My Name is Lincoln

Saturday was the long-awaited test day for the green belts. Only two of us tested, after two hours of total, comprehensive training. Sensei, as usual, took into consideration more than just the test. With every test, the student doesn’t find out until the end of the following Tuesday’s class. I wasn’t able to go Tuesday, so I had to wait until last night.

So I finally earned my purple belt. The color of the rank is not all that meaningful to anyone outside the form, since the rank system varies wildly among different disciplines (though in my form it is go-kyu), but at this level, body dynamics become crucial. “Finesse” is required for every technique, including the synchronization of breath and action as well as the control of relaxation and contraction.

In my case, this is a moral victory. A symbolic victory.

You see, while I was at Bowling Green, I had to train alone. I didn’t even have a partner, much less a sensei to provide constant input. I was at the level where I could have actually done quite well as an ascetic karateka, but grad school eclipsed my training regimen. And some of the finer points about body action were lost to me, and I gradually lost touch with the “finesse.” My workouts at BG became sporadic and inefficient. It’s called a plateau—the same plateau that aggravated me throughout my last year or so at Truman.

So I have proven myself to myself. I have the physical and mental focus that has finally allowed me to surpass my previous prime. Eat it, 22-year-old me!

It is a symbolic victory because, while at BG, I constantly felt I should be where I am now. It has taken some time, sacrifice, and commitment, but I have attained The KC Redemption as imagined during the worst of the BG nightmare. Grad school… what a setback. The symbolism, to me, is that I have retroactively spanked BG.

I don’t just take a vacation from it, though. The real hard work and commitment is only beginning. I have been keeping a “karate journal,” a small, leather-bound book in which I record bits of wisdom and technical advice as I accumulate them. The purpose is to have a “Jedi Holocron” of sorts, to function as an aide, should I find myself in a situation like BGSU where I have to train on my own. Granted, I have a multitude of high-quality reference books, but this journal is much more catered towards my purposes.

Now, if only I could go back in time and do Bowling Green over. If I hadn’t been berating myself for neglecting my training, victory would have tasted much sweeter. I would especially want to relive the moment at the end of the two-year program, when my fellow grad students escaped in their pristine white jumpsuits, when we overpowered our captors and ran out into the desert, when our eyes held that first glimpse of a real sunset, when we looked uncertainty straight in the eyes and knew we were truly free.

Wait, that wasn’t grad school. That was The Island. Oh. I always get those two mixed up. Well, anyway, that’s about what it feels like.

May this be the first of many victories, because it’s been a long time since I had reason to feel good about anything.