WEEK 62: The Wheels Fall Off

 

Perhaps I was due a mauling. Thursday, 15 June 2023 can easily be described as my worst hour in the dojo thus far. It was like being Bruno Fernandes playing at Anfield and Liverpool have gone 5-0 up – and you know that you’ve lost shape completely and you seem to be powerless to put yourself back on track.

Excuses don’t count in karate. They’re meaningless. But I’m going to offer an explanation. I’ve been on jury service for 12 weeks and to keep up with work amounts, I flap open the laptop most evenings and on Sunday. I see the kids on Saturday, so that day is always focused on getting them to the gym for some desperately needed exercise. I used to spend a few hours in the week working on elements of karate that needed improvement. I’ve had to prioritise; karate homework lost out.

The effect of this has been evident in my dojo performance, which culminated in a collapse this week. The drill was where I felt the first bump of unease. Rising block, punch, repeat, on the move. I tried to do a rising block preparation and as soon as I was working through the what-ifs and ands of the prep, I became quickly adrift about which arm to raise and on which side to punch.

I noticed that the sensei lost patience with me – understandable – and kept up the rapid-fire movements with the teens who were taking this in their ever-improving stride. I had a crisis of confidence attack that would have put Jaws to shame. The more I tried to get it right, the more I got it wrong. It was at this juncture that I felt immense embarrassment – embarrassment for thinking that in my fifties this was something in which I could succeed. I thought: there’s no fool like an old fool.

It went south from there – the equivalent of Liverpool’s sixth and seventh goals unfurling the back of the onion bag. Blocks and counters were next, which is something I agonised over when working to get my green belt. My karate notebook is full of blocks and counters. I struggled to keep the info at the front of my brain so I had to practise again and again to make sure I knew those moves.

Two months on, the nuances of this artistic violence had faded into partial obscurity. I had notions to keep up the practice of these troublesome blocks and counters… Mistake after mistake after mistake. Being told, “This is orange-belt stuff, Lee – I’d fail you today if this was green belt grading,” was mortifying. I nodded – Indeed, I’d not only fail myself, I’d expel myself for incompetence. From that point on I had a job to do just saving face.

Does age count for anything in karate? Possibly. If one thing the workplace teaches you, it’s to soak up pressure and deal with stressful situations. I was able to restart my brain and focus again by the time we came to the kata conclusion. Bearing in mind the outside temperature was 26°C, you can imagine the state of my gi 45 minutes in.

When the final whistle blew, I commented, “An absolute disaster tonight.” I went home not on the usual jet of air, but on a thundercloud. The sensei was, of course, absolutely correct to give damning criticism. It was fair comment – and he wants to get the most out of our involvement. That’s the sensei’s job. To push, to be an Army sergeant-major.

I got in, told Mrs Gale that I’d had the worst karate night to date, that I was a failure the likes had probably rarely been seen in a dojo before. “We all have bad days,” replied Mrs Gale, and I said something along the lines of, “No – not like this. Who am I trying to kid?” etc, etc. I showered, put on the camomile tea and went to bed to stew (fairly simple to do in these sultry temperatures).

With court and work curtailing my spare time, I’m wondering whether I should come clean and say that I’m not good enough at this point to be considered for purple belt. It’s too much too soon. Grading is next month. My jury service is going on in all likelihood for many months yet.

For now, I need return to my karate notes to pore over the blocks and moves – and even if I don’t find the time to physically practice the moves, at the very least I can work things out in my head during train rides and whatavya.

Mistakes, when they happen, can turn out to be valuable lessons and end up being a way of bettering yourself. Let’s be fair, I can’t get much worse . Did I think I wanted to jack it all in? Of course. On that walk home, on that thundercloud, dripping with sweat, I questioned my involvement. But I’m going to do as my late Nana often uttered: we plod on. Can I turn this around? Yes, I think I can. My Sunday to-do list is now: court money form; work timesheet; finish car auction stories; ironing; clean bathroom; ring Dad (Father’s Day); get new laptop working; blog; karate practice.