I was standing in a dingy gym behind the local leisure centre. A bony man with a shaved head handed me a green sash. “Well done, Teacher Zach,” he said. Ten-year-old me bowed and walked towards a wall of parents. They'd been standing there for three hours watching other people's kids take turns punching the air and yelling mispronounced words in Korean. Someone was blasting “Eye of the Tiger” over a cheesy speaker. One of the wide-eyed “instructors in training” gave me a toothy thumbs-up and grinned. He must have been working there for free. On the way home, I sat in the back seat of a car. Doufuku But after four years of martial arts and wearing many different colored belts, I realized I hadn't learned anything to protect myself. I decided it was time to give up and get out of the martial arts world.
It's not fair to say that combat sports and martial arts were of no use at all. They taught me a lot about stretching, senseless violence, and pretending to meditate while being disgusted by 50 pairs of smelly feet. But none of my instructors seemed qualified to teach a young child how to fight. In fact, none of them seemed qualified to be around children. Every instructor I had was a Steven Seagal impersonator or a divorced dad with an avocado. The only competent instructor I had was a capoeira “Bamba”, who taught me and a few equally inflexible friends how to cartwheel in a studio behind Nando's in Streatham. There was a black and white photo of him holding a trophy as a child on the wall. Whenever any of us would say things like, “I don't think you can do a back flip over a chair and a front flip over a table when you're only eight years old,” he would point to the photo and say, “Yes, you can.” My mom and I decided it was best to stop before we broke something.
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All of these classes were dangerous in some way, but Taekwondo was the worst. Every week the instructor would split the kids into groups of two for “sparring.” I learned nothing about martial arts this way, just how to take a beating. There were two kids older than me, and I was often paired up with them. I named them “Deer” and “Bear.” Bear must have been 13 years old. He was in one piece. He never said anything, just bowed and then beat me down. Then there was Deer, a lanky goofball who would slap me in the face with a high kick. I hated Deer more than I hated Bear, because I knew I could beat him.
One day, after a particularly embarrassing loss (I ended up on the floor in a fetal position yelling, “Someone stop him!”), I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I knew I couldn't beat him in taekwondo. I didn't know what taekwondo was yet. But I had to do something. I had to get revenge. The sparring began as usual. The Deer pursed his lips and hurled his freakishly long legs at my head. This time I was ready. After a few near misses, I grabbed his ankle with my left hand and, without hesitation, slammed my fist into his nose. I don't remember much after that. I remember the instructor telling me I was being disorganized (apparently that's not “taekwondo”). I remember the Deer holding a bloody tissue up to his nose as he walked away, and my parents turning around and clicking their tongues. I also remember it being the proudest moment of my life.
It's not fair to say that martial arts and combat sports have never helped me.
In truth, I am so grateful that my mother took me to various dojos and kickboxing studios, and, like many parents, dutifully waited for hours on backless benches and in dimly lit reception desks while I ran around the gym kicking around on beanbags and regaled me with stories of how a 50-year-old man once punched another man in the chest so hard his head literally exploded.
The next time someone tries to start a fight with me, I'm going to look him straight in the eye, throw a punch into the air, and yell, “Taekwondo has a history of over 2000 years! Since the Three Kingdoms period, Taekwondo has been taught by generations of people! The Kukkiwon Building in Seoul is the Taekwondo headquarters! Taekwondo translates to “the art of kicking and punching”! Taekwondo is my favorite martial art! Taekwondo is my life!”
He may not win the match, but maybe he'll finally get his blue belt.
