"You still have all of those?" Twelve colored belts divided between two hanging racks. "Yeah," I said. "They mean something." I glanced over at the belts. They were covered in dust and tucked behind the door. "To me." I added.
My earliest memory of martial arts was from watching Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers. I used to watch the first episode on VHS over and over again. There was a scene where Jason is leading a karate class. Bulk and Skull walk over to him and ask him to show them how to beat people up. Eventually Bulk declares that he can do anything Jason can--and better. So Jason does a bunch of karate moves and Bulk tries to copy them and eventually fails. The move that gets him is the 'tornado kick.' I fondly remember rewinding and rewatching Jason do that kick and then trying to do it myself. Eventually, I learned how to do it. No couch pillow could handle the force of my tornado kick.
Jason was actually the reason I insisted on wearing red tank tops everywhere for the longest time.
A few years later my dad decided to enroll me in a local Tae Kwon Do summer camp. It was some kind of offer the school had set up to encourage people to actually join the program. It was a waste of time. We got into our uniforms and watched Power Rangers. "See if you can copy some of those moves." The instructor suggested. I was not there for much longer.
The experience left me suspicious of martial arts schools in general as I--in my prepubescent wisdom--assumed that all martial arts schools watched the various Power Ranger movies instead of learning actual techniques.
Several years after that I was dragged into joining another Tae Kwon Do program. The first day, the instructors were teaching me some basic techniques like blocks and punches. I was young and theatrical (read: stupid) and flinched dramatically when they threw punches at me. "We don't do that here," they said. "If you goof off, someone could get hurt. Take this seriously." And I did.
It wasn't about the defensive techniques or the fighting. It wasn't about the sparring. It was the art. The forms and the techniques we did on our own. That was what drew me in. It took focus. It was meditative. I was calm and collected. Centered. Then there was the teaching. It was the best thing I'd ever been forced into doing.
It had been a good couple of years since I'd done any kind of martial art when I signed up for Judo. Being in a martial art again is nice, but I've been thinking pretty hard about the whole thing. I do not like Judo that much. It's a very physical sport. Grapples and throws and whatnot. I knew that coming in, but I didn't think I would miss the artistic aspect so much.
Just a couple more months, I guess.
My earliest memory of martial arts was from watching Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers. I used to watch the first episode on VHS over and over again. There was a scene where Jason is leading a karate class. Bulk and Skull walk over to him and ask him to show them how to beat people up. Eventually Bulk declares that he can do anything Jason can--and better. So Jason does a bunch of karate moves and Bulk tries to copy them and eventually fails. The move that gets him is the 'tornado kick.' I fondly remember rewinding and rewatching Jason do that kick and then trying to do it myself. Eventually, I learned how to do it. No couch pillow could handle the force of my tornado kick.
Jason was actually the reason I insisted on wearing red tank tops everywhere for the longest time.A few years later my dad decided to enroll me in a local Tae Kwon Do summer camp. It was some kind of offer the school had set up to encourage people to actually join the program. It was a waste of time. We got into our uniforms and watched Power Rangers. "See if you can copy some of those moves." The instructor suggested. I was not there for much longer.
The experience left me suspicious of martial arts schools in general as I--in my prepubescent wisdom--assumed that all martial arts schools watched the various Power Ranger movies instead of learning actual techniques.
Several years after that I was dragged into joining another Tae Kwon Do program. The first day, the instructors were teaching me some basic techniques like blocks and punches. I was young and theatrical (read: stupid) and flinched dramatically when they threw punches at me. "We don't do that here," they said. "If you goof off, someone could get hurt. Take this seriously." And I did.
It wasn't about the defensive techniques or the fighting. It wasn't about the sparring. It was the art. The forms and the techniques we did on our own. That was what drew me in. It took focus. It was meditative. I was calm and collected. Centered. Then there was the teaching. It was the best thing I'd ever been forced into doing.
It had been a good couple of years since I'd done any kind of martial art when I signed up for Judo. Being in a martial art again is nice, but I've been thinking pretty hard about the whole thing. I do not like Judo that much. It's a very physical sport. Grapples and throws and whatnot. I knew that coming in, but I didn't think I would miss the artistic aspect so much.
Just a couple more months, I guess.
Comments
But I am proud I have a 2nd degree.