Tweet
I was looking through the archives and having a look at some of my old posts, and I can't help but feel a little embarassed at myself. I'd like to call myself a good storyteller, but to be blunt, I was a compulsive bull****ter. I cloaked myself in all these lies to make it seem like I actually had formal training in wushu. I've never set foot in a wushu class, and I've never been in a fight my whole life. If you want to go back even further into the discussion archive, I used the screen name "Owen" (my real name) to express my somewhat mature, composed side, and "Pujo" (my other real name) when I felt like posting an angry rant.
Sorry about that, just wanted to get it off my chest. I feel like being honest today.
Anyway, onto the real discussion. If anybody read the "Ego and the Martial Arts" article in the shaolin topics section, you'll know that it was written by a frustrated kid. That angsty youngster was me about three or four years ago. One spring day in the school computer lab, I decided to e-mail my list of frustrations to doc in hopes that he would use his Shaolin super powers and save me from my puzzling situation. Ah, the fantasies of middle school.
During that time, I had been in Karate for about a year and a half. By the time I reached second blue belt (which had a cool little stripe that stretched across the whole thing) I began to realize my teacher was not the spiritually enlightened sensei that I had seen in countless martial arts movies. I quit and moved onto something else called bok fu do. It was supposed to be based after Chinese schools, but the practices, the drills, the techniques, were no different than my Karate school. Even katas were the same. But the part that irked me the most was the fact that our uniforms were t-shirt billboards, with the phone number and address of the school printed on the back. Some kids were lucky enough to get the "grandmaster's" face printed on their's. Speaking of this grandmaster dude, the man looked like a tall Dick Cheney with a full head of hair, and filled the whole school with medieval weapons and armor he had collected from those weapon catalogues. Fed up with the place, I quit after a month and a half. (Recently, the "grandmaster" has turned his one school into a string of McDojos)
My parents encouraged me to re-enroll in my old Karate school. Reluctantly, I did so.
After about three practices, sparring night came around. We would usually spar people our size, one belt below or above us. And when we were challenged to spar the high ranking students, the brown and black belts would take it easy on us. That night, sensei invited me to spar with him.
I was fully armored in all the normal sparring gear, chest guard and everything. Sensei wore only padded gloves and leg guards (which probably saved me from further harm). I was a little nervous, seeing that I was this skrawny weak kid whereas he was just packed tight with muscle. But the way he had challenged me, in my mind seemed like a personal dispute. I had "betrayed" him by joining another school, and (temporarely) giving up Karate. Whether this was the case or not, the "revenge" aspect of the challenge ate away at my apprehension. A few seconds before the match began, I felt certain that I was going to kick sensei's ass.
Like the true sensei he is, he had me attack first. He easily blocked all my strikes at first, then intentionally left himself open for attack. I poured everything into my moves, even landing my infamous backfist flat on his chest. The guy didn't budge a bit. I shuffled back to recover, and suddenly he whips out his leg at me and sends me tumbling across the room. I drag myself back on my feet, but he immediately follows up with this unbelievable punch to my stomach. Despite the abdomen guard, he knocks the wind out of me, and I sit up against the wall and try to hold in my angry tears.
I quit after that. I don't know if I should blame this on the sensei, but following that match, my self-confidence went down the drain. That's when I started posting on this board, trying to pump up my esteem with stupid ego boosts.
Three years later, and I've walked past that sensei a countless number of times. I should say something to him, but I don't know what to say. I'm dreadfully afraid he might rebuff any words I have to offer.
I got into sports a year or so after that event, which helped restore some of my lost esteem. I feel a lot better now. It's hard for me to get angry, even after all the checks I've received in club hockey games. Literature, writing, and music is my focus nowadays. If anything, I've turned into a straight-edge hippie that takes showers, brushes his teeth, and encourages people ride their bikes instead of driving cars. My life is at peace, despite many ambiguities. Solving personal problems is a challenge that I enjoy.
Looking back, I wonder what exactly I was trying to get out of martial arts. I would always say to my friends that I joined karate for my own spiritual well-being, but secretly I had fantasies about becoming an invincible fighting machine, and I would often day dream about my future exploits as a karate master, easily plowing through hundreds upon hundreds of foes. In this way, my shyness of martial arts is of my own doing, rather than the sensei.
I still question my compatibility with martial arts. I don't have very many books on forms or styles, and the stuff I do read I barely ever put to practice. However, I continue to practice in my back yard almost every day. I don't practice any certain form or school. In a way, its my own improvised Qi Gong, a collection of slow, balanced movements that I have developed on my own. Some positions are goofy looking, where as others I would describe as graceful. I doubt it offers the same health benifits of Qi Gong or Tai Chi, but any time I practice, I can feel something rushing through my bones.
And that's my story.
Sorry about that, just wanted to get it off my chest. I feel like being honest today.
Anyway, onto the real discussion. If anybody read the "Ego and the Martial Arts" article in the shaolin topics section, you'll know that it was written by a frustrated kid. That angsty youngster was me about three or four years ago. One spring day in the school computer lab, I decided to e-mail my list of frustrations to doc in hopes that he would use his Shaolin super powers and save me from my puzzling situation. Ah, the fantasies of middle school.
During that time, I had been in Karate for about a year and a half. By the time I reached second blue belt (which had a cool little stripe that stretched across the whole thing) I began to realize my teacher was not the spiritually enlightened sensei that I had seen in countless martial arts movies. I quit and moved onto something else called bok fu do. It was supposed to be based after Chinese schools, but the practices, the drills, the techniques, were no different than my Karate school. Even katas were the same. But the part that irked me the most was the fact that our uniforms were t-shirt billboards, with the phone number and address of the school printed on the back. Some kids were lucky enough to get the "grandmaster's" face printed on their's. Speaking of this grandmaster dude, the man looked like a tall Dick Cheney with a full head of hair, and filled the whole school with medieval weapons and armor he had collected from those weapon catalogues. Fed up with the place, I quit after a month and a half. (Recently, the "grandmaster" has turned his one school into a string of McDojos)
My parents encouraged me to re-enroll in my old Karate school. Reluctantly, I did so.
After about three practices, sparring night came around. We would usually spar people our size, one belt below or above us. And when we were challenged to spar the high ranking students, the brown and black belts would take it easy on us. That night, sensei invited me to spar with him.
I was fully armored in all the normal sparring gear, chest guard and everything. Sensei wore only padded gloves and leg guards (which probably saved me from further harm). I was a little nervous, seeing that I was this skrawny weak kid whereas he was just packed tight with muscle. But the way he had challenged me, in my mind seemed like a personal dispute. I had "betrayed" him by joining another school, and (temporarely) giving up Karate. Whether this was the case or not, the "revenge" aspect of the challenge ate away at my apprehension. A few seconds before the match began, I felt certain that I was going to kick sensei's ass.
Like the true sensei he is, he had me attack first. He easily blocked all my strikes at first, then intentionally left himself open for attack. I poured everything into my moves, even landing my infamous backfist flat on his chest. The guy didn't budge a bit. I shuffled back to recover, and suddenly he whips out his leg at me and sends me tumbling across the room. I drag myself back on my feet, but he immediately follows up with this unbelievable punch to my stomach. Despite the abdomen guard, he knocks the wind out of me, and I sit up against the wall and try to hold in my angry tears.
I quit after that. I don't know if I should blame this on the sensei, but following that match, my self-confidence went down the drain. That's when I started posting on this board, trying to pump up my esteem with stupid ego boosts.
Three years later, and I've walked past that sensei a countless number of times. I should say something to him, but I don't know what to say. I'm dreadfully afraid he might rebuff any words I have to offer.
I got into sports a year or so after that event, which helped restore some of my lost esteem. I feel a lot better now. It's hard for me to get angry, even after all the checks I've received in club hockey games. Literature, writing, and music is my focus nowadays. If anything, I've turned into a straight-edge hippie that takes showers, brushes his teeth, and encourages people ride their bikes instead of driving cars. My life is at peace, despite many ambiguities. Solving personal problems is a challenge that I enjoy.
Looking back, I wonder what exactly I was trying to get out of martial arts. I would always say to my friends that I joined karate for my own spiritual well-being, but secretly I had fantasies about becoming an invincible fighting machine, and I would often day dream about my future exploits as a karate master, easily plowing through hundreds upon hundreds of foes. In this way, my shyness of martial arts is of my own doing, rather than the sensei.
I still question my compatibility with martial arts. I don't have very many books on forms or styles, and the stuff I do read I barely ever put to practice. However, I continue to practice in my back yard almost every day. I don't practice any certain form or school. In a way, its my own improvised Qi Gong, a collection of slow, balanced movements that I have developed on my own. Some positions are goofy looking, where as others I would describe as graceful. I doubt it offers the same health benifits of Qi Gong or Tai Chi, but any time I practice, I can feel something rushing through my bones.
And that's my story.
Comment