As a girl who also happens to be a "black belt in karate," I receive a lot of questions regarding my training, style, and capabilities. First there is intrigue, "So you can kick my ass?" Then, there is excitement, "This girl can kick my ass!" Immediately thereafter, there is doubt, "Okay. Right. Whatever. So maybe you can kick my ass, but that big guy over there? You probably couldn't kick his ass."
Three seconds later, my instigators are shrouded with a blanket of confusion as I inform them that kicking someone's ass, in both the literal and figurative sense, is not the emphasis of my martial arts training. I did not start training or continue practicing the discipline because I wanted to learn how to kick somebody's ass. In fact, it is the belief that the martial arts are all about fighting that made me reluctant to start training in the first place. It is the Art side of the Martial that attracted me as an early practitioner: the concept that beauty can be created from something inherently ugly.
When I first became involved with Soo Bahk Do, a traditional and ancient Korean martial arts style, I had no interest at all. I couldn't even bear to sit through "karate" movies. As a little girl growing up, all I had ever known of the martial arts were the stories of cruel, tyrannical instructors forcing their students to do twenty push-ups at the sight of any mistake, and kicking their legs apart so that they would fall into a split on the first day of class. I imagined a boot camp-like atmosphere in which students bowed to their "Master" like slaves, while enduring degrading lectures and physical abuse. It all just seemed so violent and unnatural. This was something masochistic, self-interested boys were into, not harmless, unathletic girls like me. I joined under the coercion of my father, who had insisted that it would be fun, but I had no intention to stay. Kicking and punching? Breaking boards? Yelling in Korean? Not my idea of fun.
What I found was quite different from what I had preconceived. After a couple of bewildering months learning basic techniques, I began to realize that I was uncovering a rich and long practiced tradition that emphasizes discipline, confidence, and harmony. Training was difficult, certainly, but not in the ways I had envisioned. Instead of being pushed by my instructors to act beyond my limits, I was opened up to a very self-driven and enthusiastic atmosphere where I realized that learning the martial arts was not only physically healthy and natural, but also equally important in strengthening the mind. It is mindfulness that differentiates art from a fight, and what we are attempting to create in Soo Bahk Do is indeed art.
In the October 2005 issue of Blackbelt Magazine, Grandmaster H.C. Hwang of Soo Bahk Do appeared on the cover as the publication's "Man of the Year." Upon hearing the news, I anxiously went to the local read-and-smoke to pick up my very own, and very first copy of a truly martial arts centric magazine.
The article inside was a discussion of the Grandmaster's goals for the Soo Bahk Do organization around the world. To unify. To standardize. To build strength from the inside out by maintaining human relationships around the world, and establishing a foundation upon which the whole organization can rely. I came to find out that this was an extremely ambitious goal that many other styles have been unable to maintain. While Soo Bahk has experienced its off-shoots, it now boasts of having one of the most connected martial arts communities in the world - tied together by a philosophy of "Oneness" and an emphasis on tradition, ritual, and the preservation of life.
The most telling aspect of the article, however, was its presentation in comparison to that of the other arts. Having been a practitioner of Soo Bahk Do since the age of fourteen with no prior knowledge or exposure to other disciplines, I had come to understand the world of the martial arts from a very traditional scope. My instructor learned and teaches in a very "Old School Korean" style, which means all discipline, no fluff. I had not realized that the rest of the world's practices involved so much equipment and shouting. Flipping through the pages of Blackbelt Magazine, I understood for the first time how proud I really was to call myself a part of Grandmaster Hwang's dream, with his plain uniform and effortless photographic presentation of various Soo Bahk techinques. Compared to the other more flashy articles in the magazine, Soo Bahk Do seemed plain. Simple.
Grandmaster doesn't look like a tough guy. And on the page, nestled between one yelling master after another, he almost doesn't translate. The positions he holds look as if they are the positions he was born in. As if he woke up, got out of bed, and Was. It occurred to me that in my personal dealings with the Grandmaster, that I had never once felt intimidated by him. That out of context, only a trained eye would really know: This man is a martial artist. The way he walks, soundlessly. The way he carries himself. The way his back is always perfectly straight. These inherent little tip offs - the same sort of physical cues that give away dancers. Otherwise, you would never know. You'd never cross him and think, "This is a dangerous man." Perhaps an Important Man. A Reputable Man. A Highly Respected Man. But never a man to be feared. Whether you're standing in his path as he does a jumping spinning axe kick over your head or sitting next to him at dinner, nervously pouring him drinks as you bow and say Kamsahamnida, What Can I Do For You, Sir? He makes you feel comfortable, protected, and never judged.
In response to those who insist upon needling me about my martial arts skill, and how it might not really stand in a "Real Fight" against those twice my size, I just shrug. First of all, if one is arguing the practicality of the martial arts, they've already shot themselves in the foot by stating that I, a small, 120 pound, five-foot-four-inch girl, would attempt to instigate a fight with someone on the street. This notion that the martial arts make action movie stuntmen out of its practitioners is not only absurd, it's insulting. The martial arts teach you, above all things, to resolve all confrontations peacefully. The use of force is, and should always be, an absolute last resort. In which case, as an absolute last resort, the goal of someone like me is to not be sticking around long enough to be in the losing position.
It has been my understanding through training that the martial arts operate on two levels. First, the cultural and traditional. Second, the practical. And with the practical, an understanding of your own limitations. My own five-foot-tall, quirky, Korean martial arts instructor, albeit possibly the strongest person I know (who probably could over power men several times his size), has taught me the value of stealth and speed as a means of strength. In class, he refers to "those big guys" with outstretched arms, stating that truly, if you're doing it right, it doesn't matter how big or small your opponent is.
In the west, people often view the martial arts as violent power. A way to strengthen yourself so that you can overcome another individual. Some, even, simply to intimidate. The true Martial Artist is not an intimidating human being, at least not in the physical sense. The true Martial Artist is peaceful, even in his step, and never shows his power. The true Martial Artist exists harmoniously with the earth, never against it. It is this innate understanding of energy, and the true limitlessness of humans that enables a martial artist to do spectacular things - not physical prowess. In a way, the true dangerousness of a martial artist comes from his understanding of the self. A predator, out to assault young women does not want someone with confidence, presence, and self respect - this is a threat to their ability to overcome and victimize. A well-grounded person can most often be protected by just Being.
Your training does not end at the studio doors. It goes on and on, until, inevitably, it bleeds into your whole life. My training in Soo Bahk Do has only really just begun. It has taken five years to really start to soak in and appreciate what is most important about the martial arts and what they mean to me, and I am sure that it will take an additional ten, twenty, or thirty years of continued learning and redefinition to ever really get a grasp on the one thing all art strives to achieve and understand. For me, Soo Bahk Do has not only been an important source of grounding, but it has also taught me truly that size and sex do not equal capability. In any facet of life - be it in the martial arts, my professional life, or my life as a student.
There is a conditioning exercise that my instructor practices as we stretch between exercises. Standing in front of the wooden panel that lines the studio walls, he punches it, and the clap is so loud that it can be heard in the parking lot outside. It's as loud, if not louder, than a hammer hitting a nail at full tilt. He doesn't even extend his arm all of the way. Just a slight twist of the hip and clap, clap, clap. Without the sound aid, you would think he was barely grazing it. Tapping it gently with his knuckles, no harder than the amount of pressure you'd apply to wake someone. The motion so calm that it barely exists, but the power so concentrated that you can feel it throughout the building.
It is with this image, not the images of those fighters whose faces are contorted in pained yells, that I am reminded of what the martial arts really stand for. To make beautiful what is lethal, and to make human the impossible. Lining up for class, five years later, I am glad I never quit.