007 Toughening up
We trained in a long, shoe-box shaped room on a second floor over a bar. Two long front windows let in plenty of light as long as the day lasted. The rough floor, carpetted with worn blue carpetm boasted almost no padding. The reinforced glass doors stood open most of the time, our only ventilation. Only very rarely did Mr. Hong turn on the air conditioning.The training hall, or dojang as some call it (but we just called it "the school"), was paneled with cheap brown paneling and hosted a tiny office and two small dressing rooms in back. There were no showers. During my first couple years there was no water fountain. Mr. Hong brought a water dispenser to each class. When we lined up during the break, it was always "ladies first."
I thought I knew what is was to train hard. In Shotokan, I had punched and kicked my way through fatigue and the protests of burning calves and aching arms. In the summers I had sweated until the water dripped off my cotton uniform.
But even my most serious and ardent training in Shotokan had not prepared me for training in military style tae kwon do. Imagine an aerobics class where every time you lift your foot it should be at head or at least chest level. And furthermore, every time you raise your foot that high, you must focus all your power in a sudden constriction of muscle and breath.
I learned to explode forward as I kicked. But there were differences even in the kicking theories between Japanese and Korean styles. Mr. Hong told me again and again to get my hips over when I side kicked, and I didn't know what he meant. Finally, he grabbed me by the hips and flipped me so that I pivoted as I kicked.
"Like a mule! Like a mule!" he exclaimed
Then I understood. A mule puts its head down, points its butt at its target, draws up both hind legs into itself and then shoots them straight out to kick, all in a split second. In tae kwon do, we keep our heads up, but everything else is the same: draw the foot high and tight, knee to the chest and heel to the backside. Then turn with the hip as the target finder, point the butt at the target, and kick out with the heel. At the end of the kick the heel, hip, and shoulder should all be in a straight line. That's how the power travels. The hip actually directs the entire body. In Japanese karate, we called side kicks by that name to indicate that they were directed off to the side. In tae kwon do, a side kick is thrown at whoever is in front of you or behind you, but you throw it by pivoting yourself sideways to the target.
Before and after class, Mr. Hong greeted each student by name, enquired after our well being, sometimes told us funny stories. Once we had lined up by rank and bowed in, he became a tyrant.
The first week, I got sick in every class I attended. The pace was so fast and the air so thick with sweat and heat in the badly ventilated room that I nearly fainted in the middle of class. I later found out that the need to go out and sit on the balcony to get air was a common ritual for the new students. Mr. Hong never rebuked us for our weakness. Instead, he would come out on the balcony and very gently ask us if we would be all right.
But inside, he accepted no slacking off. He would throw out anybody who did not obey him. And yet, if a student did not understand what was being ordered, Mr. Hong would abruptly stop and very clearly explain it. I gradually learned that if I could not do a technique correctly but would still attempt it whole heartedly, he would be satisfied.
The words, "I can't," were always met by the command, "Try!"
I had weak legs, useless ankles, and was horrible at jumping. We practiced half a dozen different flying kicks or jump kicks, and I couldn't do a single one correctly. I could barely get off the ground. But I found that as long as I tried, he was satisfied.
"Go, Jeri! You try! You try!" he would shout as we worked with partners. And then he would move on to the next pair and make corrections, adjustments, and then count again.
The men did handstands, and---held up by a partner---did push ups in that position. We all practiced "jumpovers": 30 sideways jumps over our partner as he or she hunkered down on hands and knees. Side to side and back again, 30 times. I could not do 30 non-stop for years. But I always tried. He made me get through 30, no matter how many times I broke my own rhythm.
Everything hurt after class. Tae kwon do is an incredible mixture of stretching muscles to their limits while anaerobically stressing them to their limits. I suffered toe cramps, calf cramps, lower back weariness, and shoulder pain. And then there were the shin splints. After every class I would sleep for ten hours. And even at that, morning came far too soon.
Having studied karate for several years was actually a hindrance. I knew nothing of the total body commitment required to kick effectively in tae kwon do, and in Shotokan karate we had been taught not to over commit in attacks. I did excel as a new student in all of the hand techniques that were taught at Mr. Hong's school, but hand techniques are not nearly as important in tae kwon do as kicking is. Tae kwon do fight theory is based on the idea that the fighter will be staying out of range of the hands as much as possible. The tae kwon do fighter kicks--fast power kicks that use the muscles of the back, buttocks, and legs.
Almost all martial arts come to us from ancient patterns of attack and defense that the Japanese call kata and the Koreans call poom-se. In English, they are simply called forms. The first form is simply twenty-one steps of blocking and punching, with four knife hand blocks at the end. I learned the form and was ready to test for my first belt, but by then the summer was over. I had to start teaching at the college and could not afford tae kwon do classes on a graduate assistant's meager pay. Tae kwon do would have to wait for nine months as I got through school.
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