tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3854240.post-17460849959417957972007-09-15T10:46:00.000-04:002007-09-15T12:15:06.420-04:00Today my body aches without movement. I have band-aids wrapped around each big toe, one covering an enormous blood blister. <br /><br />I went to a Karate class last night. In high school I practiced karate for three years. I won a medal in a tournament. I had some incredible teachers that did what incredible teachers do - push you hard beyond the boundaries you've drawn for yourself. And then some. I felt confident and strong. I could do knuckle push-ups. I could do hundreds of sit-ups. I felt that if anyone tried to do anything to me physically I would be able to take them down. And then some. <br /><br />Then I got busy, the club fell apart, and I stopped practicing. A few years went by. I tried again in university with a different club. There was a Japanese Sensei but not enough high level belts to keep me motivated. I stopped again.<br /><br />Then I went to Japan. Ah, perfect, I thought. What is better than practicing Karate in Japan? I tried another club. Not what I was looking for. <br /><br />It's been 12 years since I've practiced seriously. I try again. <br />And find <span style="font-style: italic;">exactly</span> what I've been looking for. <br />Sensei is perfect. He is an old Japanese man, tiny in stature, thick in accent. He takes the "beginners" aside and starts going through the basic punches and blocks. My arms, shoulders, elbows, wrists, hands, fingers, thumbs remember everything. But below the waist I am mush. I can't touch my toes, my knees wobble, my feet tear on the floor. But still he singles me out along with two others as having experience.<br /><br />"You have practiced before?"<br /> "Yes, a long time ago."<br />"Where? Here?"<br /> "No, Nova Scotia."<br />"Ah, beautiful place."<br /> "Yes."<br />"Come here."<br /><br />Japanese spins through my head. I want to speak to him, ask him where he's from, and if he misses ramen as much as I do. His English is perfect. "Power!" "Down!" "Touch your muscle. Hard!" <br /><br />As the higher level belts kumite to my right, and the beginners learn the basics to my left, a senior black belt works with me and two other girls on a kata. My legs remember all too well the awkwardness of backward stance. We start slowly, working on turns, setting up blocks, and looking before stepping. And then, full on. My<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kiai"> kiai</a> is loud, filling the room. The two other girls are a little shy, but I know no other way. I have found my club.Junicushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03929204407535913761noreply@blogger.com