Reprinted by permission of Washington Post
By Michael Causey, Student
After a few months of Karate training the student (at least this student) begins to feel like a tiger and to act like an ass. This period of gymnastic adolescence, hopefully, doesn’t last long (I’m in my third year). It can, however, be physically and emotionally trying to friends and loved ones.
During the initial phase, the clever Karateman learns that any comment or subject — from Abraham Lincoln to the Lost Continent of Mu — can be twisted into an opportunity to first discuss, then demonstrate, his new prowess.
The long-suffering soon learn that a certain gleam in the eye is the forerunner of a demonstration of throws, blocks, or jabs; usually prefaced by a comment such as “This, of course, is a lethal hold, but don’t worry, I think I can do it without hurting you.” This is a period when dinner invitations slack off and reminders of cocktail parties arrive weeks after the event. No matter.
Reality, however, comes back at the karate studio. There, unlike your circle of peaceful, flabby friends, is somebody — usually everybody — who seems better, faster, and tougher than you. Being pummeled into jelly by a 13-year old girl, who really didn’t try hard because of her new braces, brings almost immediate — sometimes devastating — humility.
With Phase Two, comes the realization that you are clumsy, stupid, and obviously getting worse. This is where the second peak of the already high dropout rate begins anew.
Friends, once as incompetent and unskilled as you, are promoted in belt rank. You are given as a partner a 70-year old white belt recovering from a year’s bed rest.
Finally, maybe, you begin to feel that progress is being made. The kick you couldn’t master finally happens. The forms that seemed as difficult as the first touch-typing course finally make sense. The instructor says you might, after all, be able to fight your way out of a wet paper bag.
Phase Three is, maybe, the beginning of that inner tranquility often referred to in books about Karate, Kung Fu and Judo.
You realize that you are in better shape than most of your workday colleagues. That you might have a chance when the local chapter of thugs decides to examine your wallet. That you have stuck with something that is sometimes unpleasant, sometimes painful, because you wanted ton, not because you would be sent to the principal’s office.
For many of us, that total tranquility is still a long way off. On karate nights, my stomach (normally as unflappable as a Franklin stove) begins to churn. I think of reasons – health, family, safety, why I can’t make it to class. The car makes funny sounds and I wonder if this isn’t the evening to turn it in to Call Carl for a complete checkup. But you go, exercise, survive the workout and for the next couple of days feel like that tiger again. Until the next time.
