001: I set an Unbroken Record
I hold a record in the martial arts for the state of South Carolina.I set my incredible record when I still wore the brown belt that marked me as a serious student of tae kwon do. One of our instructors, a man with a fourth degree black belt, was explaining to me how to correctly block a punch in free sparring.
We stood close to the front of the narrow training hall. Harsh summer sunlight poured in through the two wide front windows; the floor of the second story training hall rattled as students kicked and punched at each other. Sessions in our conservative, military-style tae kwon do school could get wound up, and this side bar tutoring session was my first moment to get my breath. Though dry-mouthed and drenched with sweat from the ninety minutes of vigorous practice, I tried to be attentive as the assistant instructor explained the principles of moving to the side rather than moving straight back to avoid a punch.
Meanwhile, other students, all in pairs, danced back and forth, traded kicking combinations, and punctuated the steamy air in the training hall with shouts and grunts. The badly framed glass doors occasionally shuddered as some of the heavyweights crashed into each other. The odor of after shave, men's deodorant, and human sweat permeated every corner of the room.
I had my eyes fixed right on his fist as he talked. He had huge fists, the size of bricks. As he swiftly stepped in, fist cocked, he assumed I was going to step back. But suddenly I remembered, "Hey! I have to pick up a dozen eggs tonight!"
Wham! The last thing I remember was the unique weightless feeling I experienced when my feet left the floor. I couldn't see anything, but I heard a loud crash when my shoulders hit the wall where the American flag was hung. My vision, slightly out of focus, returned as I slid to the threadbare carpet. I lay there for nine minutes with my eyes open, unable to move or speak. Nobody had ever heard of anybody being knocked out for that long, not in South Carolina, so that was a new record.
The instructor who had hit me, Dr. Phil Roberts, was a professor of English Literature from Furman University. He had often helped me with advice on my English papers for school. He stayed right over me, his face terribly worried, pleading with me to answer him, asking me to follow his finger with my eyes if I could. (I could.) One of the other black belt men retrieved a cup of water and brought it to me. But as I lay there staring helplessly at the ceiling tiles, he finally drank it himself. At last, after nine minutes, I suddenly gagged, let out one sob, focused my eyes on Dr. Roberts, and said, "Comma?"
Technically, when ever a martial artist gets hit, its his or her own fault, but most men that I've known in the martial arts get very upset with themselves if they hit a woman too hard. As the woman on the receiving end, I must admit that I like this chivalrous attitude in men and think it should be praised where ever it is encountered.
I have earned my fourth degree black belt in tae kwon do, and my heart still belongs to the same school, which practices a very conservative type of tae kwon do. We call it a military style. Our staples are fast power kicks that strike with the heel of the foot or the ball of the foot We also have a whole arsenal of jump kicks and flying kicks.
At my peak, I trained myself to break five boards with a hand strike. I've even broken concrete twice. And I could break three boards at a time with a kick. None of these skills ever made me unbeatable. None of them made me a super woman, and none of them proved a thing about my worth as a human being. Martial arts for me was always a quest for inner excellence. The only person I really need to defeat and control is me. Everybody else can look after himself.
Tae kwon do trains ordinary people and makes them do extraordinary things. It is a martial art born of a nation who suffered ruthless oppression for decades, and yet one of its major tenets is the command to extend mercy, even to one's enemies. This tremendous martial art has helped me to fight and subdue myself, and it has taught me to demand excellence of myself.
Tae kwon do's great secret is that every ordinary person hides an extraordinary person locked deep inside. The story of my school, from its founding by Billy Hong in 1964 to its present day, is simply a story of very ordinary people learning and doing extraordinary things.
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