Day 22 of 27 — First Weeks

July 12, 2021

Finally, it was Monday. I was eager all weekend and then terrified all day. I got to the dojo early and the white belt, A, who I’d met last week, showed me where the women changed. It was a dingy little room where the equipment—chi’ishis, punching bags, tire makiwaras—was stored. The men changed on the balcony outside the main hall. I put on my gi and walked out clutching my white belt. The black belt, B, who I’d met previously, asked someone to help me tie it. I stood alone on the stone floor feeling self-conscious. The class began and B explained how everyone lined up according to rank. I was the newest and was at the back. I hoped that this would help hide my clumsiness from the others. I tried to keep up with the warmup and black belts came around to correct my moves. Monday was basics day. Sensei Mistry arrived early and started with basic punches—jodan tsuki to the face. He did ten counts of slow movement to help us understand how the arm moved. Then he said, ‘hard and fast’ and began the count. I managed to punch fast but the whole dojo kiaied at the striking point and the powerful sound froze me. I’d never been in the middle of a loud collective yell like that, I closed my eyes and stood still. I heard a female voice say, ‘open your eyes. Never close your eyes in the dojo’. I opened them and saw an amused woman dance in front of me. She stayed there helping me while we practiced more basic punches and blocks. She was Sensei Mistry’s wife and a 4^th degree black belt.

 

The pace of the class was fast and by the 8:30 break I was exhausted. I was in terrible physical shape. I’d asked B if newcomers got to leave early. He approached me in the break and said I could leave since it was my first day. But I decided to keep going. The challenge was exciting and there was something else, which I could not say in words then, that had me hooked. Looking back the closest thing to capturing that experience was to say that it released an unbounded joy and exuberance, a childlike spontaneous laughter, from deep in my belly. Over the years I’d done many psychotherapy exercises to connect to the inner happy child, but they all seemed at a very head level compared to what I experienced during karate in those early weeks. 

 

Soon I looked forward to the routine, Monday basics, Wednesday kata, and Friday kumite evenings. I still worried all day if I would get through the training, and I also worried about making a fool of myself. I did that every training but making a fool of myself in karate helped release the fear I had around it. So many things in life, I’d hesitated to try because I worried about being laughed at. I had two left feet and two left arms. I was always doing the wrong move, facing in the wrong direction, or freezing. Yet, except for one or two people (I did get called slow old woman by a fellow white belt and was told to find a ping-pong class by a senior) the laughter was not malicious, and it helped me laugh at myself and keep trying. Nothing came easily, but the teachers and seniors were supportive, and Sensei Mistry would often stop after class to check on me and tell me to hang in. 

 

Being a slow learner was a new experience. Whatever I’d tried in my life, even the things that were initially hard, I found I became reasonably good at. This was the first thing I was way below average in, and it was interesting to follow the inadequacy feelings that came up over the years. In that first year they were not so intense as I gave myself a lot of space to be slow and progress at my own pace. The youngsters who joined after I had, picked up things faster than me. They moved quickly and were stronger too. It was a humbling experience and I recommend that everyone do something that they are terrible at. It helps build empathy and shows you what you’d do in an ‘alien’ situation. Would you lose yourself to fit in, or walk away, or negotiate it from the core of your Self?

 

Also, the beginners, those close to my grade, were twenty years younger than me and those closer to my age had been training for twenty or more years and were senior black belts. In those days similar grades hung out together and it was hard to make friends. I’d get there early most days and not have anyone to talk with. I also didn’t know how to warm up or what to practice, so I’d stand around crossing and uncrossing at my feet, fiddling with my belt, or sipping water slowly. Klutzy and geeky, I deeply understood those parts of me.