The pain and the shame

Crane by TerryL (CC BY 3.0)

I restarted kung fu this January. I’d quit when I got pregnant in 2002, and tried to return after, but lacked a definite edge. And I mean a mental/emotional edge, not just pregnancy weight, etc. So I took some time off. Suddenly I blinked and my baby was seven, ready to start kung fu herself, and I was 36 years old and a couch potato.

I am not overweight; I’m actually somewhat petite. But I’m not fit. I’m soft and tire easily. I’ve been wanting to get into shape simply to be healthier and so my clothes fit better. I did love kung fu, I loved the weapons and the forms, but I hated sparring and grappling. Sure, small people have many strengths to play to when they fight, but you really need to learn a lot of skill before you can tap into those strengths. I will say that I have had some really good sparring and grappling sessions in my time where I actually knew my strengths and played to them.

Well. Two. Two good sessions.

When I came back, I knew I would have a long hill ahead of me. I am not coming back as a white belt; I almost wish I was, so I could start at square one, unfit and ready to learn the basics. But I still have my training, and I’m remembering a lot of it. So I’m training with the green belts. It’s not easy.

I want to chronicle my path here, so I’m going to be honest with my training and include all the crappy weakness and insecurity inside me. Sorry for the look into the dark place.

Two weeks ago, we trained sparring. I hate sparring. And I hadn’t sparred in eight years. The blue belt I was with was fast, and hit hard – not hard enough to damage, but hard enough to let me know she was there. I began to get frustrated. And one downside of having a kid is I seem to cry a lot easier. So when I get angry or frustrated, I want to cry.

Panda Cry by Toronja Azul (CC BY 2.0)

Thirty fucking six years old, people.

So I’m sparring this woman and getting more and more frustrated. There’s no crying in kung fu, so I’m holding it back all i’m worth, and my throat starts to close up. So I’m dancing around, sparring, and suddenly can’t breathe. I was praying that my face was red because it always turns red when I work out, and not because I was about to break down. I was lucky class was called. It was horrifying and humiliating. (I couldn’t even cry in the car, cause I had the kiddo with me.)

So, one bad class, right? No big deal. Circumstances and weather had me miss the next couple of classes, and I went back last night, sure that the next class couldn’t be as bad.

Well. I didn’t cry. That was one thing good.

I learned that not only do you need to get in shape to begin fighting again, but when you train in martial arts (or any combative sport, I would wager) your body has to get used to being hit. And i don’t just mean fists- I mean contact with weapons, contact with the ground, etc. And that is not easy to get used to.

Last night we did rolls. I remembered the technique and went all the way down the room. When I got up, the room spun, but I kept going. Did about three treks down the room when I couldn’t get my balance and had to take a break. Humiliating. Tried to relearn backward rolls- hah. went down, over, back- and sideways. Fun. Two of those and I saw spots. Had to take another break. Then we did break falls.

In martial arts, you get thrown a lot, as your fellows need to learn how to throw people. You get to be the dummy. A lot. So they have to train you how to fall so you don’t break a wrist or get a concussion. The metaphor they use is comparing dropping a book on its corner vs. dropping a book flat. If you drop it on its corner, it’ll damage the book, but if the whole book absorbs the fall, it’ll be fine. So when you fall in kung fu, you try to fall flat and slap your arms as you hit. It’s a good technique to know, but hard to train yourself to just fall. Also hard to get your body to accept the frequent shocks of falling.

Then we did throws. Which is easier than break falls, honestly, because you don’t have to get through the mental block of making yourself fall; you don’t have a choice, you’re going down. Then again, if you don’t train well enough in break falls, throws will be really bad, really fast. I did OK being thrown, but wrenched my neck once. Stupid mistake. When it was my turn to throw, I struggled a bit and wasn’t too happy with my form. Most of the people in class are bigger than me, so my form has to be perfect if it’s going to work.  It was at this point I realized I’d been training for 75 minutes and I’d planned on being there only an hour, so I bowed out and came home.

I’ve been feeling lethargic at the end of the day lately, and made myself go last night. I realized when your choice sport is highly combative, you can’t really “warm up” and be on your A game if you’re feeling crappy. At least, I couldn’t. Sure, I could have done a slow, easy run if I was running, but you don’t know how you’re going to train in kung fu, and you need to be mentally sharp to get the techniques down and not get hurt. Halfway through the night I was just telling my body it was good for me and to shut up already and it would be over soon.

But sometimes I wish I could just check out with my mind and let my body get beaten up so it can harden, then come back when it’s ready so I can learn something. Right now I feel like a cat in a dryer, just being flung about, no style, no control. I know I need to train more, especially at home, and it’ll come back to me. But right now I’m feeling my age, and I’m feeling the 8 years away from training, and I’m feeling the lack of emotional and mental hardness that keeps me going when class gets bad. It’s frankly depressing.

Today my body is saying, “See what you did to me, all that hitting the ground and rolling around? See this bruise here? And this sore muscle? This is why we can’t have nice things!”

So I took a hot bath in Epsom salts, read a Runners World article about confidence in sports, and decided to get myself prepared for tomorrow’s class. Because I’m not quitting. That’s the one thing I’m holding onto. If I don’t quit, then I’ll get better. But it’s going to be a long hill to climb.