The Struggle-It's Real

The decline from my 2014 “Autumn High” was quick and relentless both physically and emotionally. Many obstacles started getting tossed my way, that’s life I suppose. Winter came quick and it was hard and long. We live in a basement apartment with low ceilings—this can be problematic for triaining. Usually I can train a little outside, and I did so, even waist deep in snow. Soon the roof collapsed creating debris outside, so any area I had to train with was rescinded by Winter's temper. The snow made the hour commute to the dojo even harder. I did what I could in small spaces like ippons, kihons, basics, etc., but with no one to train with the frustration took hold. My only saving grace, mentally, this winter was Kung Fu. Only ten minutes away, these classes held me over through the season. I had partial peace of mind that I was still training in the martial arts, working on my balance, flexibility and fluidity but the dojo remained on my mind. I was already training for first kyu as a result of October's momentum yet with minimal dojo time and no training buddies I felt I was falling behind where I wanted to be.

Sanchin in the Snow

Then Spring reared its head. The pollen was out of control and therefore so was my breathing. It got so bad that my chest pains started to come back when I tried doing anything cardio-oriented. I had surgery years ago because of these chest pains, but that didn't fix the issue. I had to lay low until I could get into my allergy and asthma specialist. Of course the only options are more inhalers or shots, neither of which I am keen on but at this point I'm willing to do anything within reason. My training is suffering therefore I am suffering. I am one of the highest ranked individuals in the dojo, so when I fatigue first and often I hate myself for it. When technique is compromised because I can't get that oxygen to my muscles to recover, I literally want to fall to my knees and cry. The worst part is there isn't a damn thing I can do about it really. The shots and more inhalers are the only remaining steps. I'm not sold on them for a few reasons:

1. Side effects 
2. Cost

However, I'm running out of options. I even attempted to start running outside and I loathe running. I was, and still am, desperate to increase my stamina, but this old school method had its impacts including shin splints, an aching knee (which is new), and increased back pain. I should have listened to my father who always told me never to run outside, the effects are too severe. I hoped training in this traditional method would increase my stamina, instead I’m left injured and aggravated that I set myself back even further.

I hate to sound full of excuses especially since this is my harsh reality. I’m thirty years old and yet I feel like I am fifty. Sickness and injuries is my life right now. If I'm ever going to get to the level I want in this style I have to figure something out. Without stamina (which I need to breath to be able to obtain) I can't succeed in this style—and right now I am miserably drowning in my passion. Strength, speed and stamina are the foundation to the Shorei-Ryu style, there is no way around it. The most frustrating part is I will train hard and take 5 steps forward, and then depending on the day, take 6 steps back because of allergies or some other factor which causes inflammation or injury. When I watch everyone else around me, they train, they improve, it’s that simple. They may get hurt, but those wounds heal. Me on the other hand, my wounds are mostly on the inside and there is no cure. This has compromised my confidence significantly these past few months and has made me question everything about my journey.

Those around me that are aware of this struggle have asked "Why don't you just pick a different style?" I've thought about this long and hard, and never say never I suppose, but if I go anywhere else it will be bittersweet. It's not that I mind starting over somewhere else, we are all a white belt in something. But for me, this dojo was a part of my childhood and now my adulthood, the people are like family and my Sensei is the only one in my mind, heart and soul that I know can get me to the level that I want to be at. So yes I could go somewhere else, and probably advance faster to be honest (we have very high standards), struggle less, take it slower, but to have black tied around my waist by anyone other than Sensei just wouldn't feel right—more importantly having to divorce myself from the style I know and love would only bring me more suffering. It would feel as if I took a shortcut. It would feel as if I quit.

Putting on another uniform and tying on a different obi would serve as a reminder of what I didn't or couldn't do – an artifact of my failure. Those who know me well know failure is the chief demon I’m constantly battling and often dominating, but at this moment that is not the case. To be up against the ropes like this brings an unfamiliar and unsettling feeling.

"But you take Kung Fu elsewhere." This is true, but there is a method to my madness. I take Kung Fu and am also currently looking into taking Judo because my style has Kung Fu and Judo elements. My style, in itself is a mixed martial art (more on that in a future post). Everything I do outside of my dojo is built on my foundation in Shorei-Ryu. I chose to take the Animal Form Kung Fu classes because we have animal forms in our style. In speaking with my Sifu, I told her I wanted to better my balance, flexibility and fluidity and she explained Kung Fu is as a great fit for these goals--Sensei agreed. I should also note that I spoke to Sensei about this before pursuing. He has done almost everything under the sun, so I always fish for his insight and blessing.

So where does this leave me? For now, I'm trying. Every day I am doing something to try to make this better whether it is breathing exercises, meditation, medication or new training methods. I keep a journal next to my bed, and every day there is section that says "What I did today?" This indicates what I did that day to make me better. I borrowed this concept from Ronda Rousey. The only reason I have the guts to put something this personal on here is because of Rousey. After reading her book My Fight/Your Fight, I realized I’m not the only emotional martial artist out there. She gets frustrated, she cries, she yells, she doubts. That is the exact state I am in right now. Karatedo is a way of life, so when my training is compromised it impacts me as a person profoundly, and I was relieved to read I am not the only one. So all I can do now is keep working with my doctors and see what works. My fear is nothing will work at which point I'll need to find acceptance that I failed and try to move on. But I'm going to do everything I can to find a way to make this work, even if it’s hard (and it is), even if I cry (and I do), even if I bleed (and I have). No one said that was going to be easy, so I’m trying to remind myself that “The hard… is what makes it great.”