ESSAY: MY TAEKWONDO JOURNEY

This is the essay I wrote at Grandmaster Kim's behest for my 4th-degree black belt test.

Late June 2005: I was standing at a high point on a section of the Great Wall of China which is just outside of Beijing. The day was warm, the sky was overcast with an occasional light shower of rain (much like my native Portland). I had just posed for a picture with, among others, my taekwondo mentor Grandmaster B.C. Kim. I watched as other members of my tour group, which was made up of about 40 taekwondo students and their families, slowly made the steep ascent. Included in the group of climbers was a new black belt from Lake Oswego named Ed McGregor Sr.; he was 73 at the time, and if anything he was setting the pace for the younger people in the group. Two thoughts crossed my mind: “I’m on the Great Wall of China!” (I’d barely ever been outside the United States), and, “How did I end up here?”


Late June 1996: my wife brought home a flyer she had found on her car’s windshield. The flyer advertised a new taekwondo school which was opening in a couple weeks. The head instructor was Olympic gold medalist Master B.C. Kim (he would earn the title “grandmaster” a few years later). I was a late-bloomer fitness nut in my mid-thirties who was looking for a healthy activity that I could do with my wife and eleven-year-old daughter. Taekwondo seemed to be just such an activity; plus the opportunity to train under the tutelage of an Olympic gold medalist was just too good to pass up (as my wife put it, “It’s like taking basketball lessons from Michael Jordan.”).

Like many people from my generation I had grown up watching Bruce Lee’s movies and the Kung Fu TV series with David Carradine. That was the extent of my martial arts knowledge. Martial artists seemed to be sort of mythical warrior heroes, men and women who had, through hard training and sheer force of will, transformed themselves into invincible fighters. Could my family and I possibly be among such rare company? It didn’t take long for us to realize that the answer was “yes”, although the reality of being martial artists turned out to be very different from our perception.

We loved the classes in the three-week trial, so we happily signed up for a one-year program. Our first belt test came along in September; the three of us passed, along with about twenty of our new friends. I will never forget the aftermath of the test. I looked at the row of brightly colored belts which were displayed above the studio’s mirrors. As I looked at the belts, from the white-with-gold-stripe belt that I had just earned to the black belt, I had an epiphany: I could be a black belt! If I worked hard, didn’t miss too many classes, and never gave up, I could do it!

Our one-year program quickly grew into a three-year, unlimited class attendance course. In December 1999 I earned, along with about twenty of my brothers and sisters, my first-degree black belt. My wife’s training was postponed by pregnancy and the birth of our second child, but before long she had also earned her black belt. My daughter also eventually earned hers. Sometime over the summer of 2000 I was invited to become an assistant instructor. Me, an instructor? Are you sure? Incredibly, teaching was a good fit for me. I’ve been teaching classes ever since.

August 2001: I found myself, along with about twelve of my taekwondo brothers and sisters, testing for second-degree black belt. Instead of a school gymnasium, this test took place outdoors at a meadow near a creek. This test was a grueling all-day challenge of strength, skill, and resolve. We threw hundreds of kicks and performed forms while waist-deep in cold creek water. We did hundreds of push-ups and sit-ups. We sparred. We broke lots of boards and a few bricks with our bare hands and feet. We reaffirmed to each other that, through our shared enthusiasm and effort, we had become a family. Some of the people with whom I tested remain my best friends. Although I have had many great times since then, the second-degree test remains the pinnacle of my martial-arts journey.

September 11, 2001: on maybe the worst day in U.S. history I was given a great gift. That evening I was teaching a group of children. The students were doing drills with a partner, mostly fun warm-ups such as jumping high-fives, balance practice, and arm wrestling. These particular students were a reflection of the multicultural population of our neighborhood; there were children from South Korea, Egypt, India, Israel, Pakistan, China, and other places around the world. One particular team consisted of a girl who was Jewish and Israeli heritage and a girl from a Muslim family. On that awful day, they were just two beautiful children playing and laughing together. I have hung onto the hope that they gave me.

Before my brief visit to China my tour group spent a week in the birthplace of taekwondo: South Korea. I tell you, being associated with Grandmaster B. C. Kim has some definite advantages when traveling in South Korea! We had the opportunity to train with the South Korea Sports Military taekwondo team (unfailingly polite and cheerful, but furiously competitive!), the Samsung professional team, and an epic class in Pusan which was led by Master Moon Dae Sung, who had won the heavyweight gold medal at the 2004 Olympics in Athens. Visiting beautiful new places like South Korea and China was marvelous enough, but these additional adventures simply would not have been possible without Grandmaster Kim. Thank you, kwanjangnim (grandmaster).

A couple months after the trip I earned my third-degree black belt. Since then, I have continued to teach classes and practice taekwondo. I’ve dealt with assorted injuries, personal frustrations, and challenges to my motivation. I’ve taken taekwondo classes from four Olympic gold medalists and probably a dozen world champions. I’ve made some amazing friends and mentors. I’ve taught around 9,000 hours of classes to all ages, nationalities, and ability levels. I’ve sparred with people one-third my age who could have kicked my butt, and I’ve won a silver medal in the “senior” (35 and over!) black belt division of the state championships. I have, along with five other people, carried a heavy log on my shoulders around a half-mile path a la the Marines while leading a cadence of “1-2-3-4! NO MORE PUSH-UPS!” (that second-degree test).



So, what have I learned? What benefits have I taken away from my journey thus far (this exact question is on one of the colored-belt test applications, too)? For one thing, I’ve learned that I was born to be a teacher. Before taekwondo I had no idea that teaching would be such a good fit. On the subject of teaching, the best advice I ever got came from Master Lee from Lee’s Martial Arts Academy in Wilsonville: “Love the students.” I do. I would jump in front of a train for even the most challenging, abrasive student I’ve ever worked with.

I’ve learned that the “natural athlete” is an overstated myth at best. Of course, some people DO have more ability than others, but here’s a lesson I learned early in my taekwondo career from Jason Hawkins, who was Grandmaster Kim’s assistant instructor for the school’s first year. After struggling through an especially difficult class, I turned to Jason and complained “This just doesn’t come naturally to me.” He looked at me as if I’d just said the dumbest thing he’d ever heard, and said: “It doesn’t come naturally to ANYONE! You have to work at it!” Of course, he was right. The best results can only come from the best effort, day in and day out.

This lesson was reinforced for me by Greg Worf. For those of you who never met Greg, he is a former student and fellow black belt. His challenges made mine look like petty complaining. When I met Greg, he was in his early 20s. He was probably 70 pounds overweight, suffers from asthma so severe that he could barely run the obligatory 10 laps around the room before the class’ warm-up, and has Down syndrome. It took Greg a couple years longer than most of us, but he trained hard and consistently, and he earned his black belt.

The best effort. As the Grandmaster puts it, “WORKING HARD!” That’s what makes and defines a martial artist. Aside from that effort, there are the Five Tenets. Courtesy, because we must find a way to get along with each other in spite of our differences. Integrity, because when all is said and done, all liars, phonies, and dilettantes get found out. Perseverance, because there are no breaks, there’s only quitting or not quitting. Self-control, because power without restraint is bullying. Indomitable spirit, because the only real invincibility is an unbreakable spirit.

There are too many great friends, current and former students, and influential people to mention by name, and perhaps this isn’t the place to do so. There are two people whom I must thank: Master Al Smith and his wife, Master RoxAnn Brown. They did so much for setting the tone at this school, and for my own taekwondo experience. Al was the first person who challenged me to see myself as a martial artist, not just some guy taking a class. Aside from their passion for the art of taekwondo, their dedication to leadership in action is a shining example to anyone who has put on a dobok and trained in the same room with either of them. Kamsa hamnida, my friends.

Now I’m on the verge of reaching a major milestone: fourth-degree black belt. There are a lot of taekwondo black belts. Most of them are first-degree; many are second and third-degree. Fourth is more rare, at least in the U.S.A. In our system, fourth-degree comes with the title “master”. I’m not 100% comfortable with that title; there is still so much more for me to learn. I am comfortable with being a teacher and a mentor, though, so if that makes me a master, I’m good with it. Taekwondo has been my opportunity to do something extraordinary, and for that I will always be grateful.

SOME THOUGHTS ON THE DAY, AND THE PEOPLE

Today was the big day: along with six great martial artists and friends, I tested for 4th-degree black belt. Master. The test went very well; all of us were as prepared as we could possibly be. If I say so myself, we all rose to the occasion. We all passed.



This was perhaps the least physically rigorous of my four black belt tests (although it was plenty rigorous; none of us are getting any younger). There were some recurring themes: joy, love, and family.

Joy, because there we were, a half-dozen peers and friends, grinding out one more balls-out class. Lots of whooping, cheering, and high-fives. The years and miles quickly melted away in such company.

Love, because each of us are teachers. I’ve come to believe that one can’t go very far beyond 1st-degree black belt without feeling compelled to pass the art and knowledge along. Teaching is love, and it’s a calling.

Family. In the audience for our test were many current and former students, peers, friends, and literal family members. Some of the attendees were people I haven’t seen in years! The fact that bunches of our young students and their parents would come and offer their support on a sunny spring morning means a great deal to me.



In alphabetical order, here are the other new masters and what they have meant to me over the years:

Ha-Yaun Chung: She joined our TKD family as a ten-year-old 2nd-dan from Korea, at a time when most of the students were around yellow belt. She was immediately put in the uncomfortable position of having to be a leader. She led, magnificently, by example. Ha-Yaun is the best forms performer I’ve ever seen.

Andrea Heikkala: She has had a smile on her face every time I’ve seen her. Andrea’s good cheer is infectious; she’s pulled me out of a funk more than once just by being herself. She has persevered through probably more injuries than the rest of us, and again, with no complaints.

Robert Hummel: He was another experienced martial artist at our new school, so like Ha-Yaun he was put in a position of leadership right from the beginning. In spite of his black belts in two different styles, he has happily tested along with the rest of us for all these years. Robert is cool. If he gets rattled by anything, I’ve never seen it in thirteen years. He really “gets it” when it comes to martial arts.

Cathi Leitzke: She is truly larger than life. If anyone works harder at TKD than Cathi, I’ve never met them. Cathi has been put in the often-uncomfortable position of mediator between the other advanced students and the head masters, and she handles it well. Cathi is truly the “go-to guy” if any student needs to know any bit of the curriculum.

Jason Leitzke: Cathi’s son is also larger than life. I’ve known him since he was 8, and every time I see him he lays a bone-crusher handshake on me. I’ve never met anyone more dedicated to becoming a better person. What he doesn’t seem to realize is that he already is a fantastic person. His infectious smile, his non-stop energy, his sheer enthusiasm, and his inhuman athleticism are a continuing source of joy.

James O’Rourke: James is the youngest of this group. He seems to have grown up before my eyes. A boy went off to college in Arizona, and a man came back! He’s a little on the quiet side, but he’s really blossomed as a martial artist and a teacher. It’s wonderful to see someone come alive like that. James and his dad were part of one of my life’s major adventures: the 2005 trip to Korea and China.



I hope this isn’t redundant, but once again I must give my most heartfelt thanks to Master Cathi Leitzke and Master Andrea Heikkala for their coaching, patience, and good humor. Without them I would not have been able to pass this test, no exaggeration.

The End Of Something

The last week before the test lies in front of me.  I've memorized all the stuff I have to memorize.  I've turned in my application, passport photos (they go to World Taekwondo Federation HQ for our official ID cards),  my essay about my taekwondo journey (I will post my essay on this blog after the test), and the ungodly testing fee.

My injured knee is what it is.  It's still swollen and my range of motion isn't what I'd like, but it's not painful.  Put on a brace and pray.  From what I've heard from the other 4th dan candidates, I'm not alone in dealing with chronic injury.  Oh well, it's better to burn out than it is to rust.  In the final analysis, the experience has been well worth the price we've paid.  My essay will be the last post on this blog.  There is nothing left to do but the test itself.