Fourteen years ago, I was a different person. I know that’s a given, that we’re all evolving over the years and day-to-day we change. But, back then I really was different. After four+ years of hard work, I’d earned my black belt in Taekwondo, and my body was tough and strong. I could easily do 50 push ups, jump and kick with power and accuracy, and I was fitter than I’d ever been in my life. I even won trophies for my innate ability to break boards!
But then life got in the way, and I quit to pursue other interests and focus more on establishing my fledgling media business. My red-white-and blue gym bag, filled with my belt, uniform, and sparring gear, gathered dust in the corner of the basement storage room. I would gaze at it every once in a while when I went searching for something, but I never did unzip it again.
Fast forward to today, when I finally walked into a new dojang at Charleston Taekwondo after contemplating restarting for the past six months. It wasn’t easy going into the bright, clean gymnasium by myself and facing an unfamiliar group of people. In fact, it was downright intimidating. I had watched Youtube videos to try and recall some of the blocks and forms, but I didn’t even remember exactly how to tie my belt.
But, I was warmly welcomed by Master Luke, who gave me an overview of the program and confirmed that I wouldn’t lose my black belt and have to start all over. “You worked hard for that belt,” he said. “You can wear it as you get back up to speed and continue on.”
My introductory Family Class had about 15 participants, with a half dozen black belts and other mixed colors. I stood at the back of the class following along as best I could with their routine. As we warmed up, did some line drills and exercises, my mind and body slowly started to fall into rhythm and muscle memory returned. It was hard. I had to push myself to finish some of the drills with my legs burning. Master Amelia, a young college student, was my partner at one point and was very encouraging, which broke the ice in my mind. “I can do this again,” I thought.
As I drove home that evening, I still had the adrenaline rush flowing through my veins, even though the lactic acid was already starting to pulse. I know I need to do this. I’m soft, and without a horse, I’m not riding as often. I no longer want to feel like my body is going downhill, so it’s my job to do something about it. It’s time to reconnect with the stronger me; even if I can no longer turn back the clock, at least I can slow down the process. I may only be able to do 25 push ups in the future, but that’s 24 more than I can do now.