Even though I haven’t been writing about martial arts, I’ve still be doing it. Since November, I’ve earned two belt promotions: green belt and blue stripe (6th and 5th gup, respectively). I also joined White Tiger’s Leadership Team, practically as soon as I became eligible at green belt. That means I’m assisting with one white belt class a week, learning how to teach, a big step towards my eventual goal of teaching martial arts. I’m enjoying it immensely and feel almost as proud as a parent when one of my students does really well.

Jay’s own martial arts is coming along as well. He’s managed to reach yellow belt, despite the universe interfering with his belt tests. It took three times before he actually could test, none of them his fault. The first time he pulled a leg muscle the night before the test; the second time a freak snow storm hit the Raleigh area and we couldn’t make it out of his condo’s parking lot, much less get to the dojang. But four months later, he finally got to test and successfully passed.

Dynamo’s story is quite different, though. TKD seems to have lost its appeal for him; personally, I think it’s because he’s reached green belt. The shiny newness has worn off and it’s now gotten hard. He can’t just cruise through classes and belt tests the way he used to and the instructors have stopped giving him unmitigated praise and have started correcting him more. I’m hoping he’ll pull through it.

I know this is the point where it becomes work and that black belt still seems so far away. We have one more year on our current contract and I told him he has to finish that out. I’m hoping by then he’ll be staring the black belt in the face and will chose to continue. But it’ll be his choice at that point. I did tell him that he was going to do something martial arts related–he desperately needs the structure and discipline. If anyone has any ideas on how to keep kids motivated through these middle ranks, please let me know. I’ve run out.

I’ve got all kinds of plans for this blog in 2010. I’ve been storing up post ideas and can’t wait to share them with you.

10 Things People Would be Surprised to Know About Me (and may not even care )

1. In college I worked as a local fashion model for a few months. The problem wasn’t in finding work — it was that the minimal pay I received wasn’t worth being treated like a mobile coat hanger instead of a person. And it took too much time out of my studies.

2. I once played “midwife” on the phone to a litter of kittens being born on the other side of the country. My mom raised Shaded Silver Persians for show while I was growing up, so I’ve had a fair amount of experience with kitten births. Ergo, I’m the person who gets called if something may not be going right, even when I’m in California and the kittens are being born in North Carolina.

3. I grew up in the Navy, but we were never stationed overseas. My dad is a retired JAG officer and there aren’t many overseas billets available for them. We tried over and over, but just couldn’t get one.

4. I never had a driver’s license before January 2009. A long and complicated story involving past history of abuse, lack of self-confidence and a deep-seated fear that would kill someone accidentally if I ever drove. Finally, after many, many years of working at it, I got my driver’s licensce this past January. If Jay (my SO) hadn’t been a patient teacher, I doubt I’d have it even now.

5. I’m a native Oregonian (as are my parents and some of their parents), but I’ve lived away from my home state more years than I’ve lived in it. As kid, that was because of the Navy-thing, but as an adult, its because of lack of work opportunity back home. I keep hoping that someday I’ll be able to move back home, at least part-time. Jay’s a native North Carolinian and I don’t think he’d be able to handle Oregon winters very well (Yes, they really are a dark and wet and people say).

6. I love to cook, but I don’t like to eat. If I could be healthy without eating, I’d be one very happy camper.

7. I love coloring books. Even at 42, I still love to color in coloring books — or anything else I can find. I’ll color in black and white illustrations in non-coloring books. I especially like Dover’s “stained glass” coloring books. I don’t particularly care for crayons — instead, I use markers and colored pencils, often together.

8. I love “hard” science fiction. Give me the science stuff. While I do read other types of books in the genre — space fantasy, “soft” science fiction, high fantasy, etc. — I really prefer the authors who write about how science affects society: Frank Herbert, Larry Niven, Kim Stanley Robinson, to name a few. It’s probably because I’m an arm-chair astronomer.

9. I was once told that my soul was Chinese. Before I met my ex, I worked as the assistant manager of an independent metaphysical and self-help bookstore. On day when I’d sent the other employees out on break and I was in the store alone, an elderly Chinese man walked into the store. He stood a little ways away from the counter, cocked his head, and stared at me for awhile. I was a bit uncomfortable with this and I asked him if there was anything I could help him with. He smiled and in heavily-accented English said: “Your body is Western, but your soul is Chinese.” Then he left. I never saw him again.

10. I’m a compulsive counter. I count things in my head much of the time — how many stairs I’m going up, how many clean spoons I’ve just put away, etc.

So there’s my contribution to this meme .  If you contribute to this meme, please let me know in the comments. I love learning more about people.

I was chronically (and often severely) underweight.

My doctor had to put me on a 3000 calories a day diet. I needed to eat constantly and everything I ate had to have something “extra”. I couldn’t eat just a salad — it had to have bacon, cheese, dressing — anything I could add to provide healthy calories. And because my body was burning the calories so fast, they all had to have nutritional value. I would do really well on my diet for a few months, bring my weight to over 100lbs, then get tired of eating or have something upset me and I’d stop. I’d start skipping meals again (something I still struggle with a little) and the next thing I knew, I’d be back down around 85-90lbs. Even at 5′3″, that was way too low.

Looking back now, I can see several contributing factors. My activity level definitely topped the list. At the time I had no car and lived in an area where most things were within walking distance; those that weren’t were easily reached by public transportation. I walked a mile to work every morning and a mile home in the evening. Errands usually added another mile or two (or three) daily. I was the assistant manager of an independent book store, a job that kept me on my feet all day. Finally add to that an hour-long class at the dojang three to four days a week, plus yoga and weightlifting. It’s no wonder I couldn’t keep weight on.

But the biggest factor was my body image. No matter how thin I got, I felt fat. If I had even a small amount of body fat, I felt like a blimp. In the years since then, I’ve worked hard on correcting my body image, to try and see myself as I really am and not with the 20lbs or so more my brain adds whenever I look in the mirror. I still struggle with it, but I feel like I’m finally winning. Most days.

Martial arts have certainly helped me through this. It gives me a weight goal to focus on. I can change the crux of my self-talk from “you’ve got too much body fat” to “I have to stay at this weight, fat or not, or I’ll drop out of my weight class.” Yeah, I could qualify for the lower weight class, but my point is to get around my negative image, rather than to maintain a specific weight. And being fit makes me feel better about myself, no matter what the scale says.

Health-Related Posts

• 10 Steps to No Drug Pain Management
• Pain, Chronic Illness and the Martial Arts

Rank Testing: In my Integrity post, I’d written that I planned to test for my next belt rank on 18 April. I didn’t actually end up testing that day. A week before the test, I realized my endurance wasn’t were I needed it to be and I wasn’t ready yet for the increased stamina demands the next higher rank would require.

At the beginning of February, I was in two car accidents, within three days of each other. Neither resulted in serious injuries (I walked away with some whiplash and I had the worst injuries, luckily). But healing from the whiplash meant I had to suspend training until the end of March. Physically, I probably could’ve continued careful training, but I didn’t want to give the insurance company any reason to deny my chiropractor bills by saying “Oh, well, you participate in a dangerous sport and that’s why you were injured.”

I didn’t realize how much endurance I could lose in only two months of lost training. But I’ve had another month to recover (and Dynamo’s had a month to make up back homework ) and I feel ready to test again. Saturday (16 May), Dynamo and I will be testing for 7th Gup (yellow belt with green stripes).

When I first started studying martial arts, belt ranks meant very little to me. I was there to learn skills, which I’d get regardless of what color belt was around my waist. It didn’t matter to me then if I ever achieved black belt.

This time around, things are different. I’m actively pursuing my black belt and training hard to reach that goal. My goal is to get it by the time I reach 50 (given that I’ve got about seven more years to go, I think that’s a reasonable time frame to give myself). For me, it’s not about power, or rank itself that draws me to that goal. It’s about recovery.

Each new rank, each new step towards my goal gives a reminder of how far my healing from the abuse of my marriage is coming. Each new stripe, new belt is one more part of myself recovered, one more negative voice in my head silenced. It’s visual proof to myself that I can accomplish something and that I’m not weak and helpless, ineffectual and wallowing in victim-hood. It’s one more proof of the truth of what the people who are still closest to me say: that I’m strong, that I’m resilient and that no matter what knocks me down, I always get back up.

I’ve always identified with dragons, particularly the Asian ones. But when Jay and first started dating a year ago, he told me “You’re not a dragon; you’re a phoenix. No matter what fells you, you always rise again from it’s ashes.” He’s had time to see it — we’ve only been dating about a year, but we’ve been friends since I first moved to North Carolina, almost six years ago.

Earning a black belt is like earning my degree was 15 years ago: an accomplishment no one can ever take away from me.

I can understand his surprised reaction. Many women just starting out are really nervous about even just the idea of sparring. I know I was. The night before that sparring class, I’d been really nervous about stepping back into the ring. I knew I was going to get my butt handed to me on a silver platter. And that’s even with knowing what to expect. Most women starting out don’t have that advantage.

When I sparred for the real first time, 15 years ago, I was a nervous wreck. My hands were shaking so badly I fumbled while trying to put on the headgear. I was nervous about getting hit, sure, but I was also afraid of hurting my opponent. I didn’t really trust my sparring gear, yet, and I certainly didn’t trust myself. But even moret, I was afraid of looking like a wimp, afraid of gaining the label “girl”. As in, “you fight like a girl.” As the only woman in the class, I felt I had to show my right to be there. I’ve talked to other women who felt the same; like me, they felt they needed to be twice as aggressive as the guys. After watching a tournament, my SO — Jay — commented that the women’s bouts were vicious [his emphasis]. In general, I think fighting women feel they have more to prove.

Then there’s the other side of the coin. Many women who can throw themselves into forms or target kicking freeze up when they first get into the ring. Most of us have never been hit, never been in a fight until we step out on the mats. One of the best things my first master ever did was to line all the white belts in chest protectors and have us practice taking blows. He wanted us to get over the fear of being hit. It worked so well for me, I’ve since used it on Dynamo.

I think women, in general, need more time to get used to the idea of hitting and being hit. I’ve read about some schools where they let students ease into sparring gradually, making sure the student has control over the situation. They allow people to step out of practice if the situation become too much for them. As an abuse survivor, I applaud this wholeheartedly. Women (and men) who’ve been abused need to know — at all times — that they’re in control of their own bodies.

self-con.trol n: control over one’s own impulses, emotions, or actions.
–Webster’s Dictionary

Okay, I admit it. Self-control is one of the main reasons I enrolled Dynamo in taekwondo. He’s struggled with self-control … well, basically since he’s been born. He tends to lash out in anger over the smallest things. I’ve talked to several men who’ve gone into martial arts for this reason – to help them learn to control their anger.

Anger isn’t just a man’s problem; women need to learn to control their anger, too. But too many times, women need a more literal definition of self-control: control of your self, your body. It’s no easy task for someone coming from an abusive background to feel like they own their own body. Just before I left him, my ex was telling me how I should wear my hair, what kind of clothes I should be wearing, etc. He wouldn’t come out directly and say it, but he would withdraw from me even more than usual if I wore something he didn’t approve of.

Survivors of sexual abuse – male or female – face even tougher challenges to owning their own bodies. It’s taken many years for me to feel like my body is actually part of me. To survive, I had to disconnect myself from my body, to see it as just a “thing”, in the same category as a lamp or the sheets on my bed. I firmly believe it’s been martial arts which has allowed to me reclaim my body for myself. To control my body, I need to be fully present in it. Plus, as I’ve learned to control my muscles, I’m beginning to feel like I’m truly the one in charge. I’ve learned to say “no” to unwanted touching. I’ve learned that I am capable of controlling myself.

Next post: Indomitable Spirit

This post is my personal experience of being a martial artist with a chronic illness. I am not a doctor and nothing in this post should be taken as medical advice.

Let’s face it – sometimes martial arts hurt. Injuries happen, just like they do in any other sport. I once broke my left big toe during a belt test, though I didn’t realize it at the time it happened. I finished the test, including breaking a board with a left-foot front snap kick. In fact, I didn’t notice I’d really be hurt until the adrenaline from the test left me and walking became sheer agony.

But that’s not the kind of pain I’m referring to here. As a martial artist with Sjogren’s Syndrome, I’m intimately familiar with another kind of pain – the deep down, fatiguing pain that neither rest, sleep, nor time can relieve. The variable kind of pain where you feel fine one day, then bedridden and snapping your family’s heads off the next. Sometimes I get a couple of days warning of fatigue and inability to focus; other times, it comes on without warning – swiftly and silently. Sometimes exercise relieves it, sometimes it aggravates it, but most of the time it doesn’t affect my pain level at all.

This kind of pain caused me to stop training right after I earned my blue belt my first time through taekwondo. The pain and fatigue left me unable to train for almost thirteen years. Even performing a simple snap kick could put me flat on my back with pain the next day. During those years – some of the darkest of my life – I missed martial arts so much that even just walking by a school broke my heart. I kept trying to figure out something I could do, some form I could study within the confines of my diminished ability. Frequently during that time, I needed a cane to walk from my living room to my kitchen. I looked into t’ai chi and chi gong, but financial (it costs a lot to care for a chronic illness) and logistics kept me from following through. The pain and the medications I had to take to manage it meant I was unfit to drive, so I would’ve been dependent on others to get to and from class.

Yet, through it all, I never stopped thinking of myself as a martial artist.

In 2006, I left an emotionally abusive and controlling marriage. Almost immediately, my health began to improve. By May of 2008, my symptons had gone into remission and I returned to taekwondo with my son. I felt like a part of myself was returned me. During those long years, I’d known how much I’d missed the martial arts. What I didn’t realize until after I returned to the dojang, was how much being a martial artist was central to my core being. It’s not just something I do – it’s something I am. It’s part of what makes me, me. Last May, I nearly cried with joy the first time I put my uniform on again. It didn’t matter that the belt I tied around my waist was white, not blue.

I know the training could still hurt me. I know I’m taking a risk. But, for me, the risk is worth the benefit. For others, it may not be. I believe the decision to train with an chronic illness is highly individual, based on the severity of their pain levels, energy levels, etc. It’s a decision that needs to be made with the help of your doctor. I had to admit my choice to train in taekwondo didn’t thrill one of my rheumatologists. As a practitioner of aikido himself, he said “I’m a martial artist too, so I know telling you to stop won’t do any good. But did you have to pick the form that’s the hardest on your joints?” His advice was that when I reached the point where I still hurt two hours after a training session, it was time to switch to a “softer” form, like t’ai chi. If you can find a doctor who’s also a martial artist, I recommend choosing him/her. It’s well worth the effort. For one thing, you’ll probably never have to answer the “why” question: “Why in the world would you want to do that to your body!?”

These days, even the physical limitations I used to have wouldn’t necessarily have to keep me away from the dojang. Some schools — like White Tiger — have special, modified classes for people with disabilities. Which gives me comfort that if I ever do have trouble again, I won’t have to quit this time.

Why martial arts? For most of the other things I do, I can point to an origin, a specific time when I looked at something and said “I want to do that.” Not  martial arts. I didn’t grow up watching Bruce Lee or Hong Kong cinema. I never encountered it in Girl Scouts. My sports growing up were ice skating, swimming, and cycling. Nothing even remotely close to fighting of any kind. No one in my family had ever taken any kind of martial arts lessons. To the best of my knowledge, I’m the first person in my family to walk this path.

I wouldn’t be surprised to find that the media had worked on my subconscious growing up. While martial arts wasn’t pervasive in movies then (as it is now), there were media sources. Kung Fu – the series with David Carradine – played on TV, as did the cartoon series Hong Kong Phooey. The first Karate Kid movie came out the summer between my Junior and Senior years of high school. It probably influenced me, but I’d have hotly denied it at the time. But it was karate I chose as my first art in college, not kung fu, despite my fondness for the show.

Regardless of why I started, I know why I stayed in the martial arts.  From the first day, it felt like my body was made for this. It hasn’t mattered what form I’ve tried – bo jutsu, karate, t’ai chi, taekwondo. Naturally, I’ve learned some parts of the arts more easily than others and I’m a long way from mastery of any of them. But even at age 42, I find martial arts so much easier to learn, especially compared to my other movement activity: bellydancing. I struggle through my Thursday night dance class* and flow through my Saturdays at the dojang. My body breathes a huge sigh of relief on Saturdays, like it’s saying “Okay, this I can learn.”

Being a martial artist is something that’s a part of the definition of who I am. It’s not just something I do. Even in the 10 years I didn’t actively train, I never stopped being a martial artist. I never stopped thinking of myself as one, even when it looked like my health would prevent me from returning. There’s no other physical activity I can say that about. I love everything about the arts – the ritual, the respect, the movement itself. I love the smell of the dojang as I enter, the feel of the mat under my feet, the way my uniform fits and moves with me. The dojang is a second home to me — right from the beginning, I felt like I belonged.

*For anyone interested, my bellydance teacher has a blog. You can find it at Stitching with a Shimmy.

Well… sort of.

Currently, I’m preparing to test for my 7th gup (yellow belt w/ green stripe) rank in taekwondo. Again.

You see, I’m returning to tkd after a 10 year lapse. I’d begun my martial arts training in college, starting with bo jutsu, karate, t’ai chi…and taekwondo. By 1995, when health issues forced me out of the training I loved, I’d just earned my tkd blue belt. But when I returned to the my training last year, I started over so my son and I could train together. We’ve both attained our yellow belts and are hoping to test again in March of this year.

Despite my previous training, I’m very much a yellow belt, or at least I feel like one. In the beginning, lingering muscle memory from years ago did allow me to get through my 10th and 9th gups (white belt and yellow stripe) with barely a pause. Now I’m experiencing the frustration that only comes when you go back to something that was once easy for you — “but I used to be able to do that!”

When I first started taekwondo in the mid-1990′s, I fell madly and passionately in love. I knew that tkd and I would be be together forever. But it wasn’t meant to be…or it was and I just messed it up. I left tkd a year and a half later, for reasons that were complex and many,  including severe health issues, an emotionally battering marriage, a difficult pregnancy, a special-needs child, a cross-country move and the loss of my dream job – the closure of the independant bookstore I helped manage. While my reasons for leaving were complicated, the reasons I returned were not.

Remember that special-needs child? My darling son (DS) has ADHD and “many autistic traits” (the evaluator’s way of saying that his autism wasn’t bad enough to qualify for special services). If there’s anything kids like him need, it’s structure, predictability, routine, and self-discipline. Everything martial arts provides in spades. Add in a drastic improvement in my health and the fact that I wanted an activity we could do as a family, I practically ran to the dojang, DS in tow. After our free lesson and some pleading on my son’s part (it didn’t take much, I’ll admit), I signed us both up on the spot.

It feels really good to train again, after so long. I’m still struggling to get my body to do what I want it to do and what I know it could once do. Some days (okay, a lot of days) I feel awkward, stiff and a little overwhelmed. There are days I start class by tripping over my own feet and the child in front of me. It’s taken a while, but my kicks are slowly returning to their former strength and I’ve recovered the snap to my poomse. Every class dislodges another layer of rust.

All of which means that you can recover lost ground. It means that – sometimes – it’s never too late for a second chance.