Silva Screen Media, © 2014
I wasn’t going to tell anyone I was coming back this time, not unless I fully committed. I really thought about what my reasons were for wanting to go back, and why I wanted to return now. I asked myself “what are my goals?” and “what am I looking to get out of this?” I came up with five reasons why now was the time. I remind myself of these reasons, almost daily (these are in no particular order):
1. I want my black belt. If “Sensei I” heard me say this I’d be doing lots of pushups and my credibility in the school’s eyes may be seriously questioned. A lesson our dojo stresses, and one I admire, is that we are about learning. As we learn, the belts come. We are the furthest-thing from a black belt factory (dojos who promote students very quickly, usually with lowers standards). To me, a black belt is much more than “bragging rights.” I am not one of those “well I’m a black belt so I can kick your butt ” type. In fact whenever challenged to a fight because a classmate or peer found out I was martial arts practitioner (this is an all too common occurrence), I always walked away or brushed it off. I had nothing to prove, “Karate is my secret…I vow never to use it.” This is a motto that is non-negotiable with me. I will only ever use my karate knowledge “in defense of my life, my family and my country.” I have been reciting this exact statement in our school creed, which we start with every class, since I was eight years old. It’s embedded in me. I didn’t (and don’t) even really like competing in tournaments because in essence I hate the idea of fighting. I appreciate it as a sport and a workout, but for me its something I wish to never have to use. Unless it’s a scenario where I truly cannot walk away I will never resort to any sort of violence. I will likely take a punch and get on with it before getting into a brawl.
I digress. Anyway, to me, a black belt represents something much more:
a. I promised myself at age eleven (I was a blue or green belt at this point) that I would open my own dojo one day and teach. Technically, with Sensei III’s permission I could open my own school with a brown belt (other students have done so as purple belts). But as a business conscious female, as much as I HATE to admit it, the black belt is going to provide me with more credibility in the eyes of potential students and parents (especially men, this is a topic for a different piece entirely). This is something I would like to do within five years. Since I promoted at a rate of 1.33 years on average (which is fast by my school’s standards) I figure this goal of five years is a very conservative one. My mind is still sharp, I remember almost everything, and my analysis is usually still on point. I just need my body to catch-up and get a refresher on some of the smaller details of certain techniques.
b. This following point is probably the most important for my reason for returning. I made the “teaching” promise to myself, but there was another promise I made to that anxious young girl, and possibly a more important one. That promise was to be the best martial artist I could be.
It’s important to note here, that at my school, more than any other school I have encountered, it is incredibly difficult to achieve the rank of Shodan (first dan/degree black belt). Studies suggest that in the U.S. less than around 1% of all karate students go on to get their black belt. At my dojo I am pretty sure it’s significantly less than that. As mentioned, since five of us promoted back in 2001, no one has promoted past our rank. If you are keeping track that means no one in my school has promoted to black belt since Sensei III.
This dojo made me feel exceptional. I ran with the best. To be the best again (my personal best), I need to reach a whole other level of training. It is a dominantly accepted notion through most western marital arts schools that the “real” training begins when one reaches their black belt. There are usually 10 kyus (levels) of the commonly recognized colored belts. There are also 10 dans (advanced levels) of black belt. The 10 kyus prepare you for that next level of advanced training. Now, as an adult academic, I find this goal incredibly challenging and exhilarating. As an adult who is out of shape and suffers from severe chronic asthma, I find this completely terrifying, which means, I have to do it. As an adult, I am trying to face the things that scare me the most.
I am the type of person that fixates on what I want, commits, and then does not rest until I accomplish what I set out for, and I usually become a better person for it. I push myself to better myself. The black belt is just a symbol, a representation of the greater goals which are to be the teacher, to be fit, to be an expert in my style, to do my personal best, and most importantly to be the promise keeper. That kid, though blessed in many ways, had a lot of promises broken to her. One of the lessons I’ve learned, as an adult is that I can rely on myself when all else fails. Keeping this promise to myself brings my emotional and personal journey full circle.
2. I finally have a job that enables me to have the time and resources to focus on my training.
3. I am finally not in school and therefore I have my nights and weekends to focus on my training.
4. Worst-case scenario, I will get a really good workout at least twice a week and get and better shape.
5. Unlike soccer and basketball, karate is a way of life (karate-do) and if practiced correctly, it can be done for a lifetime and can even support life longevity.
I spoke to my wife about my reasoning, and she agreed, now was the time (she is usually my sanity check on this sort of thing. I didn’t want to come off as Monica’s middle-aged boyfriend who wanted to be the Ultimate Fighting Champion, cough, Friends reference).
I told Sensei III that I was coming, actually coming this time. He had been running the dojo on his own since around when I left. Come February 2014, for the first time in twelve years, I walked back into the dojo. The scent was exactly the same and the first faces I saw were as well. I of course went early for the kid’s class to meet the new generation of karateka and to help out. This may seem strange to some, how can you teach after being gone for 12 years? I studied my butt off before walking back into that building is the long and short of it. I’ll explain in more detail in a bit. To see the next generation of karateka brought back such wonderful memories. When it came time for the adult class it was just Sensei III and the woman I promoted with; she was the only one out of the original five of us that still practiced. I discovered that she had taken over the kid’s class, molding the new generation of Okinawan Shorie-Ryu karateka and this made my heart soar. She has always served as a mentor to me and I knew the kids couldn’t be in better hands. I couldn’t think of a better way to start my first class back, with two familiar faces, as if no time had passed, however, I was quickly reminded of how much time had passed, and how much my body had changed.
Just the warm up killed me. My asthma has been a serious problem in my adult life; cardio for me is always beyond hard and embarrassing. I’ve been told by specialists to stay away for overly cardio-centric activities. The martial arts don’t usually fall into this cardio-centric category. But, our warm up sent me into an asthma attack, though I tried to hide it. I assumed they would think, “Oh she is just out of shape.” But what’s worst? That I am out of shape or that I am in a word, “broken?” This was frustrating for me. My last memory of me in this dojo was being able to workout with the best of them, heck I led some of the workouts, and now I am wheezing just during the warm-up! I thought to myself, “Oh my god, I am not ready, what have I done?” I thought to myself “I got through Insanity what is wrong with me?” My heart sank into my stomach and I quickly came to terms with the disassociation between my mind and my body.
Asthma is still the biggest physical challenge I am dealing with at this time. What many people don’t know about asthma is that it puts a lot of pressure on your heart. It’s a very serious disease that is more than just not being able to catch your breath. Specifically, when working out, when that oxygen you inhale can’t reach its destination (due to an attack or strained breathing) your muscles are not receiving the oxygen they need to continue and therefore break down (fatigue). So, though I can start out strong, if I lose control of my breathing, my strength is gone and worse, I am doing long-term damage to my heart.
During the warm–up we had done numerous pushups. A requirement for the rank of brown-belt is completing 35 pushups in less than a minute. I used to be capable of closer to 50 in that allotted time, but now, now, I couldn’t get past 5. I dropped to my knees, and finished the exercise by doing the pushups from my knees, yes the “girly pushups.” This ripped my soul apart. I was never “that” student. I always rivaled the boys; in fact many times I beat the boys. This was my first of many disappointments that I would face on my journey back into the martial arts.
Before returning I had trained myself a bit to get back up to speed in terms of basics and other rank requirements. I had trained intermittently throughout the years on my own, but there was something at my fingertips now that hadn’t fully peaked yet when I was a junior in high school, the Internet. Now, my style is a very specific style of karate and finding the exact katas and kumite exercises is no easy task. I had to rely heavily on my muscle memory…and YouTube. Regardless, I felt there was no excuse not to walk in there remembering most of what I had learned with all of this information at my fingertips. I walked back into the dojo remembering all Kihons and Ippons (self defense exercises) and almost all the Katas. Basics I could do on command, and I could recite them all without prompt to about orange belt level. I assumed this would be a good foundation to my return. Since I wanted to help teach as well, this was essential (in my mind).
Walking back in I had also re-learned a lot of the Japanese terminology, which came back super quickly. This was interesting to me, as studies have shown that learning a foreign language, as a child, is easier than as an adult. My experience confirms this theory as the Japanese I learned as a child flowed to me effortlessly in contrast to my college experience where I tried to learn a new language (Spanish) where it required a lot more effort.
The one thing in my mind that was non-negotiable before walking back into the dojo was dojo etiquette. I remembered to answer, “Yes Sir, No Sir” to Sensei. I remembered to bow when entering and exiting the dojo (which is honestly force of habit anyway, I execute this action on auto-pilot). Putting on my ghi and tying my obi (belt) was habit, my obi knot still looked like “dragon whiskers” (a fun analogy I make for the kids). Our School Creed is something I could recite in my sleep, I was ready. These traditions, which I hold so dear as they were passed down to me by Sensei I, are proving the most difficult for me to grapple with on this journey. I know this is vague; I’ll get to the point, promise.
Though my brown belt buddy was still a brown belt and technically the same rank as me, she has been consistently training these past 12 years, so I bow to her first as a sign of respect. Another assistant instructor for the children’s class is a purple belt. When I saw her for the first time in 12 years, she bowed to me first when she first saw me. This was my first moment of sincere hesitation, confusion and questioning. She has been training for the past ten years, and though she is a lesser rank than me (only by one belt), I felt like I should have bowed to her first as a sign of respect. I don’t believe she thought anything of it, but bowing to each other is something I take very seriously, it was instilled in me with Sensei I and its something I am just not willing to let go of because “Karate begins and ends with respect.” This has spawned a series of uncomfortable situations for me. I am one of the highest ranked students stepping back into the dojo after over a decade. I am still one of the highest on the “hierarchy” but yet I have been absent therefore my body is playing catch up. This is such a grey area.
Some younger adult students have no idea what to make of me, that is undeniably evident. They’ve heard the “stories” (Sensei III is great story teller) likely have seen the old videos of how I performed but now they see this older, less fast, heavier student with a much higher belt than their own. Some are territorial in a way, and I’m not sure what to make of it or really how to react. I pride myself on candor, so I can’t imagine that my face is hiding what I am thinking. Some of these guys have trained for the years I have been gone, true, but none of them even come close in rank to me and they are significantly younger, so again, this poses a lot of uncomfortable situations. In terms of ability, I have a much more traditional style than what I am observing, despite having the same instructor (who I see is still fighting very traditionally). Keep in mind, in my day MMA didn’t really exist, now many students want to replicate UFC and Strikeforce fighters. Which ushers in my next point, competitions are seeming to hold more weight than they ever did in my school, or maybe I just never cared to notice their importance before. I never knew my teachers were titleholders, mainly because they never boasted or bragged. I only found out this year the significance of their fighting careers. This is news to me. I competed before because it was something that was “good experience” for me to do and would help me with technique and teaching. I never really had the “eye of the tiger” in that way. My thought was “why do I want to hit you, I don’t even know you.” Maybe I just idolized Mr. Miyagi too much...regardless, who am I to walk in here expecting things to be exactly as they were? Though in some ways it is exactly as it was, but in other ways I don’t even recognize what I am doing or the school.
Back to the younger adult students, I don’t have all of their respect, it’s evident. This to me is the single most difficult challenge, because a Sempai is a Sempai no matter how long they are gone; at least that is how I was taught. The one that came before, is the one that came before, and karateka are to respect those who came before regardless. It is even suggested that if the one before comes back and others have surpassed them in rank, they are still Sempai (which isn’t even an issue in this case). But it appears times have changed, there is less bowing, less traditional customs, and it is my understanding that this way of the dojo has “fallen out of fashion” in the western hemisphere. For me, this is immensely uncomfortable, as these traditions set the blueprint for interactions within the dojo. Rushing through the school creed and not bowing to rank, or the dojo, feels like a slap in the face to me and to the style I hold so dear. A decade ago I was the mentor signing broken boards and running classes and now I have to patiently wait to see if lower ranks will bow/respond to me as I do to those above me still (and always will). The woman I promoted with is well aware of my attachment to these traditions and often tasks me with teaching the younger ones these traditions, which to me is a great honor. However, the fact that the children are demonstrating these customs more frequently than some adults, is not sitting well with me.
It may seem small, but these acts of respect were not taught to me as a small gestures and I therefore, do not feel like these are small gestures. Even outside of the dojo in normal clothing, I bow to Sensei and him back to me (even though everyone around gets very confused, its actually quite funny). Now in the case of the purple belt, I trained with her for years, she has run the kids class, trained while I was gone, and is only one rank below me (and is well on her way to getting promoted). I feel that she has my respect and I demonstrate that with a bow regardless of rank. However, a white, yellow, orange, blue or green belt isn’t technically considered “advanced” rank. Purple and beyond were always considered “advanced” rank. The intellect in me doesn’t even really want to discuss it as it seems almost erroneous as belts are just belts at the end of the day. In fact this belt system is a mass perversion of traditional training. However, winning fights and competition does not, and should not be indicator of respect or status in the dojo. But obviously as I put all my thoughts down in black and white now, there is no turning back. So let’s go all out, lets target another uncomfortable hesitation point, age.
Ages and body types vary in the dojo no matter what school you attend. No I am not old, but coming back after twelve years off is undoubtedly making me feel ancient. Unfortunately, I do have a lot of health problems and I am injury prone. Part of the reason I returned to the dojo was to help with these issues, though it’s a double-edged sword, these issues are preventing my progress. I push, and sometimes I push too hard, sometimes I am fearful of injury and don’t push hard enough. It’s a tough balance to strike. The older I get the more I realize I need to really “listen” to my body. The goal is to do this for the rest of my life, so I need to progress cautiously and steadily. This is something to keep in mind when one thinks of returning to their training after a significant hiatus.
Back to some positive aspects of my journey, though the kids from the children’s class didn’t know what to make of me at first, once they realized I wasn’t going anywhere and I was a friend of their Sempai (some thought we were sisters) they warmed up quite quickly. I also noticed recently that some of my old habits that I do without thinking (e.g. bowing into the dojo) are now replicated by these young karateka, which brings me great joy. The greatest thing I have taken from this experience thus far is that I missed teaching the most. Those kids are sharp, funny, and they never cease to amaze me. The women who run the kid’s class do a phenomenal job of teaching the kids the importance of character and doing their personal best, Sensei I, II and III would be (and I am sure are) proud. The kids, simply put, motivate me; they keep reminding me of my end goals and where I began. I am learning from them as much as they are learning from me.
There are some days where I just want to breakdown because my body will not do what I want it to. There are other days where I leave class on a high because I nailed it, or maybe I’m just psyched because my lungs didn’t give out that one class. My body and mind are not one, and I need to keep working to sync them. It’s going to take time, and that is something I need to accept. Which brings me to my final point for today, acceptance.
What I have to accept is that the body I am working with now is not the same body I was working with twelve years ago, but if I keep working hard I may just get some resemblance of that body back. I must accept that I will likely get hurt more easily now that I am older and have a history of injuries. I must accept that things have changed in the dojo, and that there are new ways and customs.
But there is one thing I advise not to accept. Even if you are out of shape, and you are afraid of returning, don’t be. Don’t postpone for another day. If I could do it over, I never would have stopped or I would have returned sooner. I should be at Shodan or Nidan at this very moment, if only I hadn’t stopped. But I can’t dwell on this matter, I need to look forward.
At the end of the day I still returned to the dojo, out of shape as hard as it was. We get older, our bodies change, but that doesn’t mean our minds do. A true martial artist will always have that fire, and as long as you have that fire and a firm grasp on what you want out of your training than you can do it. Some days are hard and some days are incredible. But if being out of shape is holding you back, or fear that you are too old, or that you’ve fallen too far behind, rip the band aid off, go to class and take it one class at a time. Maybe just maybe, you’ll fall back in love with the martial arts. I may be at a push-me-pull-me stage right now, and its emotionally draining to be frank, but I keep coming back. What keeps me coming back? Some of the people for one, that’s for sure, the kids for another. But what I really think is that its like returning to your first love. You’ve both changed, but something was there, something was always there and I am rediscovering this art form from an adult perspective and its terrifying and exciting all at the same time.
The hardest part is taking that first step back in, so I encourage you all to just do it. I’ll be right there with you huffing and puffing the whole way, just as uncomfortable and frustrated. There will be younger students that seem to do some things effortlessly, and it reminds of us of our age and weaknesses, but remember, they will age, and if you look closely enough you will see their deficiencies too. It’s the small victories that make it worth it; holding that kiba dachi (horse stance) for 20 seconds longer, squeezing in 5 more pushups, looking in the mirror and seeing those abs slowly but surely make their way back, or nailing your favorite kata. Feeling that your ghi is fitting better than it did last week. Those are little victories that will need to be held tightly to make it through the tougher days, but in the end, falling in love with the art/sport all over again, is absolutely worth it.