Last time, I told you how I quit karate. Here’s the other part of the story.
As a kid, I’d watched one too many martial art movies, so around age eleven I joined the local karate club. Mind you, we didn’t train in some fancy karate dojo. No, the best we could come up with, was a grimy high school gym. Every time someone entered, the antique front door screeched like it belonged in some Stephen King horror movie. Dressing rooms? Nah, we didn’t need no stinkin’ dressing rooms. Just use one of the chairs along the sides. Oh, and be careful, the floor’s worn out and one misstep will leave your (bare) feet badly cut up – I found out the hard way once or twice.
Know what’s funny? I didn’t mind one bit. One or two lessons in, and I was hooked. There’s nothing like a light sparring session with a training partner, going in for a high kick, hitting your target, and retreating before he can react. That first year, I made progress week-by-week, fueling my motivation to train even more during my free time: stretching, sit-ups, solo sparring practice, you name it. It became an obsession and I thought I’d do this sport for the rest of my life.
Talk about wearing rose-tinted glasses, right? What happened to turn me from a fanatic into the complete opposite? Well, it wasn’t some cataclysmic event. It was a gradual loss of trust and faith.
One day, one of the teachers, an older gentleman, decided to explain why we’d twist our fist in a karate punch. Picking a volunteer, he told him to stand still and brace for impact. First, he gave him a regular punch. The volunteer simply took it, not breaking a sweat. The second time, he gave him the karate punch, twisting his fist and adding a snap of the wrist at the end of the motion. Predictably, this time the volunteer staggered backwards one or two steps. The others looked impressed, I saw straight through it: a neat parlor trick, but not practical in a real fight. I could’ve raised my voice, shared my thoughts. I didn’t. Several reasons why. For starters, I didn’t want to make a fuss. Also, I genuinely liked and respected the guy, so why undermine his authority, right? So I kept my mouth shut.
But that moment planted a seed of doubt in my mind. Before, I trusted these teachers implicitly. Now, I found myself wondering what else they were wrong about.
What sealed the deal for me, was this one sparring match I’d had. For youngsters, the rules were quite strict. You couldn’t punch someone in the face, but you were allowed to almost hit their face, preferring control over brute strength. But I guess my opponent misjudged his distance. His punch landed on my nose, probably by accident. The judge gave him a warning and a penalty point, but being a spirited young lad, twelve or thirteen years old, I thought that wasn’t good enough. When the match continued, I went into boxing mode, throwing him a left hook and a right hook. Much to my surprise, both connected, as he was too slow to put up a defense. You needn’t worry, the gloves were pretty thick and I lacked the upper body strength to do any damage. The effect was much the same like when he punched me: it stung a second or two. Anyways, in response, the judge gave me a warning and a penalty point as well. Putting aside how it’s an irrational move in context of a sparring match, it confirmed what I had intuitively felt for the longest time, that karate’s punches weren’t the best in town.
Over the years, more and more stuff came up where I disagreed with what they said. This game of playing along, pretending to agree, while thinking something completely different, became strangely exhausting. Four or five years in, I reached the point I discussed in the previous newsletter, mentally checked-out, looking for the off ramp.
Kind regards
Vincent J. Dancet