My Prediction For This Fight? PAIN!
Summer camp: Enjoyable nature-centered activity or brutal weekend of death? You decide.
One of the (arguable) high points of our karate curriculum is the infamous "Karate Kamp", where a bunch of students spend a weekend in some YMCA summer camp type area and work out and do summery stuff and have a good time and so on and so forth. It's like intense training, but all outdoors and naturey, and with some fun side events thrown in for good measure. The students get a lot of material drilled in them and usually come away with a good grasp of some new techniques.
In addition, any people who are up for testing at the black belt level are always tested at camp. From Friday afternoon to Sunday afternoon, they're in for the ride of their lives. It's an intense event, and a very difficult test. Having gone through it a few times and directed others several times, I appreciate the challenge.
To be a student at camp is fun. To be an instructor, however, is much harder. We're teaching seminars, keeping order with the children, leading events, motivating, directing, and just being in charge. Since there are some 30-40 children and another 10-15 teens and adults there, it makes for quite a bit of work. Add to that the fact that I have relatively poor human interaction skills to offset my inappropriate sense of humor, and you have the recipe for disaster.
Sensei knows this. He knows that just by having me there, he needs to make with the damage control. To his credit, his people skills are exemplary. That's why he's in charge and I'm not. For instance...
Sensei: Next up, Mr. Isabella!
*Mr. Isabella stands up*
*people clap and cheer him on*
Sensei: Do you know why we call him Mr. Isabella?
*he expects the standard "because that's his name!" punchline, but I'm faster*
Me: Because Portobello was already taken!
Crowd: *snorts*
Sensei: What is WRONG with you?
Mr. Isabella's nickname for the weekend was "Shroom". I take no responsibility.
The people who were being tested were all in the cafeteria for most of the days, only because it was so hot and humid outside that they would have baked like potatoes. Lucky them. But they were on edge, and we were there to push them closer. Well, maybe not. But I was, and everyone was a tool for my evil ways, like little Mr. M, 14 yrs old and one of the junior level black belts.
Mr. M: Sensei G, can I get a soda in there?
Me: Go ahead.
Mr. M: Is it ok? The testing people are all inside. Should I bother them?
Me: You're a junior black belt. You can go in.
(two minutes pass as Mr. M goes in and gets a soda and comes back to me)
Me: How was it?
Mr. M: It was wild. I walked in and they all panicked and ran to line up in front of me. I told them to relax, but they wouldn't, and they just stood there until I got my soda and left.
Me: All that power. It felt really good, didn't it?
Mr. M: Yeah... that was sweet. Can I do it again?
Me: Soon enough.
And this is how evil is transmitted from generation to generation.
Several years ago, one of the adults had tested for his first-degree black belt, and for some reason recalls, of all the stories, this time that I kicked him and went through his kidneys. Now, of all the things I do, hitting people hard is actually not one of the things that I do on purpose, because I'm really a non-violent individual at heart. More or less. But sometimes when you're fighting, you just get in that shot that goes a little too far, or you misjudge their position just a touch, and you hit, or get hit, with the force of a train.
Anyway, this weekend this same gentleman, a police officer by trade, was up for his second-degree black belt. He's been waiting for me. He's been preparing. He knows what I do and how I fight. He and I joke about it a lot, and I know that he wants to show improvement by not getting hit in the gut again. But this is towards the end of his test, and he is tired, suffering from heat exhaustion and physical exhaustion, dirty, hungry, and drained. He has no more power. He needs motivation. There are four people he has to fight before me. They wear him down. And then we start.
Mr. D wobbles in my direction. I kick him square in the middle of the chest.
He stops and starts again. I kick him in the exact same spot.
He stops and starts again. I kick him in the exact same spot, again. At the very least, I have precision.
Mr. D: GOD DAMN YOU HANS!
Me: You want some of this? *Kick. Chest. Precision.*
Mr. D: I'm coming to get you you sonofabitch!
His charge is like the running of bulls in Pamplona. I move out of the way and kick him, again.
Mr. D: Graaraarraaaagghhrr!
He finally hits me. NOW he is properly motivated.
Mr. D: I... will... get... you!
Me: Come on. Bring it.
Again he hits me. Again I kick him. We exchange for a few more seconds, and then the next fighter comes in to replace me.
Mrs. D (his wife, also a black belt) What did you do to him? We heard him cursing your name from here!
They're good people. Unlike me.
My body is incredibly sore now. I haven't had quite enough sleep, have been in the humidity and sun all weekend, and have worked out a lot. Some of this pain is probably my own fault.
I'm directing a group through kicking drills. Three black belts are with me, all of them older. Much older. I'm doing exercises that are challenging me. I'm suffering right now, in fact.
Me: And now we hold this position! *pause* How are we doing?
Group: Great, sir!
Sensei S: You're a bastard, aren't you?
Me: Yes, sir.
Mrs. D promptly takes my exercise and makes it worse.
Sensei S: Look at you, you got her doing it too!
Mrs. D: I want to be evil like Sensei G.
Me: She's the EIT-Girl. Evil-In-Training.
Somewhere around there my official nickname became "The Evil One." Mr. M promptly pointed out that popular biblical theory implies that the Antichrist will come from the United Nations. Make of that what you will.
Karma ultimately caught up with me, hardcore. The black belts were all situated in a typical camp cabin- old bunk beds, tiny run-down bathrooms, dirty windows, broken screens- it was all prepped for a zombie invasion. None of the door locks worked, most specifically the door to the bathroom, which was perpetually in "locked" mode. So we all knew never to shut the bathroom door.
I took a shower one evening, because I was dirty. Dirty is really an understatement, as sweat and dirt and grime pretty much covered me from head to toe. I needed to at least wash off one or two layers of yuck before continuing. So I take a shower, taking care not to shut the door. Shower feels good. But the bathroom mocked me- the shower was leaky, and spread water on the bathroom floor. I finish the shower and step out onto wet tile. My foot loses its grip and I slide forward into the door. SLAM. Click.
Oh shit.
Yup, I'm locked in the bathroom. My clothing consists of a towel and underwear. No one else is in the cabin. Hmmmm.
I check the window. Perhaps I could climb out... but it's a long drop to the ground, and I am still mostly nekkid. So I study the door. The knob is loose, and I manage to unscrew it completely. This, I figure, will get me out. The doorknob is unscrewed, and I think, victory! But no. The mechanism itself is completely jammed. I can't force it open.
Eventually, others came in and together we forced the door open with tools. Then we completely removed the entire lock assembly to prevent this from ever happening again.
Of course the weekend had a happy ending, and people passed their tests, and there was much rejoicing. I came home and slept for ten hours. I need more. My body still aches, and I might still need another shower. But I've done my evil deeds for the week, and I feel good.
One of the (arguable) high points of our karate curriculum is the infamous "Karate Kamp", where a bunch of students spend a weekend in some YMCA summer camp type area and work out and do summery stuff and have a good time and so on and so forth. It's like intense training, but all outdoors and naturey, and with some fun side events thrown in for good measure. The students get a lot of material drilled in them and usually come away with a good grasp of some new techniques.
In addition, any people who are up for testing at the black belt level are always tested at camp. From Friday afternoon to Sunday afternoon, they're in for the ride of their lives. It's an intense event, and a very difficult test. Having gone through it a few times and directed others several times, I appreciate the challenge.
To be a student at camp is fun. To be an instructor, however, is much harder. We're teaching seminars, keeping order with the children, leading events, motivating, directing, and just being in charge. Since there are some 30-40 children and another 10-15 teens and adults there, it makes for quite a bit of work. Add to that the fact that I have relatively poor human interaction skills to offset my inappropriate sense of humor, and you have the recipe for disaster.
Sensei knows this. He knows that just by having me there, he needs to make with the damage control. To his credit, his people skills are exemplary. That's why he's in charge and I'm not. For instance...
Sensei: Next up, Mr. Isabella!
*Mr. Isabella stands up*
*people clap and cheer him on*
Sensei: Do you know why we call him Mr. Isabella?
*he expects the standard "because that's his name!" punchline, but I'm faster*
Me: Because Portobello was already taken!
Crowd: *snorts*
Sensei: What is WRONG with you?
Mr. Isabella's nickname for the weekend was "Shroom". I take no responsibility.
The people who were being tested were all in the cafeteria for most of the days, only because it was so hot and humid outside that they would have baked like potatoes. Lucky them. But they were on edge, and we were there to push them closer. Well, maybe not. But I was, and everyone was a tool for my evil ways, like little Mr. M, 14 yrs old and one of the junior level black belts.
Mr. M: Sensei G, can I get a soda in there?
Me: Go ahead.
Mr. M: Is it ok? The testing people are all inside. Should I bother them?
Me: You're a junior black belt. You can go in.
(two minutes pass as Mr. M goes in and gets a soda and comes back to me)
Me: How was it?
Mr. M: It was wild. I walked in and they all panicked and ran to line up in front of me. I told them to relax, but they wouldn't, and they just stood there until I got my soda and left.
Me: All that power. It felt really good, didn't it?
Mr. M: Yeah... that was sweet. Can I do it again?
Me: Soon enough.
And this is how evil is transmitted from generation to generation.
Several years ago, one of the adults had tested for his first-degree black belt, and for some reason recalls, of all the stories, this time that I kicked him and went through his kidneys. Now, of all the things I do, hitting people hard is actually not one of the things that I do on purpose, because I'm really a non-violent individual at heart. More or less. But sometimes when you're fighting, you just get in that shot that goes a little too far, or you misjudge their position just a touch, and you hit, or get hit, with the force of a train.
Anyway, this weekend this same gentleman, a police officer by trade, was up for his second-degree black belt. He's been waiting for me. He's been preparing. He knows what I do and how I fight. He and I joke about it a lot, and I know that he wants to show improvement by not getting hit in the gut again. But this is towards the end of his test, and he is tired, suffering from heat exhaustion and physical exhaustion, dirty, hungry, and drained. He has no more power. He needs motivation. There are four people he has to fight before me. They wear him down. And then we start.
Mr. D wobbles in my direction. I kick him square in the middle of the chest.
He stops and starts again. I kick him in the exact same spot.
He stops and starts again. I kick him in the exact same spot, again. At the very least, I have precision.
Mr. D: GOD DAMN YOU HANS!
Me: You want some of this? *Kick. Chest. Precision.*
Mr. D: I'm coming to get you you sonofabitch!
His charge is like the running of bulls in Pamplona. I move out of the way and kick him, again.
Mr. D: Graaraarraaaagghhrr!
He finally hits me. NOW he is properly motivated.
Mr. D: I... will... get... you!
Me: Come on. Bring it.
Again he hits me. Again I kick him. We exchange for a few more seconds, and then the next fighter comes in to replace me.
Mrs. D (his wife, also a black belt) What did you do to him? We heard him cursing your name from here!
They're good people. Unlike me.
My body is incredibly sore now. I haven't had quite enough sleep, have been in the humidity and sun all weekend, and have worked out a lot. Some of this pain is probably my own fault.
I'm directing a group through kicking drills. Three black belts are with me, all of them older. Much older. I'm doing exercises that are challenging me. I'm suffering right now, in fact.
Me: And now we hold this position! *pause* How are we doing?
Group: Great, sir!
Sensei S: You're a bastard, aren't you?
Me: Yes, sir.
Mrs. D promptly takes my exercise and makes it worse.
Sensei S: Look at you, you got her doing it too!
Mrs. D: I want to be evil like Sensei G.
Me: She's the EIT-Girl. Evil-In-Training.
Somewhere around there my official nickname became "The Evil One." Mr. M promptly pointed out that popular biblical theory implies that the Antichrist will come from the United Nations. Make of that what you will.
Karma ultimately caught up with me, hardcore. The black belts were all situated in a typical camp cabin- old bunk beds, tiny run-down bathrooms, dirty windows, broken screens- it was all prepped for a zombie invasion. None of the door locks worked, most specifically the door to the bathroom, which was perpetually in "locked" mode. So we all knew never to shut the bathroom door.
I took a shower one evening, because I was dirty. Dirty is really an understatement, as sweat and dirt and grime pretty much covered me from head to toe. I needed to at least wash off one or two layers of yuck before continuing. So I take a shower, taking care not to shut the door. Shower feels good. But the bathroom mocked me- the shower was leaky, and spread water on the bathroom floor. I finish the shower and step out onto wet tile. My foot loses its grip and I slide forward into the door. SLAM. Click.
Oh shit.
Yup, I'm locked in the bathroom. My clothing consists of a towel and underwear. No one else is in the cabin. Hmmmm.
I check the window. Perhaps I could climb out... but it's a long drop to the ground, and I am still mostly nekkid. So I study the door. The knob is loose, and I manage to unscrew it completely. This, I figure, will get me out. The doorknob is unscrewed, and I think, victory! But no. The mechanism itself is completely jammed. I can't force it open.
Eventually, others came in and together we forced the door open with tools. Then we completely removed the entire lock assembly to prevent this from ever happening again.
Of course the weekend had a happy ending, and people passed their tests, and there was much rejoicing. I came home and slept for ten hours. I need more. My body still aches, and I might still need another shower. But I've done my evil deeds for the week, and I feel good.