Trying taekwondo

It takes some getting used to; bowing to others can feel pretty submissive.
And it makes it all the more awkward when you are at least 10 years older than everyone else in your class and your fellow students’ parents are watching diligently from the sidelines.
Those were my initial feelings during the start of my first taekwondo class at Whispering Pines in 100 Mile House.
I was told to just wear comfy workout clothes, but I felt out of place in my stretch pants while everyone else was in their white jammies.
I lined up with the
rest of the participants and waited to be called to the front, where I bowed and listened to my classmates recite “The Spirit of Taekwondo.”
Then, we were told to bow again – “kyung
nae” – in Korean. But the way instructor Lois
Gray said the command,
it sounded like a guinea pig or Pikachu the Pokemon singing out for love.
Our first task was to perform 20 number one front kicks. Initially confused, I wondered what my number one appendage was, but got into the swing of things quickly as Gray (who we had to call “Ma’am”) demonstrated the moves.
After 20 reps, we switched sides.
Following punches and more kicks, the belt groups separated to act out their forms.
I had absolutely no idea what this meant.
Ian Levic, a 15-year-old black belt, stood in front of the white belts (and wannabes, like me) and slowly took us through the appropriate form.
“Chamber, high block. Chamber, punch...”
This “chamber” business sure didn’t make sense but, not wanting to look dumb in front of the little ones, I kept my mouth shut.
I thought my kicks were high enough, but it seems my fists were a little floppy.
“It’s more like you’re doing spaghetti-style form than taekwondo,” laughed one student.
Once we had gone through the forms a few times, we were partnered up; I was placed with the kid who looked the youngest out of them all. We lined up, facing each other in a “ready” stance.
My first thought was “This would look bad if I beat up this kid,” immediately followed by a more embarrassing thought: “And it will look worse if he beats me up!”
What I thought would be sparring turned out to be another kind of form, called a one-step. My partner came at me with a punch, which I blocked and retaliated with a pre-determined block-punch combination.
The time flew by fast and, before I knew it, it was time to wrap up an hour of working out, while having fun and learning how to defend ourselves.
We lined up again, said another taekwondo blurb and bowed, then had to face our superior classmate and bow to him or her.
Although the kids were silly sometimes, when it was time to get down to it, they showed respect to their instructor and to each other, and it was a good healthy dose of discipline for young and old alike.
I guess sometimes leaders have to be
followers in order to be better leaders.

Set the standard

Three pedals. I just didn’t understand why there are three pedals.
Who needs a clutch?
I sure never have — I’ve been an automatic driver up until now.
My car is ill; for the past few weeks I’ve been searching for a something else.
Trucks seem to be the vehicle of choice here in the Cariboo. But there’s a problem: most trucks are standard transmission.
Stick shifts do look fun to drive, and there are four-by-fours galore for sale in the classifieds and on roadsides.
Yet it’s hard to test drive a truck when you can’t actually drive it; I found that out when I looked at a great 1988 Toyota 4Runner last week and had to watch the seller drive it around the block for me.
When friends offered to sacrifice the transmission of their old Chevy S10 for the sake of my better stick handling, I was grateful.
But my appreciation mounted to frustration once I was in the driver’s seat.
“OK,” said my friend-turned-driving-instructor. “Put in the clutch, all the way, and start the car. Now, slowly bring you foot off the pedal while giving it gas.”
Stall.
“That’s OK. Try again.”
We sat there for 20 minutes until the truck lurched forward and down the grassy hill of the yard.
“Now put the clutch in,” coaxed my ever-patient instructor, “and switch to second gear.”
I go to the end of the yard — into a sloped ditch — and slammed in the brake.
Stall.
“Put it into reverse, bring out the clutch and hit the gas.”
Stall.
I rolled down the window to get some air and cool my building aggravation toward the stupid truck. I thought about putting the stick in neutral and just rocking back in forth in my seat until it left the ditch by force.
Eventually I rolled it back enough to drive forward, and back up the hill.
I thought about how hard it would be to air drum or eat a sandwich while driving a standard, and started to think maybe it really wasn’t right for me.
“You know, your footwear isn’t exactly suitable for this.”
I looked down at my red thong-sandal heels slipping across the clutch, brake and gas.
There are three kinds of people in the world: automatic, manual/standard and chauffeured.
I want to be a standard, making my own way in life, not just cruising through on autopilot.
… But I can do that in other areas of my life; it doesn’t have to be in my car.