Lee Gale

My week has been governed by sciatica down my left leg all the way from my B-O-T-T-Y, down the back of my thigh, to my knee. If that wasn’t enough, I’ve picked up a stomach virus. Gaviscon pink gloop is at the ready. Wash your hands thoroughly after reading this blog.

There was full attendance in karate on Thursday, all lined up with feet together beneath the Union Jack buntings pinned up for the forthcoming King’s coronation. Our warm-up was fittingly royal. Ten squats at this end of the dojo, run to the other side of the room, and a press-up. Run back. Nine squats. Run. Two press-ups. Run. Eight squats. Run. Three press-ups, etc, etc. Forget the squats – that’s 56 press-ups in five minutes.

In a small stage area, a red, smiling rectangle acted out a dance routine and I thought: “It’s a dojo!” It was like the rectangle was performing a kata. I asked the proprietor selling these dancing shapes if magnets were involved and he shook his head. It was magic! “Here, take my money,” I said, and £4 lighter of coin, I had my own Grandad’s Magic Puppet.

I took delivery of my new belt in the Monday evening training session and since then I’ve had to pinch myself a few times… Wow, I’m a green belt!

And so to the next kata. I love katas! I also liked the fact that I was given the chance to run through heian yondan before anyone else in this one-on-one session. By the end of the hour, I was able to run through yondan extremely rustily on my own. There’s lots of practice to do with this – but I was elated by the time the session was over.

I carefully studied my World-Famous Sandan Bunkai Chart and worked through my kumite moves checklist that had pretty much became a firm fixture in my head. Even so, I felt ridiculously uneasy as I walked to Green Lanes… Green Belt Lanes!

By the morning my finger was a Porkinson banger with a tight wedding ring splitting the swelling in two. For the first time in almost a year of karate I felt strangely vulnerable – to injury and pain. As for combat, I need to develop an alternative strategy. My attack-dog routine has presented me with precisely two injured hands in a month.

When I was home from the dojo and had poured a glass of red, I drew the curtains in the conservatory where I write my blog but the material was trapped in the door. I opened the door and looked down to what I thought was a dollop of fox muck on the step; foxes are very creative defecators. But it was a frog. Perhaps it’s karate’s friendly frog, here to heal my ailments, fix my injuries and re-focus my mind.

Realising that I needed to fully nail my blocks and counters for jodan (face), chudan (chest) and various kicks after looking like Mr Confused in the dojo last week, I created a definitive checklist on a clipboard. Reading typed-up instructions on A4 paper and revising them like I’m cramming for an exam is the only way that info has any chance of soaking into my middle-age brain.

It’d be nice to start the blog this week with no mention of ailment or injury. So let’s get it out of the way quickly, shall we? My bruised right hand and painful fingers appear to be tendon tears, as diagnosed by the expert at the local surgery’s chemist. Voltarol pain-relief cream is being rubbed on twice a day.