Peg Kerr's Journal

I keep hurting myself.

On Friday at pad strikes, we were doing a back and forth across the room drill, and at one point when we were trying to get our heart rate up with a slide hop slide, I Did Something Wrong and I felt the ball in my hip socket pop partly out. I crashed to the ground (how embarrassing!), got up and cautiously manipulated the hip joint. The ball had gone right in again, but the hip was sore, so I was done for the night.

Tonight, I went to sparring class. I was wary, because this was the advanced sparring class, filled with too many young guys with too much testosterone, but the screening's in two weeks, and I need all the practice I can get. We started with three minute warm up matches. My first fight, through the luck of the draw I drew the person with the highest belt level in the room, a sixth degree, but he knew what he was doing of course, and didn't hurt me. Fight two I fought a kid who had no chance against me. He's a black belt, but he's more than a foot shorter than me, and I had the reach on him every time. Fine. Third fight, I turned to face his brother. Thirty seconds in, I twisted my left ankle, and down I went.

This was the ankle that got twisted a month ago...Fiona had left her SHOES at the BOTTOM OF THE STAIRS and I fell over them on my way out the door and it's been bothering me ever since. I suspect I strained the ligaments or something, and here I was, twisting it all over again, a week and a half before the second screening. Wonderful. I took off my gear and hobbled to the office and put the foot up with an ice pack. Sparring was done for the night.

Damn, damn, damn.

I got there in street clothes due to an appointment right before. I opened my bag and couldn't find my sports bra. WTF? I HATE fighting without it.

My goal was to get through the entire class without quitting.

I got punched in the head REALLY HARD. Straight in the face. By a sixteen year old brown belt six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than me. Classic. Not his fault, really. I'm a little hazy about what happened, but it was an accident of bad timing, I think. He wasn't out of control; I just stepped in at the exact wrong moment while attempting a blitz (I think?) It rocked my head back. I yelled and stopped the fight and pulled off the helmet and gasped, starting to cry. But within thirty seconds, I had my helmet back on and stepped back into the ring and finished the fight, at full capacity.

I won several fights and got third place for the night (out of maybe nine fighters?)

My belt fell off, so I draped it over the bar...and forgot about it when I left.

Got home and discovered my sports bra wasn't on the bed. So where was it? When I discovered my belt was missing, too, I growled and stomped around alot and snarled and then drove back to the school. There was my sports bra...in the parking lot. Yes, someone had driven over it. Found my belt inside the school.

My jaw and my chin hurt, hurt, hurt. I have a headache.

Going to take a shower.

I got through the entire class, without hyperventilating.

But I do Not. Like. Sparring.

Edited to add: Oh my god, this hurts. My jaw hurts and my chin hurts and I have a terrible headache. Crying in the shower from the pain. Not a good sign. Hope the motrin kicks in soon.

I made it all the way through, ALL the way through an entire sparring class without passing out, crying or throwing up. Or having to stop because I couldn't breathe.

My personal victory.

Last night I went back to sparring class for the first time in months. I was quite nervous about it, and rather glum when it was over. I'll try to view the glass as half full (at least I tried!) rather than half empty (I sucked). But it's difficult.

Fiona has the same class. Unlike me, she LOVES sparring, although she does find it vexing that quite frequently she's the only girl woman to show up (not to mention the smallest person in the room, which means she's quite handicapped in terms of reach). So she was pleased to see me back.

I suited up. This sounds simpler than it was. Our equipment includes elbow guards, shin guards, hand and foot pads, chest guard, mouth protection and helmet. For one thing, this was the first time I suited up while wearing the knee brace; I hadn't realized, but of course it was going to be in the way of the shin guard. Duh. I thought hard about it, but I was really leery about trying to fight without the knee brace (well, to fight at all, actually) so I strapped the shin guard around it as best I could.

Fiona promised I could start with her. I knew she wouldn't whale on me. We started with a light three minute bout, working on double kicks, no hands. Fiona's balance when kicking is absolutely superb. She cocks her knee up and pops the kick out, pop pop pop at her opponent's head level as she slides, without setting down at all between kicks. Deadly like a scorpion. Amazing. It's her best defense because she's so short compared to practically everyone else in the room--she can't allow them to reach out to score with a punch, so she has to keep her knee up there all the time. She circled me slowly, letting me get the hang of starting to fight again, giving me openings, letting me get my confidence up. It's interesting to see her in the role of a teacher. Then we lined up in double lines and everyone stepped to the right and I was paired with Mikey W. (He's a brown belt now so I should address him by his last name, but I've been thinking of him as 'Mikey' forever, and his last name is long and I always forget it.) Mikey has some physical limitations--I think he has Asperger's? or he's mildly autistic. He's worked very hard, but he's never going to be one of the stars of the school. Our instructor for the hour stopped by to watch our bout and gave him quick advice on a flaw I'd already spotted myself: he was fighting from a face-on position rather than positioning himself so that his side was facing me. He's rather broad anyway, so he was presenting an even larger target. He's also rather slow and really signals his moves in advance, so it was pretty easy to hold my own in the bout.

Line up, step to the right--and my stomach plummeted. I was facing Mohammed C., who three people had mentioned to me as someone who has real trouble with control: he hits much too hard. He's a rather new red belt. He's bigger than me, too. I was extremely nervous, starting to fight with him, but I quickly realized it wouldn't be too bad. All the three fighters who mentioned him also noted that our head instructor actually made him leave class and go home one day as a warning since he was showing so little control. Maybe the message has finally sunk in, or maybe he realized that I've been out for awhile, but he really didn't press too hard. I did have one bad moment when I threw a kick that seemed to throw my hip out, leaving me staggering against the bar. But after a moment's anxiety, I was able to get back to the fight. My three minutes went quickly without me getting punched too hard, although I was starting to breathe hard. Line up, step to the right, and to my relief, I ended facing Mr. Stretton, a black belt.

I've mentioned Mr. Stretton before--he's about my age, and has had years as a boxer. He's one of the biggest fighters in our entire school, but he has excellent control, and is a very generous and patient teacher, very open with tips. I like him a lot. He has also coped with bad injuries over the years and so is very sympathetic on that score. He knew that I was just getting back and was very nervous, and so he reassured me that he wouldn't be throwing anything very hard. The instructor directed us to throw hand techniques followed by kicking techniques. Mr. Stretton was free with the encouragment, and I did manage to land several good kicks. He pointed out that I managed them well above waist level, which made me feel a little better.

We took a water break at that point. I was breathing hard by this point, and I decided I'd stop there for the night. The class was about halfway through, but I didn't want to overdo it my first time back. So I pulled my bag to the back and started taking off my gear, feeling somewhat guilty. The instructor started a double team tag in/tag out match which became quite fast and furious. It was terrific fun to watch, and technically challenging since theoretically you might be fighting two opponents rather than one, but I was very glad I wasn't in there myself. We have lots of REALLY good, fast fighters in our school (mostly teenage boys swimming in testosterone). That's what you get when you have instructors who are national champions. It was interesting to see Fiona trying to hold her own in the shark pool there. She has to be very smart to score--which she is--and she uses her kicking skill to excellent advantage, but quite often someone manages to pop her on the top of her helmet simply because they have six inches on her.

I felt rather gloomy as I drove home, although Fiona did her best to be reassuring. I really do feel hopelessly outclassed by 85% of the other fighters there. And not everyone is going to be nice and back off to humor the fifty-year old lady. It's one thing if it's an instructor who's teaching you, but humiliating if it's a sixteen year old boy who's humoring you. They certainly don't bother to do that with each other! I have to be able to hold my own in the ring. How the heck am I going to be able to stand my ground well enough to earn my black belt? Yes, I'm taking the first step by actually suiting up and getting back into the ring. But they don't give you black belts for merely suiting up, and oh, I do not like sparring. I feel like such a fraud.

One of the first people we spotted when we arrived back at the hotel last night was the unfortunate young woman who took that severe blow in Fiona's sparring division. To both of our immense relief, she was there again, apparently discharged from the hospital, up and walking around, although she had on a huge neck brace. The blow had been under her chin, right under her helmet. I guess it's being treated as a whiplash-type injury.

Here's Fiona performing Sho Shin, the first degree black belt form for kamas.




The thing is, the Diamonds are, of course, local for us, but it is really a big-deal national tournament. She had really hoped to perform Me Young (sp?), which is a bo form that's ordinarily done by fourth degree black belts, and she'd spent a month working on learning it. However, she got sick two weeks before the tournament, and so missed a week and a half of classes and so wasn't able to finish learning the form. She decided, reluctantly, to go back to doing Sho Shin--which she loved when she first learned it, but she learned it awhile ago, and she felt rusty at it. And the black belt competition at the Diamonds is especially fierce. The other schools often use more technically challenging forms (which is why Fiona was trying to master a fourth degree form). Because she was rusty, she performed it more slowly than she should have, and in the end, she felt, the form she was forced to use was simply outclassed by the other, more complicated forms. The people who come to compete at the Diamonds travel so far because they are the best of the best.

So that was a disappointment. She hopes she'll have Me Young mastered by tournament time next year. She said she also wants to try some of the smaller regional tournaments, where she wouldn't necessarily be facing national champions who live and breathe nothing but karate.

Here she is demonstrating gun self defense with a partner. In this video, Fiona (closest to the camera) first is the attacker, and then the defender.



We went back to watch the finals last night, which were amazing as always. The people up on the stage perform truly astonishing physical feats. There is quite a bit of gymnastics incorporated in the more extreme forms. Some of the kids, with their leaps, kicks, and blindingly fast weapons work, seem almost superhuman. The synchronized teams were wonderful to watch, too.

"The thing is," Fiona said, "I'd like to be able to do karate like that, but still have a real life. But I don't think that's possible."

I enjoyed the judging much much more the second day. It was particularly fascinating to judge forms done by people from entirely different disciplines--a little intimidating, too, because I honestly didn't know what their criteria for excellence was. But I guess I knew enough to have a feel for it, because my scores were pretty much right in the very same ballpark as the other, more experienced judges. One of the women, in the weapons division, was wielding a fan--an enormous Japanese (I guess) fan. I had never seen anything like it, but it was great fun to watch.

I had been particularly intimidated by judging sparring. The first day, my center (the head judge of the division) was my own senior instructor at our dojo. I asked him privately how I did after the night was over, and he told me I had to be faster and more decisive when making calls. I felt like I really had gotten the hang of it by the end of the second day, and was actually enjoying the process in the end. I would be willing to judge next year. But (an even bigger deal) I also realized I feel I would like to compete myself next year--if, that is, I'm healed well enough to be in fighting shape.

I'm limping today. I Did Something Bad to my knee about a month ago during a class when we were doing spin kicks. I do not like spin kicks, I do not do them well, and apparently I did not do them properly, because I've been getting a low-grade "there's something wrong here" warning every time I squatted. A pain on the left side of the right knee joint.

I have been not pleased with the weight gain of the past several months, which I attribute to eating too much due to stress, stopping bicycling because of the weather and not attending as many karate classes due to scheduling problems and depression. I had dropped pretty much all weight-lifting and stopped the 100 pushup challenge, too. I thought about it hard over the past month and decided to refocus and kick it back up a notch after the new year. I joined a boot camp team on Sparkpeople.com (5 - 30 minute cardio workouts a week and 7 - 10 minute videos working various body parts with weights), and I went back to sparring class on Saturday for the first time in quite awhile.

The sparring class went quite badly. Very, very badly, in fact. The sensei's object was for us to fight without breaks, to practice coping with exhaustion. Periodically, he'd tell us to do something like drop and do fifty pushups and fifty crunches and then get up and start fighting again. I couldn't do it without continually hyperventilating. I'd do a bout, then lose my breath, sit the next fight out, go in and start fighting again and then hyperventilate again, and sit out the next one. It was so frustrating. I knew exactly why I was doing it, too; I was tensing up and using too much energy and exhausting myself, even though I was telling myself, breathe, relax, breathe. The rounds just kept going ON and ON and ON. "Drop and do another set of pushups." Halfway through class, I started to cry, which only infuriated myself further. I hate, hate, hate it when I cry during sparring class. I wasn't crying because I was getting hit (although I was) but because of my utter frustration with the breathing problems.

But I was stubborn. It really embarrasses me and I usually quit when I get to the point I start crying, but this time I tried to push through it. I HAVE to learn how to pace myself through sparring, I HAVE to be able to increase my stamina. I HAVE to learn not to quit when it gets hard if I want to get my black belt. Everyone else was soldiering on, and I didn't want to be the one to quit. I took breaks to gulp water, wipe the tears from my face, and then would put the helmet back on and get back in. After half an hour of fighting, I turned to face yet another opponent, and my body just gave up. I swayed, overcome with dizziness, and landed down on the floor. Sensei hauled me out into the lobby and gave me water. Dammit, dammit, dammit. I tried to console myself by reflecting that I had tried very hard and was really, really stubborn to have fought as long as I had, but I was still mad and embarrassed as hell. Great. Once again, the only one in my class who apparently can't cut it.

Needless to say, I didn't stay for the kickboxing class afterwards.

On Sunday, I did about forty-five minutes of cardio, low impact aerobics, using a video I've done before. I did stretch before and after.

Today, I can barely walk. I've been icing the back of the right hamstring, but it's clear that I'm going to have to start doing the rehabilitative exercises that cloudscudding gave me again.

What am I going to do for cardio until this heals? I've been dinking around with this injury for a month, and now it's so bad I can't even walk at a cardio level. I went down into the office gym this afternoon doing my break and tried various options. I wondered if I stood on the injured leg and kicked with the good leg, whether I could get my heartbeat elevated enough, but even that hurt the injured leg too much. I tried practicing with my bo (stickfighting form), but that aggravated the knee, too. Finally, I resorted to boxing combinations (jab, punch, hook, uppercut) and horseback riding punches. Those are going to get really really old if it's the only option I've got for cardio.

I had promised myself that I'd be diligent about going back to karate with the new year, and I want to, but I don't think I'd better try sparring tonight. Am mad at/with myself for missing karate again, and very frustrated. The boot camp video for today is lower body, annoyingly, and I don't think I can do that, either.

Other suggestions for cardio with a knee injury? I can't even walk at an aerobic pace. No access to a swimming pool, so that's out, too.

Fiona has accepted the inevitable (namely that she really is getting too tall to spar in the kids' sparring class) and so she came with me to the adult sparring class for the first time. And so we finally got to fight each other, something we've been looking forward to for a long time.

And it was also the first time I've ever seen someone at the dojo get hurt to the point of getting taken away in an ambulance.

Mr. Pallesen started the class pairing off for light contact warm up fighting. I started with a teenaged red belt named Jericho I've never fought before. I honestly couldn't tell whether Jericho was a boy or a girl (he/she had a braid of hair clubbed back at the neck). Extremely quick on the feet, with aggressive rapid-fire follow through, but not, unfortunately, much control. "Light contact," I admonished him/her after the third strong wallop to the head.

We changed partners and started again. Then I heard a sharp cry of pain and looked over and saw Ms. Gori over on the ground. Fiona, backing up during her own bout, had all but fallen over her. "No, no, don't move it!" Ms. Gori cried, wincing in pain as Ms. Staley knelt down and went to turn her over . "It's the knee--I think it's dislocated."

Our two senior senseis were there, so they came out of the office and knelt down to assess her. She had been fighting, she told them, and them somehow, as she was moving backwards, something happened--it had all happened so fast, that she wasn't sure exactly what--and her knee had collapsed under her.

"Did you hear anything pop, or feel anything tear?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I'm not sure."

I helped them gently remove her sparring gear, which I went to put in her bag. Her father was there, fortunately. Ms. Abuerto held the knee immobilized and talked to her as we waited for the ambulance. "Your limousine is here," Mr. Sidner quipped as the ambulance arrived in the parking lot.

The paramedics came in, as did Ms. Gori's mother, looking extremely alarmed, as well she might. "God, I'm supposed to test next month," Ms. Gori said, tears of pain rolling down her face as they carefully bundled her onto the stretcher. I winced, remembering--Ms. Gori was one of the black belts who had been at this Saturday's advanced test, who was awarded her third section star. She has also been going to the screenings and passed them, and was going to test for her black belt, second degree on September 6, the day we hope Delia will test for first degree. When the paramedics asked her how old she was, she answered "Fourteen," and I winced again, looking over at Fiona. Just a little younger than my girl. What a disconcerting introduction to adult sparring class for Fiona.

After the paramedics wheeled her out, we fighters left looked at each other and heaved a collective sigh. "All right, helmets on," Mr. Pallesen said. "Pair up. Light contact again, this time close up, hands only, to chests and shoulders only, not to the head." We shrugged a little ruefully and obeyed, and the new fights were on.

I paired up with Fiona twice. The first time, we did a lot of circling and feinting, each trying to figure out the other's fighting style. She has a powerful sidekick, but I have the reach on her, having longer arms and legs. One strange effect: every time one of us landed something, we would laugh. I guess we were just a little nervous and giddy about finally fighting each other. The second bout I had with her was for one of the close-in-hands-only bouts. I thought about how I've been working on breath control (trying to fight while keeping loose enough that I can talk, without hyperventilating), so I decided to have a little fun. I feinted with a jab and landed a ridge hand to the side of her helmet. "That's for leaving your towel on the floor." Backhand punch. "That's for not emptying the dish drainer." She giggled and tried to blitz me back. I ducked and threw a light hook. "That's for not making your bed." The bout ended with a flurry of punches and giggles, and we ended up exhausted, but happy.

She fought Mr. Stratton during the hand-contact-to-head only bout. Mr. Stratton, who is HUGE, has always been sort of our private family joke--I'd tease her that like it or not, she had to go to adult sparring sometime, and then she'd have to face Mr. Stratton. She found the prospect disconcerting because he is so big. He always fights with excellent control, however (he's had to learn it, since he's bigger than just about anyone in the dojo except maybe for Mr. Sidner), which I really appreciate, and he is always cheerful extremely generous with praise and pointers. He was about a foot taller than Fiona and probably 125-140 pounds heavier. But she said she enjoyed fighting with him, he was really nice--although her arms certainly got tired because she spent the entire three minutes of the bout punching up.

It was fun dissecting the other fighters with her on the drive home.

I'll say a prayer for Ms. Gori tonight. Ms. Staley said was hopeful that it wasn't a dislocation, and that she'll still be able to test next month. She'll have to take it easy for awhile, though.

Back to the usual routine yesterday, which meant getting back on the bike and back to the dojo. Man, it felt great after spending last week more or less cooped up in the house, going nowhere. I haven't taken a karate class in two weeks. Last week it was because I was home nursing Delia. The week before, I missed because of a number of conflicts: Fiona's orchestra concert, church council meeting, and because I was taking pictures of the belt tests at another dojo.

Last night's class was sparring. Mr. Sidner, our head sensei, was teaching, which was a treat. Haven't seen him leading a sparring class much lately; he's been busy with his additional duties at another dojo. We mixed up partnered practice bouts with drills, mostly working on the ax kick, and then ended the class with point matches. I fought at various times with a couple of other teachers who gave me encouragement and tips. I'm now one of the upper belts, and I'm getting to the point where I could offer a couple of pieces of advice to some of the lower belts I fought against.

I'm definitely able to kick above the waist now. Hurrah! Mr. Pallesen was encouraging me not to wear myself out by popping up too many side kicks, but waiting until my opponent gave me an opening--and then not hesitating but going for it. I did manage a couple good blitzes when I was fighting Ms. Staley. I didn't feel I was desperately overmatched against any opponent I fought last night (I don't know, maybe the black belts were feeling kind). And I didn't feel that any of the brown belts were showing lack of control (as some of them have done in the past), so I didn't freak out about getting clobbered by anyone.

Came out of class wringing wet and happy. Which is a great way to end sparring class. My ax kick still wouldn't threaten a kitten--haven't landed a decent one yet--but my side kick is getting to the point that I can stop a grown man in his tracks. And I actually remember to use the hook kick once in a while. I managed to land a couple spin kicks, too.

I went to class.
I had fun.
I made it all the way through all my bouts.
I won some bouts.
I managed to score some convincing points.
I sweated a LOT.
Mr. Sidner said I had a fast jab.
I didn't freak out at any point in the class about getting hit and escape to the bathroom to have a surreptitious cry and/or leave early.

All of these are victories, but I'm particularly proud of the last.

Tonight went very well, although I bolluxed up a hip joint at the end of class. I managed to fight through the entire class without hyperventilating, which was excellent progress. I really enjoyed the fighting, mostly because I felt tonight, perhaps for the first time, that I'm actually starting to put it together and getting a bit better at analyzing my opponent.

I'm older than everyone in the class, in most cases by two or three decades. Ian and John are significantly shorter than me, and for the first time tonight (duh, Peg) I started thinking about really using the extra reach I have on them. They're carrying a few too many pounds for their height, and being built like fireplugs means that they have momentum and power in their punches--when they can land them--but they aren't the quickest in the room in mounting a blitz or changing direction abruptly. The word that occasionally flits through my mind when I fight them is "lumbering." John is tentative about following up, too. They're quite a few belts behind me, so they are still getting the basics down. Ian in particular was really telegraphing his moves well in advance, which meant I managed to dominate most of the bout, because I was able to step out of the way when he tried to kick and then step in with a quick counter.

Fighting Connor puzzles me, and I haven't figured out why yet. He hits hard, but--I dunno. I'm not sure if there is something subtly--off about his physicality. Or perhaps his mental processes? He somehow gives me the impression that he's like a marionette with elastic in his joints that doesn't quite work the same way that other people's joints do. When he isn't fighting, he seems big and moves in an shambling way that I can't quite pinpoint. Um--is it just that he's an awkward teenager who's not quite accustomed to his own height after a growth spurt yet, or is it something like Aspergers?

Fighting Jesus is hard work because he's here/he's there/he's everywhere, except where you want him to be. You spend so much damn energy just trying to keep track of where he is. He's not a straight-line fighter, and he can be lightening quick.

As sensei helpfully pointed out, Jimmy tends to drop his front hand a lot. I'm not sure whether it's just that he's bluffing that much or that he really forgets to keep it up to block. He is quite athletic and moves very well. Other than that, I haven't figured him out yet.

Kevin . . . sigh. What reach! What reflexes! What flexibility! Whenever I fight him, what I feel most is envy. And admiration. While I'm getting my ass handed to me on a platter. Oddly enough, I enjoy fighting him the most, simply because I learn so much by watching him. He's a good-humored young man, and he's perfectly willing to pass along fighting tips to me. Sensei uses him a lot when demonstrating technique, because he's so good.

Daphne's only a green belt, but I believe she was actually a senior belt in a different martial discipline, so she has several years of experience. Certainly she's very good, although she was obviously not fighting at her best tonight; apparently she's recovering from some injury.

I don't have much of a sense of what I'm like as a fighter myself--what my opponents think when they're facing me. Except that my hips are so damn inflexible that I can't kick very high. But I'm working on it.

I was fighting Connor during a match tonight and having a great time. I hit him with a fast blitz to the head right after sensei said "Go" to start the fight, and the look of surprise on his face was priceless. That was fun. Then I landed a solid side kick for another two points. But when we started again, he got his leg under mine as I was trying to land a round kick, and his attempt to kick me ended up pulling my leg up sharply, hoicking it up at the hip past the point where it was really meant to go. Down I crashed. Ow. I got up and tried to go again, but three steps convinced me I was done for the night. I hobbled over to the side and watched, regretfully, as John stepped in and finished my round for me. What I felt most was keen disappointment at not being able to finish the bout. It's a sign of how far my attitude about sparring has come.

I did some stretches for the short time left in class and then hobbled to join my classmates as we bowed out. I started chatting with Daphne as I started taking off my kit. I mentioned that I hoped to get my black belt by the time I reached fifty, but that sometimes I wondered whether I'd accomplish it before succumbing to total decrepitude. I particularly feel that way after sparring with the group I'm matched up with now, since they're all so much younger than me. The more advanced adult sparring class (brown belt and above) has several people closer to my age.

"Fifty is the new thirty," observed Mr. Stratton (who is in his fifties, I believe), grinning, as he warmed up for the next class. I thought about that as I got into the car and drove home.