in front of the rest of the class, not knowing whether my sensei was laughing because I was doing it wrong, or because I was doing it right and better than the black belts.  (Both had been true.) 

Some people think this way of teaching is degrading, but I disagree.  I think its nice to trust someone every so often, and do what they say, knowing it is correct and right.  Training was hard on me.  Every minute I was breathing “I hate this.”  But I felt my body getting stronger, my reflexes getting quicker, and my balance getting more solid. 

I was training 3x per week, the only white belt in the school.  This is my experience.1/2/06
    Sensei stood in front of me while I was doing these front/side kicks across the floor.  He never tells me what I’m doing wrong; he just stands in front of me making these awkward gestures which I have no idea what they mean.  This time, it seems my “fighting stance” wasn’t correct.  My hands were too high.  My feet were wrong.  He took me aside and “told me” through this 10 minute game of guesstures using a bent wire coat hanger.  During these explanations I’m not allowed to look at him.  I’m supposed to watch him through my peripheral vision.  It keeps you focused, I think.    
    I hadn’t sparred in a week, and I completely blanked out in front of my partner.  It was bad.  There was flailing arms, mispronounced japanese words, and accidental punches to the stomach (sorry dude).  As I was putting on my shoes after class I saw an elementary aged blue belt and asked him if he had school today.  He said “No, do you?”  He thought I was a high school student.  I quietly responded, “I’m a teacher,” and hurried out the door, avoiding his wide-eyed questioning look.

6pm
    I got to class late, and found sensei and two other students gathered around a chair in the studio.  I approached, was greeted with a smile and “yuuu ah-riiiite?”  He held three objects in his hands and was trying to explain something which seemed very important.  The objects were a fake gold miniature japanese sword, a gold colored pen, and a japanese paint marker.  He spoke for 45 minutes while the two students and I nodded, and shivered (its freezing in there if you’re not moving around).  I think he was trying to make the point that the pen is mightier than the sword, but I really have no clue.  When I asked the other students they kinda snubbed me, shrugged, and walked off. 
    The guy leading the training (which was cut to only 30 minutes because of our “talk”) went entirely too fast.  I’m still learning what comes after what… and his counting was rapid fire.  He tried to teach me some sort of kick.  Instead of doing it step by step, he just did it about 20 times, says “Okay, you,” and now I’m supposed to know how to do this.  I fumbled, about 10 times.  He looks at the clock and says, “Class over… tomorrow.”  I don’t know why he doesn’t use verbs.  He’s a middle aged white guy.

1/3/06
    I didn’t go to training this morning.  I woke up at 8 am, with the message “Missed Alarm” on my cell phone.  DAMN.  I’m going to get a beating tomorrow.  To make up for it, I will do situps and pushups before I go to sleep tonight.  And I’ll practice that damn kick.

1/4/06
    I didn’t do the situps/pushups/ or practice the kick.  But I did go to class this morning.  We independantly stretched for 15 minutes, and then sensei had everyone sit comfortably on one side of the room.  He showed us two japanese words on papers.  One was “meditation” the other was “contemplation.”  He turns off the lights, and we sit quietly.
    One light was left on, and sensei kneels beneath it.  In front of him is a wooden sword on a small platform.  He slowly takes off his gi top.  At this point, I’m already bugging out.  Just as I shut my eyes, I hear this stinging slapping sound 6 times.  It scares me, and I open my eyes.  Sensei is now holding the wooden sword with both hands, and smacking it full force over his head and slapping his back.  His back is red.  I look at the class.  They’re all calm.  I guess this is normal?  I get weirded out at the situtation, I shut my eyes and wait for him to stop.  He does four sets of six hits, and then another two sets of ten.  Afterwards he talks about how this method of “sazon” is “contemplation” and the other method of zen “meditation” is basically worthless and useless during battle.
    This morning brought up some fears of my own.  Fear of pain.  Sacrifice.  Loss.  I think he finally got his point across.  He explained about this for the entire hour this morning, without forgetting to mention I didn’t show up for class yesterday.  Towards the end of class we did a little sparring, and I finally got to pair up with the other girl in the class.  (Shes a brown belt, and a teenager.)  We were supposed to do things I wasn’t taught yet.  She was nice about it and attempted to show me.  Sensei stopped her, saying this was now training.  I didn’t understand, but went with it.  Then the black belts sparred.  It made me remember two summers ago when I trained at Columbia.  They had me free sparring on my first day.  I miss my group there more and more every class.  I took it for granted that all groups would train the same way.  I was wrong.

6pm
    I almost didn’t go to class tonight, since my past two have been mainly sensei lecturing.  I’m really glad I went.  Class consisted of a black belt, a blue belt, and me.  White belt.  Warmups went by quickly, I was superduperhardcorestyleeee (probably both because of sensei’s lashings, and finishing “Adrift,” a true story of a dude who is stuck on a raft for 76 days at sea.) 
    I masted my side kick.  It is fast.  It is hard.  It is steady.  It is pretty.  I moved kinda slow when doing these block/counter excercises.  At least I had the right foot / arm.  The blackbelt counted so freaking fast at the end, I got pretty mad.  I couldn’t keep up.  Sensei greeted us halfway through class, and proceeded to use up the final 30 minutes lecturing.  Tonight’s topic: our heart and mind are located in our chest, and our brain is in our head.  EXCEPT, when we are babies our heart is in our head until the umbillical cord is cut.  (His idea, not mine.)
    He also commented that I lift my head when I train, like an American.  He showed me how to put my head down so that my “horns” are pointing out.  When I did, he patted me on the shoulder, laughing and yelling, “Whaaat aare yuuu?  Chineeese or Korean?”  I didn’t know why this was funny, but I was pissing myself.

1/5/06
    This morning I was so close to not going to special training.  I tried to convince myself it was okay.  I pretented I was sick.  I pretended I was exhausted.  I tossed and turned for 20 minutes, then put on my sneakers, and was out the door.
    When I arrived at the dojo, something weird was going on.  Everyone was either kneeling in random spots on the floor, or exiting via secret doors to the parking lot.  I hurried and got my gi on, and sensei stopped me.  He showed me a paper that said “penance” at the top, and the japanese word for it.  He also showed me “zazon” from yesterday.  The lashings.  Oh no. He’s going to beat me now.  My mind races.
    He didn’t beat me.  I was told to kneel, concentrate on karate, bow, stand, and then run a lap around the parking lot barefoot.  This kind of penance I can handle, although there are shards of glass and rusted bits of metal to avoid in the dimly lit lot.  My feet were slowly dying, or so I thought.  Burning, freezing, hurting, I couldn’t tell, but it was not good.  I ran like, I don’t know what, trying to avoid slamming down on some unknown rubbish.  I trailed pebbles and dirt into the studio, only to find sensei motioning for me to kneel again.  So again, I concentrate, I run, I hurt.  Three cycles later, my feet are red, my nose is running, my hair is a mess, but I feel strong and able. 
    Basics were hard, especially when trying to avoid raw spots on your feet.  I sparred with one black belt I’ve never spoken to before.  He’s an elderly genteel man, grandfatherly.  He kept winking and whispering that I was doing a good job.  He helped me when i made a mistake.  He was so patient.  I like him.  I wish he could teach me, instead of crazy old sensei, who bytheway grabbed a blackbelt by his nuts from behind today.  He was using him as an example, but seriously dude?  I cringed.

1/6/06
    I didn’t go to training this morning.  My intestines are exploding.  Montezuma’s revenge.  Eff you, costa rican bacteria.

1/9/06
    We actually got through basics before being “talked to” for 45 minutes.  Sensei pushed my back down when I was stretching.  I didn’t realize how flexible I am.  He did, I guess.  He then told me I’m the reason he is teaching again.  Great.

1/11/06
    Sensei walked into the studio with a stack of papers.  He called for us to gather, and stated “I’m an artist.”  He drew a picture of a tree, a bird in the tree, and some lines showing the bird fell out of the tree.  At the bottom of the paper was drawings of four weapons:  a gun, an arrow, a stone, and a spear.  He asked us which we would use to kill the bird, to which I answered “the arrow.”  He went around and asked all the dudes.  Then he said he’d kill the bird using his “kia.”  (A kia is when you do karate and you yell AIIIIIIIII really loud.)  We spent the next 30 minutes kia’ing and doing down blocks.  In the beginning mine sounded like a dog yelping.  ai.  By the end of class my kia was the equivalent of hardcore vocals. aaaaaaaaahhhhHHIIEIEIAIIAI.
    At one point I was practicing my kata, and of course Sensei stops me and tells everyone to gather around and watch me.  He has me do the kata on his count, and then told me I have sexy eyes.  He forced the other dudes in class to agree with him.  They mostly just grunted, and looked at the floor.  I think he meant sexy… like hardcore, head down, hard face, I’LL KILL YOU, sexy.  I hope.  He still tells me I look like a korean bull.  I take it as a compliment.

1/13/06
    I entered class with my mind reeling, and my body sore.  I’ve been doing “pushups” which means like 8 of them.  And really only 5 GOOD ones.  I had a really crazy day with the kiddies, not realizing that Fridays are the equivalent to “Monday Night Raw” in daycareland.  Back to the dojo… I greeted one blackbelt by saying “good morning,” and it was 6 pm.  I didn’t even correct myself, I just bent down and started stretching.  It wasn’t even a good feeling stretching.  It was horrible.  Death pain.  But yea, thats just my frame of reference today.
    Anyway, I am working a lot on keeping my stance balanced and correct.  Its hard to do basics like this; most black belts count fast as hell.  Sensei talked alot today, mostly comparing the space between opponents to a tornado, or a hurricane.  I sparred with an old dude, who stared me down the entire time we were facing each other.  I realize this is correct form, but I was so uncomfortable… I kept wondering “What’s this dude thinking??”  Then I sparred with a blue belt who is about 15 with the most real a.d.d. i’ve ever encountered.  He rolls his eyes incessantly.  He tried teaching me how to kick during sparring.  He kept telling me what to do, especially when it was unneccessary.  I’m not used to all this structure and shit, so, as I’m sure you expected, I got mad.  I punched harder.  Kicked stronger.  I nailed him a few times, and yes I apologized and pretended I didn’t have control of my fists/feet. 
    I had to leave early, I was so tired.  As I’m standing trying to maintain a good stance, I feel my body swaying back and forth.  I can’t control my eyeballs rolling back into my head.  Everything was bright and hazy.  ICK.  I bowed out and took it like a man. 

    Sensei stood in front of me while I was doing these front/side kicks across the floor.  He never tells me what I’m doing wrong; he just stands in front of me making these awkward gestures which I have no idea what they mean.  This time, it seems my “fighting stance” wasn’t correct.  My hands were too high.  My feet were wrong.  He took me aside and “told me” through this 10 minute game of guesstures using a bent wire coat hanger.  During these explanations I’m not allowed to look at him.  I’m supposed to watch him through my peripheral vision.  It keeps you focused, I think.        I hadn’t sparred in a week, and I completely blanked out in front of my partner.  It was bad.  There was flailing arms, mispronounced japanese words, and accidental punches to the stomach ().  As I was putting on my shoes after class I saw an elementary aged blue belt and asked him if he had school today.  He said “No, do you?”  He thought I was a high school student.  I quietly responded, “I’m a teacher,” and hurried out the door, avoiding his wide-eyed questioning look.    I got to class late, and found sensei and two other students gathered around a chair in the studio.  I approached, was greeted with a smile and “yuuu ah-riiiite?”  He held three objects in his hands and was trying to explain something which seemed very important.  The objects were a fake gold miniature japanese sword, a gold colored pen, and a japanese paint marker.  He spoke for 45 minutes while the two students and I nodded, and shivered (its freezing in there if you’re not moving around).  I think he was trying to make the point that the pen is mightier than the sword, but I really have no clue.  When I asked the other students they kinda snubbed me, shrugged, and walked off.     The guy leading the training (which was cut to only 30 minutes because of our “talk”) went entirely too fast.  I’m still learning what comes after what… and his counting was rapid fire.  He tried to teach me some sort of kick.  Instead of doing it step by step, he just did it about 20 times, says “Okay, you,” and now I’m supposed to know how to do this.  I fumbled, about 10 times.  He looks at the clock and says, “Class over… tomorrow.”  I don’t know why he doesn’t use verbs.  He’s a middle aged white guy.    I didn’t go to training this morning.  I woke up at 8 am, with the message “Missed Alarm” on my cell phone.  DAMN.  I’m going to get a beating tomorrow.  To make up for it, I will do situps and pushups before I go to sleep tonight.  And I’ll practice that damn kick.    I didn’t do the situps/pushups/ or practice the kick.  But I did go to class this morning.  We independantly stretched for 15 minutes, and then sensei had everyone sit comfortably on one side of the room.  He showed us two japanese words on papers.  One was “meditation” the other was “contemplation.”  He turns off the lights, and we sit quietly.    One light was left on, and sensei kneels beneath it.  In front of him is a wooden sword on a small platform.  He slowly takes off his gi top.  At this point, I’m already bugging out.  Just as I shut my eyes, I hear this stinging slapping sound 6 times.  It scares me, and I open my eyes.  Sensei is now holding the wooden sword with both hands, and smacking it full force over his head and slapping his back.  His back is red.  I look at the class.  They’re all calm.  I guess this is normal?  I get weirded out at the situtation, I shut my eyes and wait for him to stop.  He does four sets of six hits, and then another two sets of ten.  Afterwards he talks about how this method of “sazon” is “contemplation” and the other method of zen “meditation” is basically worthless and useless during battle.    This morning brought up some fears of my own.  Fear of pain.  Sacrifice.  Loss.  I think he finally got his point across.  He explained about this for the entire hour this morning, without forgetting to mention I didn’t show up for class yesterday.  Towards the end of class we did a little sparring, and I finally got to pair up with the other girl in the class.  (Shes a brown belt, and a teenager.)  We were supposed to do things I wasn’t taught yet.  She was nice about it and attempted to show me.  Sensei stopped her, saying this was now training.  I didn’t understand, but went with it.  Then the black belts sparred.  It made me remember two summers ago when I trained at Columbia.  They had me free sparring on my first day.  I miss my group there more and more every class.  I took it for granted that all groups would train the same way.  I was wrong.    I almost didn’t go to class tonight, since my past two have been mainly sensei lecturing.  I’m really glad I went.  Class consisted of a black belt, a blue belt, and me.  White belt.  Warmups went by quickly, I was superduperhardcorestyleeee (probably both because of sensei’s lashings, and finishing “Adrift,” a true story of a dude who is stuck on a raft for 76 days at sea.)     I masted my side kick.  It is fast.  It is hard.  It is steady.  It is pretty.  I moved kinda slow when doing these block/counter excercises.  At least I had the right foot / arm.  The blackbelt counted so freaking fast at the end, I got pretty mad.  I couldn’t keep up.  Sensei greeted us halfway through class, and proceeded to use up the final 30 minutes lecturing.  Tonight’s topic: our heart and mind are located in our chest, and our brain is in our head.  EXCEPT, when we are babies our heart is in our head until the umbillical cord is cut.  (His idea, not mine.)    He also commented that I lift my head when I train, like an American.  He showed me how to put my head down so that my “horns” are pointing out.  When I did, he patted me on the shoulder, laughing and yelling, “Whaaat aare yuuu?  Chineeese or Korean?”  I didn’t know why this was funny, but I was pissing myself.    This morning I was so close to not going to special training.  I tried to convince myself it was okay.  I pretented I was sick.  I pretended I was exhausted.  I tossed and turned for 20 minutes, then put on my sneakers, and was out the door.    When I arrived at the dojo, something weird was going on.  Everyone was either kneeling in random spots on the floor, or exiting via secret doors to the parking lot.  I hurried and got my gi on, and sensei stopped me.  He showed me a paper that said “penance” at the top, and the japanese word for it.  He also showed me “zazon” from yesterday.  The lashings.  Oh no. He’s going to beat me now.  My mind races.    He didn’t beat me.  I was told to kneel, concentrate on karate, bow, stand, and then run a lap around the parking lot barefoot.  This kind of penance I can handle, although there are shards of glass and rusted bits of metal to avoid in the dimly lit lot.  My feet were slowly dying, or so I thought.  Burning, freezing, hurting, I couldn’t tell, but it was not good.  I ran like, I don’t know what, trying to avoid slamming down on some unknown rubbish.  I trailed pebbles and dirt into the studio, only to find sensei motioning for me to kneel again.  So again, I concentrate, I run, I hurt.  Three cycles later, my feet are red, my nose is running, my hair is a mess, but I feel strong and able.     Basics were hard, especially when trying to avoid raw spots on your feet.  I sparred with one black belt I’ve never spoken to before.  He’s an elderly genteel man, grandfatherly.  He kept winking and whispering that I was doing a good job.  He helped me when i made a mistake.  He was so patient.  I like him.  I wish he could teach me, instead of crazy old sensei, who bytheway grabbed a blackbelt by his nuts from behind today.  He was using him as an example, but seriously dude?  I cringed.    I didn’t go to training this morning.  My intestines are exploding.  Montezuma’s revenge.  Eff you, costa rican bacteria.    We actually got through basics before being “talked to” for 45 minutes.  Sensei pushed my back down when I was stretching.  I didn’t realize how flexible I am.  He did, I guess.  He then told me I’m the reason he is teaching again.  Great.    Sensei walked into the studio with a stack of papers.  He called for us to gather, and stated “I’m an artist.”  He drew a picture of a tree, a bird in the tree, and some lines showing the bird fell out of the tree.  At the bottom of the paper was drawings of four weapons:  a gun, an arrow, a stone, and a spear.  He asked us which we would use to kill the bird, to which I answered “the arrow.”  He went around and asked all the dudes.  Then he said he’d kill the bird using his “kia.”  (A kia is when you do karate and you yell AIIIIIIIII really loud.)  We spent the next 30 minutes kia’ing and doing down blocks.  In the beginning mine sounded like a dog yelping.  ai.  By the end of class my kia was the equivalent of hardcore vocals. aaaaaaaaahhhhHHIIEIEIAIIAI.    At one point I was practicing my kata, and of course Sensei stops me and tells everyone to gather around and watch me.  He has me do the kata on his count, and then told me I have sexy eyes.  He forced the other dudes in class to agree with him.  They mostly just grunted, and looked at the floor.  I think he meant sexy… like hardcore, head down, hard face, I’LL KILL YOU, sexy.  I hope.  He still tells me I look like a korean bull.  I take it as a compliment.    I entered class with my mind reeling, and my body sore.  I’ve been doing “pushups” which means like 8 of them.  And really only 5 GOOD ones.  I had a really crazy day with the kiddies, not realizing that Fridays are the equivalent to “Monday Night Raw” in daycareland.  Back to the dojo… I greeted one blackbelt by saying “good morning,” and it was 6 pm.  I didn’t even correct myself, I just bent down and started stretching.  It wasn’t even a good feeling stretching.  It was horrible.  Death pain.  But yea, thats just my frame of reference today.    Anyway, I am working a lot on keeping my stance balanced and correct.  Its hard to do basics like this; most black belts count fast as hell.  Sensei talked alot today, mostly comparing the space between opponents to a tornado, or a hurricane.  I sparred with an old dude, who stared me down the entire time we were facing each other.  I realize this is correct form, but I was so uncomfortable… I kept wondering “What’s this dude thinking??”  Then I sparred with a blue belt who is about 15 with the most real a.d.d. i’ve ever encountered.  He rolls his eyes incessantly.  He tried teaching me how to kick during sparring.  He kept telling me what to do, especially when it was unneccessary.  I’m not used to all this structure and shit, so, as I’m sure you expected, I got mad.  I punched harder.  Kicked stronger.  I nailed him a few times, and yes I apologized and pretended I didn’t have control of my fists/feet.     I had to leave early, I was so tired.  As I’m standing trying to maintain a good stance, I feel my body swaying back and forth.  I can’t control my eyeballs rolling back into my head.  Everything was bright and hazy.  ICK.  I bowed out and took it like a man.1/16/06
    So I’m waiting in gedan barai, a down block.  Waiting for instruction, lecture, something.  I’m staring into oblivion… imagining… I’m a V, I’m a bucket of water, I’m Japanese, I’m about to be fighting 16 hardcore dudes… all these different images.  And all of a sudden, sensei leaps into my frame of view, about 2 inches from my face, and starts screaming “OOOOIIIIAAAHHHHHHH…. WHAT ARE YOU??!!?  KOREAN??!!”  I jump like a foot, kinda let out a yelp, and he laughs for literally 3 minutes.  I just stood there, uncomfortable, not sure if I should laugh too (him laughing, is hysterical) or if I should yell back (I was in defense mode, time to counter.)  He just kept laughing, and brushed me off.  Continued with class.

1/18/06
    I didn’t go to class.  I had to work.  Instead, I did fist down pushups and leg lifts.  I can do 4 serious no joke pushups, which is a step in the right direction.  The final 6 are pathetic, though.  My body is a mess.

1/20/06
    So I’m doing my front kicks.  But…first, let me explain.  The studio is L shaped.  We typically stand on the longer line of the L to do basics.  Sensei taped down a new line, that cuts across the room diagonally.  It is very tricky to walk in a straight line when your frame of reference is all skewed.  So again, I’m doing my front kicks.  I was doing something wrong (surprise, surprise) and sensei calls the other students to gather around and watch me.  I blotch, I get nervous, I change what I was doing. 
    Suddenly, I feel light-headed.  My vision blurs and I can’t hear out of my left ear.  Everything is really bright.  I’m thinking, I must be having some sort of a stroke.  My eye twitches.  I’m swaying, I can’t stand straight.  Sensei calls, “Hajime,” which means begin.  I kick.  I still doing feel right. 
    Through the rest of class I felt off.  I kept hearing ringing in my ears.  Then Sensei wanted to help me with my kata… Heian Shodan.  At first, I’m sloppy (like a homeless person, says Sensei.)  Then, suddenly, I transform into a machine.  My feet are in place.  I’m solid on the ground.  My moves are fluid, and timed.  I’m AWESOME… or so I think.  Sensei and the black belt shake their heads.  SHIT.  I forgot to KIAAAAaaaa.  “Again.”  “Again.”  “Again.”
    I find out I’m being tested for the first time next Friday.  &$&jmp;#&&@  I have no idea what this entails, but I’m up for it.  Excitement and elation overwhelm me.  Watch out, colored belts.  I’m moving up. 

1/24/06
    I didn’t go tonight.  Instead, I went on a wild mariahunt through mccc.  I want to send a special thanks to this dude who walked me around for fifteen minutes, helped me “find” the art building, and ended our twenty minute relationship with a hearty hug.

1/26/06
    I’m screwed.  I trained for thirty minutes with the black belt who usually helps me.  We warmed up, and he ran me through what a typical testing goes like.  Attendance, basics, kata, then maybe sparring.  He critiqued my every move tonight; my knee is too far forward, my fist is turned up, I’m leaning too far this way, my stance is too narrow.  TOO something or NOT ENOUGH something else.  I’m a nervous wreck.  I’m going to blotch, freak out, and puke all over the studio floor.  EEEK!

1/27/06            GRADING
I did it.  I’m not dead, I’m sure you’re glad to know. Heres how it went:
    I walk into the dojo about an hour late, I had to work until close.  Of course those jerkface children made a huge painful mess during the final 2 hours of my workday, so STRESSED I WAS.  Adjective Noun Verb… it’s just how I do.
    Anyway.  I walk in, and grandfather christmas (the elderly genteel dude who was really nice doing kata with me before) is sitting next to sensei on the side of the room.  He’s helping him grade me!  Woohoo!  I feel an extreme connection to this man, and instantly am comforted as I kneel in sazon.  The brown belt doing his kata at this time is extremely precise.  He moves strong and confidently.  I feel less than miniscule.
    Elderly genteel man calls, “Melissa.”  I forget what my black belt told me yesterday, and call out a meek, “here.”  Sensei’s head is down and shaking in disapproval.  Great start, Melissa.  I gedan barai.  STRONG.  It’s a hardcore knee-not-too-far, not-too-far-back, bull-face, tense-fist stance.  I beast the hell out of basics.  I am on fire…  ::hot.hot.hot.hot.hot.hot.hot::  (Madonna’s “I’m burning up, burning up for your love…” runs through my head.)
    Sensei calls for me to do a side kick.  I turn left, prepare, and am called back to yame (starting position).  WHY?  He wants me to face where he is sitting.  EEK.  This is the first time I’ve ever attempted side kicks in this direction.  I feel like I’m upside down, and I screw the kicks up forreals.  Then, kata time.  I’m all mixed up… don’t know what to do… and such… so my kata is stupid.  I start good, but screwed up the first down block after three jaw blocks.  I knife-hand block.  Why, oh why, did I knife hand block?  I do not know.  But I did.  Next, I turned the wrong way.  After that, I forgot to KIA.  So I punch.punch.punched, waited about two seconds, and let out a ::yelp::.  It was pathetic.  I should have just skipped it, but I thought “What the hell?  I remembered it now.”  Then I let my senses guide me back to the final move.  Yame.  It’s over.  Sensei calls, “again,” and I’m happy to hear it.
    My second kata was better than the first.  Not the best I’ve ever done, and thats for sure.  I bow, sit down, and await my turn to spar.  I get called to spar with my black belt friend from yesterday.  His eyes will me begin, and do it correctly.  He’s staring intently, and I mistake Jodan (jaw punch) for Choodan (stomach punch) and confuse matters worse.
    To make a long story short, I was biting back tears as I sat in sazon after all was done.  I’m disappointed in myself, I could have done better.  I will do better next time.  I’ll be prepared.  I’m trying to get myself to promise to go to class at least 3x every week, no matter what.  I’ll try it.  I know for a fact that whenever I set limitations on myself, I do whatever I can (unknowingly) to push my own limits.  It’s complicated.  I am.  Too.

1/30/06    PURPLE BELT!  AIII!!  8th KYU! 
    Sensei unknowingly calls me “Martha” on a day to day basis.  So I wasn’t even the least bit surprised when he peeked his head into the studio asking, “Who’s Melissa?”  I turned around, smiled, and waved at him.  He looked quizically at me, and slowing retreated back to his office.  When he finally emerged, he entered the studio yelling something about “bow to front, bow to front.”  I bow.  So does everyone else. 
    He brings out a brand new purple belt from behind his back!  Me?  It’s mine!!  The class is clapping.  I step forward, bow to him, with an enormous smile on my face.  I get pats on the back, “Congratulations…” and such.  He wrote my name in Japanese lettering down one side of the belt.  It is SO badass.  I hurriedly put on the belt, meanwhile I’m doing the Melissa-crazy-happy-dance in the mirror.  Upon finally knotting that belt, I am transformed.  I AM A WARRIOR.  My forms won’t always be correct, and my stance may be a little bit off, but I have HEART.  As far as sensei is concerned, thats about 90  percent of karate.
    A funny senseiism.  He told me today “There are no weekends.”  I gave him a questioning look, and he explained.  “Monday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Friday,” then, “OOOAAHHHWW  YOU UN-DAH-STAAHN?!  YUUU AHHHH-RIIIIIIIIITE?”  Haha, I had to break a smile.  He compared this to his sleep schedule, and how he’s up at dawn every day.  He also compared it to his unflinching facial expressions.  He won’t give up on us, or so he tries to explain.  He will always help us, espcially the baby (me).  He calls us a family, and tries to explain how Japanese families are.  He wants us to be machines.  Unwavering, constant, true, and strong. 
    Meanwhile, I’m all coos-coos mush, thinking about butterflies and babies.  I have a long way to go.  But purple, hey, it’s a step in the right direction.   !!!
   
2/1/06
    As I’m stretching today, I realized how unhappy I am in the hip flexibility category.  You know that cold burning pain you get from stretching too far, wanting to keep going, but breathing hard, trying to keep yourself conscious, and not backing down? 
    We punched ourselves today.  A lot.  It sounds weird, but it’s supposed to act as a “wake-up call” and keep our minds focused.  Every time I punch, I knock the wind out of myself, meanwhile trying to laugh, but my lung feels collapsed and I don’t move or breath for a few seconds.  Sensei hit me in the stomach to model the strength of the self-punches.  I didn’t flinch.  It hurt.
    As you know, my face is typically slack.  I have roundness; it just hangs.  I know this, and I also know I make really weird faces when I concentrate on things such as playing guitar and dancing.  I’ve been told they’re pretty weird.  Sensei notices, and tells me to make one expression and keep it on my face all the time.  Seriously?  I try.  He says something I don’t understand, I raise an eyebrow *SLAM* Sensei smacks me upside the head.  “HAHAHA… YUUU AHH-RRRIIIEEIIIIITE?”
    I need to break in this new belt.  It’s just not tying tight enough.  I seriously flashed the black belt warming us up tonight.  I bend down to touch my toes, and I notice he’s looking up at me.  I wonder why the stare, just as I feel the draft over my half naked tummy.  EEK!
    My back hurts today.  Lower quadrant; Right side.  I’m not sure if it’s from lifting those heavy ass kids, or from overzealously stretching during warmup.  I need a serious massage.  Please.

2/3/06
    Sensei makes sense?  Suddenly, his analogies, language, and way to teach are comprehensible.  I get it.  I understand the purpose of talking about mawashigeri for thirty minutes while gazing at a tapastry with sumos wrestling.  I understand his quick rapid fire Japanamerican speaking (yes I made that up myself.)  I understand why I’m not supposed to ask questions or answer his rhetorical ones.  (Just for fun, I tried this tonight.  Sensei yelled and then threw a chair at me, landing very close to my foot.  AIIIII.)  I’m understanding… and dude… I’m turning Japanese!  I think I’m turning Japanese!  I really think so!

2/8/06
     I haven’t trained all week.  Work is crazy.  I hope sensei will forgive me… Heian Neidan is next.

2/10/06

    I think I might have some weird emotional eating disorder that definately affects my karate.  I ate KFC tonight.  I know you’re thinking, ew ew ew nasty.  But I did it, and it was wonderful.  Poor-abused-chickens deepfried in greasy, nasty goo.  I ate a value meal at 5:43, after an emotional conversation.  Needless to say, training was disastrous.  Farting, burping, acid reflux.
     I’m stretching, feeling the aftereffects, and Sensei calls me into his office.  I hustle over, imagining him beating me with that stick from zazon for not coming to class for the week.  Then, I remember that I haven’t paid the ten dollars I owe him for the last grading.  I step up to his office; he tells me to sit down.  I hesitate, and he takes a knife, a half-peeled apple, and a handful of tissues from the college-sized refridgerator in the corner of the room.  I sit.  He doesn’t say a word and begins peeling the apple.  Thin slices of red skin fall away leaving a clean smooth white fruit underneath.  He hands me the apple and knife, and I peel the apple.  I fumble with it at first, obviously I’m nervous and have no idea what this is leading up to.  I finally get a grip, and peel a smooth circle around the apple.  Without speaking, he motions to the knife movement, and then moves his feet on the floor into a front stance.  He motions again, making his movements sharp and swift.  He hands me the tissues to wipe my hands off, puts the apple away, gestures, and I follow him back into the studio.
    He verbalizes the analogy; “Before, you eat the fruit whole.  Now, you purple belt.  Peel.  Is more better.”  Or something to the effect of that.  He wants me to move sharp, and with purpose.  I feel a lightness when I train now.  I think, envision, move.  It’s like meditating, and I love it.
    At the end of class, we bow, and kneel into zazon, or sazon (but that makes me think of the spanish spice, so lets just say zazon.)  Sensei calls out “Dojo Kun” which is typically immediately followed by everyone in the class calling, screaming, yelling, and bellowing “DOJO KUN.”  Tonight, I was alone in the bellowing.  I almost died not laughing, but nobody else even cracked a grin.

2/13/06
    Should I feel violated?  Sensei definately punched me in the boob tonight.  More than once.  He was talking about how women and men are different.  Exemplifying the difference in physiques… and next thing I know, he punches me in the boob.  It didn’t hurt, but I was really weirded out.  
     I’m learning Heian Neidan.  It’s hard.  I must practice, and do the moves with conviction (the word for which I searched hours upon end in my jumbled up brain.)

2/16/06
    Tonight was two hours with just sensei and I.  You can imagine my comfort level.  (Wondering, will he punch me in the boob again?)  You can imagine how much I learned.  (An entire kata.)  I’m some sore of pro at heian nidan, now. 

    Sensei tried explaining that my brain is cockeyed, by turning a candle upside down (unlit) and makes the wax wiggle a little to all sides.  (The wax, in case you don’t get it, is my brain.  The glass, is my skull.  He portrays this by taping on dots to represent my eyes and nose on the glass candle holder.)  So he tilts the wax to the side, then tilts his head to the side, then pushes me a little so I fall off balance from where I’m standing.  This is how he sees my concentration; a little cockeyed, and a little off balance.  Then he pushes the wax forward, tilts his head forward, and pushes my head forward into natural stance.  This is how he wants me to be.  Closed off.  Protected.  Head down, like bull.  After this lesson, I was so hardcore all night.
    Sensei calls, “Come Martha, hurry, time to go!!!  HURRY!”  I struggle to put my jewelry back on, get dressed, not forget anything, bow to the studio, bow to sensei, slip my shoes on, and as I’m opening the door and the chime is chiming… I hear “Martha, come here.”  Sensei has a pair of scissors and is standing next to a fairly tall cactus that sits on the waiting room side of the studio.  He hands me the scissors, and gestures for me to cut off one specific thorn.  I do so, meticulously.  He smiles, and gestures for me to cut another.  I do.  The spots where the thorns were kinda puss white cactus juice as I notice the sweat dripping down the back of my neck.  Sensei smiles, nods, and says, “Martha, this – you.  Today, you cut.”  I bow graciously and thank him for the compliment.  Meanwhile, inside I’m seething.  About 65983745987 thorns stand belligerent and stare me in the face screaming “You’ve got a loooong way to go!  HAHAHAHAHA!” 
    I’m starting my journey, my way.  Eff what you heard.  Eff what you thought.  I’ll get to where I want to go, the way that is right for ME.  I don’t need anyone to get me there, or especially to tell me where there is.  Him, you.  Anyone.  I’m alone on this journey, and I’m doing just fine.  

2/17/06
    The way that Sensei counts NEEDS to be mentioned.  It’s always a mix of Japanese numbers and English ones, in the most random order possible.  He goes forward, backward, skips numbers, says some numbers twice in a row… its great.  Heres the translations, FYI.

    And this is how he counts:  ichi, nee, san, three, foooh, fiiiiieee, ku, ju, go, roku, sehvehhhn, eiiiiiiiight, ku, ju…. and every time it’s different.  He yells the numbers at different speeds and with variation.  For example, if he wants you to kia, he growls the number in this super-hardcore way.  Sensei is a nut, and I suppose he has every right to be… he has been a karate master for about a million years.  He reminds me a lot of a mad scientist, or maybe just a mad hatter.

3/6/06
    Tonight’s training was superobnoxious.  I hardly trained last week due to my death illness, so you can imagine my state of mind tonight.  (I was prepared to break a brick with my face.)  You can imagine my disappointment when sensei lectured for the E N T I R E class.  It was amusing, to say the least.
    It’s no use trying to explain what he meant by this series of analogies… since I have no idea myself.  Basically, sensei kept licking his fingers and hands in different ways (yes, licking.)  Then he would wipe his eyebrows, and get into stance.  He would throw a few punches, then begin his maniacal yelling, “YUU UHNN DAAAH STAHHHNNN?  YUUU AHHH RIIIITE?”  He had us licking our hands and rubbing our eyebrows all night.
    The highlight of the night came when sensei unveiled the three mirrors that are typically covered with curtains during training.  It’s strange going into gedan barai and seeing someone staring back at you.  It’s especially strange to see my own face staring back at me, and not really recognizing it.  It’s been awhile since I really looked at myself in a mirror, and I was surprised how strange I looked.  Sloppy, sleepy, and sarcastic.

3/23/06
    Bloody knuckles, broken bones, and smashed egos.  I found out this week that sensei was very well known in the JKA for his roundhouse kick.  He learned karate from a dude who is super high up in the ranks.  There used to be around fifty people training at my dojo… his training method in the 70s, 80s, and 90s was so hardcore that it eliminated the weak.  Only the determined and serious karate kids were left.  They all achieved black belts, and had a falling out with sensei.  They think he’s going senile (wouldn’t surprise me ONE BIT) so now  they train at 5:30 in the morning at Gold’s Gym in Lawrenceville (of course, the same town where I work.)  Some people tried throwing lawsuits against him for getting injured in his class.  (I’m told Sensei would headbutt you right in the face sometimes, or kick hard as hell to the ribs… thus the broken bones.)
     I want to train with the hardcore black belts!  I just can’t handle 5:30 am… or can I?  Should I try it?  Eek!  Sensei hasn’t been at class in a week, and I’ve trained harder than ever.  Drills and basics galore.  I LOVE IT.  I miss my columbia group who let me fight as hard as possible.  I miss understanding what my teacher is saying to me.  Sensei is good, but is he good FOR ME?

4/11/06
      I’m stretching out before class.  All five of us are in our own groove, doing our own thing.  I start thinking about how peaceful the dojo is when sensei isn’t doing his crazy shit.  Just then, I’m grabbed from behind. 
     Sensei has his hands on my shoulders as he shuffles me off the floor and into the office.  He sits me down in a chair, lifts my foot, and starts inspecting my legs.  At this point in our relationship I’ve learned to not question his weird antics.  Finally he finds what he was looking for:  my homemade tattoo on my inner left ankle.  It’s the most utterly unoffensive seven pointed star I’ve ever seen.  Hardly noticeable.  Sensei ties a piece of white cloth around it so my star is completely covered.  He shuffles me back into the studio, and has me gedan barai.  He rubs my back, and says something like, “Ohh.  Very nice.”  He then rushes me back to the chair, takes the cloth off, and off we go again to the floor.  Gedan barai.  He makes an angry scowl and shakes his head no.  
     For the rest of training sensei kept complimenting me on my spirit.  I felt strong.  I felt determined.  Never give up.
     Call me crazy for believing his nonsense, but I was totally feeling what sensei was saying.  Training is becoming more natural to me, therefore I have less and less silliness to write about.  I notice myself standing in kibadachi when fighting my brother in the kitchen.  I stretch and run through katas while my crazy children are napping.  I respond to verbal aggression with back stance and a knife hand block.  Doesn’t this seem strange?  Yet in the same breath, I feel great.

4/19/06
    A black belt, a brown belt, and I (a purple belt) wait in natural stance for sensei’s instructions.  We did not expect a twenty minute lecture on making our faces invisible.  Sensei slows his explanation as he moves about us, and stops in front of me.  He then begins a crazy tirade of excited yelling.  “Oooohh Martha!  Spirit!”  His next comment caught me offguard and made my day in the same moment: “You a man!  You are more man than real men!”  Ha!

4/24/06
    Sensei made a mention about our “little secret” at training tonight.  “Little secret?” I wonder, “what is this maniac talking about now?”  After ten minutes of sensei charades, I realized what he was talking about.  Last Thursday I trained from 7-8 pm.  Just sensei and I, training.  It was really good, he corrected a lot of things I didn’t realize I was doing wrong.  For example, I kick off-center constantly.  I didn’t realize it was because my balance is off, due to the placement of my hands.  I have to lower them.  Anyway.  At one point sensei had me up against the wall (in the most non-sexual way you can possibly imagine.)  He raised my legs to help me stretch my hips. 
    This is the “little secret” he refered to tonight.  He compared this special stretch-training to complimenting me, and slipping me a cookie without anyone else knowing.  Wierd.

5/3/06
    While I’m upside down, stretching before class, I notice Sensei outside the door leading to the parking lot.  He cuts down a long splice of bamboo that is growing in the yard.  I return upright, and now he’s inside, behind me, tapping this bamboo whip in his hand.  I get nervous, and turn my foot out a little while stretching / monitoring sensei from my peripheral vision.  WHACK.  “Feet in!”  Whipped by bamboo.  Yea, I’m hardcore.

6/13/06                GRADING: Part II
    Surprisingly enough, I made it to class fifteen minutes early tonight.  I felt somewhat prepared as I stretched out my sore post-hiking muscles: I studied the youtube kata videos for hours last night, hoping to gain insight.  I knew I needed to go over Nidan and Sandan, but didn’t realize how much review was neccessary.  I stretched and began walking through the katas very slowly, something like riding a bike after you haven’t in awhile.  At first I feel way shaky and weird.. but eventually familiarity wins out.  Little tricks and mnemonic devices come back to me.
    Sensei has been claiming I’m supposed to grade for the past three classes.  I’ve been out-of-my-mind-nervous for the past week (those of you who have been my stability, thank you.)  It’s my second grading, and if you read the first, well you understand my nervousness.  I’m extra nervous this time because I am grading on THREE katas instead of ONE.  PLUS, I didn’t fully realize this fact until last night.
    Sensei secretly watches me practice and mess up a particularly tricky kick/strike then knifehand block.  He comes up behind me and bellows, “OOooohhh MAHHRRTHAAA… testing today!  OOOooOOHH… it okay… you are fine,” while he massages my shoulders to relax me.  He’s right, I’m thinking, I just have to relax.  I breathe, loosen my shoulders, tighten my tummy… and begin practicing again.  This time, sensei comes to the side of me and begins critiquing my stance.  “More back!  Have spirit!”  Every time I tried to get through the kata, there was sensei, hollaring, “Must fix!  Test!”  Jeez sensei, if I wasn’t already scared and stressed enough.
    Finally, after two hours of training (really hard, might I add) it was time to test.  The other students sit on the side of the room and Sensei calls me to the front.  He is smiling.  I bow and clear my mind.  I’m ready.  HAJIME. 
    I do Nidan twice, the second time was effortless.  The first time, well, lets just say I ended up facing the wall when I was supposed to end where I began.  What happened?  I can only assume I turned 180 degrees instead of 270.  But anyway.  I corrected my mistakes and remembered most of the corrections sensei made tonight.  “Hips tucked.  Back straight.  Move faster.  Strong.  Turn foot in.  Kick more high.”  Yame.
    Now Sandan.  I am so tired and sweaty, I feel beads of sweat on my forehead gather and drip down my nose.  SPLASH onto the floor between my feet.  Ew.  HAJIME!  I move slow and break between almost every move.  I’m breathing uncontrollably, and loudly, I can sense Sensei’s disapproval in my peripheral vision.  Second time is way better than the first, and finally a few rounds of Shodan… for shits and giggles I suppose.
    After six full rounds of katas, it is now time for basics.  At this point, I’m hardly even trying.  I’m concentrating on not passing out from sheer exhaustion.  My muscles quiver, my face is red and sweaty, my vision blurring.  I am on auto-pilot, and I run through basics well under my ability level.
    After basics, it is now time to spar.  Kumite… with the crazy black belt who has been absent for a month and way too enthusiastic about being my sparring partner.  Miraculously I get a surge of energy, adrenaline I suppose, and I block and counter matching his enthusiasm.  FINALLY FINALLY, we bow out and kneel down.  SWEET RELIEF.  My second grading is over. 
    I suppose I could feel regret or remorse for not practicing more in the past three months, but I don’t.  I’m glad grading is over, and I’m looking forward to training with a higher level of intensity as a green belt.
    Green.  Growth.  Go.

6/19/06
    As I stretch before class, I meditate on Sensei’s actions earlier in the week.  He stretched in front of us, which is very strange, since sensei rarely does more to correct us than moving our arms, hips, legs, etc… like we’re some human-size barbie dolls.  He explained that this is his first time stretching in two years, post-stomach-surgery.  He goes down for a split, and stops about a foot from the floor.  He sits down, legs in a V, and starts pulling himself forward until his head is flat on the ground.  If you’ve never tried this before, go ahead.  It’s impossible.  My poor sensei is red, sweating, and breathing erratically.  His eyes are tearing.  He is in immense pain.  His hips appear to be disjointed completely.  He slowly sits up, and to my surprise, is smiling through tears.  He’s utterly happy he still has his flexibility despite age, years of inactivity, and surgery.
    So, back to me.  I’m thinking on how dedicated and positive one must stay in order to ever get anywhere.  I’m wondering if I really push myself as hard as I think I do… and if not… maybe now is the time to push even harder.  I decided to dedicate myself to stretching my hips and getting that stradle.  I’ve been working on it for years and years… throughout 10 years of dancing school.  I’ve plateau’ed, but sensei’s words ring in my ears… Never Give Up.  I push harder than I’ve ever pushed myself before.  I can’t breathe.  I squeeze all my muscles, tears are surfacing… yet I push further.  Beyond.  This should be my motto for life.
    Funny story:  In the studio there is a shelf way up high, housing miniature japanese-style decorations, vases, cups, and the like.  Sensei calls the brown belt to the front of the room.  He talks for a minute about balance, and about never giving up.  He asks the brown belt to get the cups down from the two outer corners of the shelf.  The brown belt reaches up, and his fingertips graze the cups.  He can barely reach them.  Sensei calls, “never give up.”  The brown belt pulls his sleeve out of the way, and attempts to raise higher on his toes.  His arms shake, and he pushes the cup back, instead of bringing it forward like he is attempting.  Ten tries later, he finally gets the cups down.  sensei smiles, and hands them back to him, “Put cups back.”  Hahahaha.  I’m cracking up, as silent as possible.  Sensei, a blue belt, and I watch as brown belt struggles for fifteen or so minutes… cups up, cups back, cups up, cups back again.  I’m sure this is teaching patience and balance… and I’m glad I wasn’t chosen for the activity… can you imagine?  The brown belt was so frustrated.  He kept shaking his head and exhaling all hard.  It took all my self control to stifle my laughter.  Sensei just stood nearby, smiling.

6/21/06
    Oooh three stories today: the rose, the coat-hook, and kiebadachi.  In our studio there are these three two-by-fours secured to the ground to practice striking.  They are distanced a few feet from each other, and wrapped from top to bottom with white belts and topped with black electrical tape.  Since I am a ‘young belt’ as sensei says, I am not allowed to partake in the punching of the wood.  I often find myself upside-down stretching and watching the higher belts do their crazy punches.  I can’t wait until I’m ready for such ventures.  But, back to the story at hand.
    Sensei begins training today by bringing out this paper-hat-stapled-sort-of-thing that he promptly fitted on the blue belt’s head.  It reminded me of the paper crowns I make for the kids if they have a birthday or something, only this hat has blinders that extend on either side of the face. (cue Dispatch:  “ I’ve got my blinders on tight, I pull my cap a little lower… I can’t hide away..”)  Sensei is montioning towards the straight-ahead… he wants us to stay focused when we stretch and train.  He gestures for us to stand around him as he punches that wooden torture machine.  He asks me to say “hit,” so I say it.. meekly.  His punch is strong and accurate… the ‘bang’ of the wood echoes.  Now sensei steps aside to the coat-hooks that are located immediately behind wooden devices.  He motions to punch the hooks.  Again he asks me to say “hit!” and I do.. with more fervor.  Quickly, he strikes the wooden device, steps aside, and fast and sharp strikes the rusted metal coat-hook with his right knuckle!  Blood, a little at first then more as time passes, surfaces over his fist.  Sensei is now laughing like a madman.  “See!” he growls, “Control!  Control!”  I’m not sure whether I should apologize for giving the order “hit,” run away scared, or watch on in admiration.
    Ahh the rose.  Later in class I overhear sensei telling the male students something about me and a rose.  I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but I think he was refering his bloody knuckles to a rose blooming.. something either about girls losing their virginity or getting their period, maybe?  “Only bloom once,” was definately part of this conversation.  I don’t know, but the black belt’s face turned red and the 13 year old blue belt wouldn’t look me in the eye for the rest of the class.
    In the spirit of saving the best for last, Sensei made a big deal about how awesome my keibadachi stance is tonight.  He said something like, “You black belt, you brown belt, you more older.  But she.  She more better keibadachi than big brother!  OHHHH!!!  YUUU AHHH0-RIIIIIITE???  YUUU UNNN-DAAHHH-STAAAN?!”  If you’re not laughing, you’ve never heard him say it. 

8/7/06
    Sensei referred to me as his “big mouth old girlfriend” this evening.  As silly as that sounds on its own; take it in context.  I’m stretching before training with another blue belt woman when Sensei approaches with a small folded paper.  He gestures towards his abdomen and shows us WOMB scrawled on a side of his paper scrap.  “Move womb up.”  O-kay sensei.  I think he’s trying to tell us to keep our stomachs strong, so we have more power behind our movements.  He calls for us to throw some punches… “Must have more spirit, more up.”  It’s up… it’s up.
    Now the bit of paper is flipped, and to my surprise (and slight disgust) TESTICLES is written in caps.  I’m too immature not to giggle.  This is what my face looked like: ?  Seriously.  He talked some nonsense about training with your testicles up and gestured throwing them over his shoulders… in my head I sang “Do your ears hang low?  Do they wobble to and fro? Can you tie them in a knot?  Can you tie them in a bow?  Can you throw them over your shoulder like a continental soldier?”  Hah.  oohhh Sensei.