Injured Pride

I’m writing this as my leg is elevated with an ice pack on my knee.

Ah, yesterday started off so nicely. With an aching throat and a pounding headache. But it was Taekwon-do promotion day, so I forced myself out of bed and into my uniform. A couple of Ibuprofen and cough drops later, I felt well enough to focus on the task that lay before me.

It took at least twice as long as usual for the four of us to get in the car. Joshua’s car seat was crooked, the buckles had slipped under the seat, the garage door needed closed …

The moment I arrived at the studio, I began running through my form. I knew it well, but what if–WHAT IF???–I blanked out in the middle? My instructor made a last minute correction of a hand position and the test began. We ran through warm ups and then I waited for my name to be called.

I was attempting to earn my first degree purple belt, which is the second purple belt in the ranking order. Confusing, huh? Almost as confusing as trying to explain the numbering on Star Wars movies. To put it into perspective, my next belt would be brown and I’d be two tests away from black belt promotion. If I passed.

With awesome skill and concentration, I executed my form. With slightly less awesomeness, I sparred against a black belt. At this level, all kicks during promotional sparring must be jump-spinning. I suggest trying this in your living rooms right now–after consulting your doctor–just in case you think I’m a wimp. There are two main varieties: the 360 degree spin and the reverse spin.

360 Degrees: Put your right foot in front. Jump while bring your left knee up, spinning a full rotation, and kicking to the front with your right foot before landing.

Reverse spinning: (Might not be the correct term for this, but it’s a good way to describe it.) Put your right foot in front. Jump while whipping first your head, then torso, then lower body to the left and kicking with your left foot.

Breathing heavily after the match up, I conferred with the assistant Grand Master–the GM’s wife–about what break I would be doing. She positioned the board holder at the proper height, inserted two boards, and called out my technique to the GM. I bowed, stepped back, and envisioned the break.

I ran toward the board, jumped, and smashed right through the boards with a right side kick. But I forgot something.

I forgot to withdraw my foot from the board holder. Did I mention I had lotioned my feet hours ago after my shower? The ball of my left foot hit the tiny line of rubber on the edge of the matting and slipped. Something snapped to the side in my left knee and my leg gave out. I fell. On my tush. In front of everyone.

I did manage to stand, bow, and limp back to the crowd. When I straightened my leg, the tendon/nerve/whatever snapped back into place and the pain went away.

Luckily, I broke the first time because I could not have given it a second try. I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. Maybe because I’ve realized that things like this don’t really matter in life. Sure, I’d love to break next time and finish in a vertical position, but I’ve always prayed for the Lord to keep me humble. I think falling on my keister, and catching the moment on video so we can relieve it again and again, qualifies as humbling.