Peg Kerr's Journal

In about a half hour, I am going to drive to the dojo. When I get there, I'm going to put on a helmet with a cage over the face, a mouthguard, shin guards, foot, hand and elbow pads, and a chest pad. I'm going to get into a ring with other adults, both men and women, and for the first time in a year and a half, I am going to try to spar.

I like form. I like classical marching basics.

I do not like sparring. I do not, I do not, I do not.

We start sparring at the green belt stage. I did it for, I dunno, somewhere between six months and a year before I stopped. I didn't buy the equipment thinking, "Gee, I can't wait to try it!" Instead, I would face my opponent usually with quite a bit of dread.

The pads protect you, but still, I endured some tear-inducing wallops. And there were times I would get in there and I'd get hit, and I'd leave the ring, go into the bathroom, shut the door and sob.

The veterans told me that, oh, it gets easier. You'll grow to like it. Really you will. And you'll get better, and then it gets exciting. I tried to believe it, just the way that I tried to believe the people who told me that I'd grow to like running if I just stuck with it long enough.

Well, I tried several times in my life to develop the running habit, but it never took. I still hate it.

So, anyway. . .I'm going to try it again. I hope that this first night back goes somewhat easy.

I wonder if I'll cry again tonight. I really hope not. It's damned embarrassing.