Stay off your heel
“Stay off your heel.”
“Stay off your heel.”
“Stay off your heel!”
I spin again, and fall backwards again, and hear those annoying 4 words. Again.
“Stay off your heel.”
I grit my teeth, instead of indulging in the tantrum I so desperately want to.
There’s no crying in tae kwon do.
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I started TKD in my early 20’s, a few years after my boyfriend got involved. He was starting to slim down, eating better. He could run faster, was stronger. I was having a hard time keeping up, even just shopping at the mall or grocery store. Let’s not talk about the 10k hike we went on, how he had to slow his pace to accommodate me, and even then I was exhausted to point of tears by kilometer 8.
I’d always thought of myself as having natural athleticism. I drove my father nuts; I didn’t have to work at it to be a good ball player, and so I didn’t. But, as he’d warned me, it didn’t take long before the lack of effort put me well behind my peers.
Instead of inspiring me, that challenge made me give up. I had other interests, other activities. Besides, I could always go back… couldn’t I?
By 18, I was well-established as a reader, not a doer. While my younger brother played every sport he could find, supported and sometimes coached by our dad, Dad and I shared books and talked about politics, while Mom and I enjoyed theatre, from both the stage and the audience.
My boyfriend was a guy I’d picked up at a drama festival we were both involved in. We lasted through our last year of high school, past university, and into our first jobs and first layoffs. We hung out with friends, watched TV and went to the movies.
And then he found martial arts.
I’d forgotten how physical activity could give you confidence and self-control. How it gave you goals to work towards, made you stand taller. I was seeing all these benefits in him and more - his asthma was under better control than it had ever been, and he just generally felt and looked better.
I took a long hard look in the mirror - and didn’t like what I saw.
My natural athleticism had given way to softness and curviness, which in itself wasn’t bad. But the way I sought out the closest spot to sit down after only a few minutes of standing was. The way I ate without considering the quality or quantity of what I was ingesting was. And the way I was feeling - tired, dull, slow - that definitely was bad.
So I joined too.
I expected to progress quickly. After all, I was ‘naturally athletic’. To my dismay, I discovered that like most unused talents, natural athleticism fades with lack of use. Every belt level was a fight. A fight to the get kicks faster, higher and harder. A fight to move my body in unfamiliar ways and make it look natural. A fight to not back down from a sparring opponent.
But I did it. I learned the techniques, practiced them, fought opponents and myself to get my black belt.
And I was proud, and tired, and so I rested.
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For three years I rested, while my husband continued through his second and third degree black belts and even tried out some other martial arts. I enjoyed my evenings at home by myself, and remembered how hard I fought to get back some measure of fitness, so I went to an exercise class, and did yoga, and even went back to baseball.
But I’m back now. 40 years old, married to the boyfriend and with a three year old. The husband wants to turn the three year old into a black belt.
And so I find myself on the mats again, learning again, how to turn, how to throw my foot out at head height for a spin hook kick to my opponent.
And being reminded, again to:
“Stay off your heel.”