Falling in Love with Karate

Wado Ryu Karate is a journey I started back in 2007 while living in Yokohama, Japan.  My son was 8 years old and I was looking for a physical activity for him to get him moving and active.  There was an advertisement on the Navy base for a karate class, so I decided to go check it out.  I expected to enroll him in the class and let the shuttling commence.  To my surprise, I found there was only one student.  My son joined the class and the sensei invited me to join them as well.  I "tried out" the class and found I really enjoyed it.  Being there to encourage my son was awesome and it felt like something we could grow in together.

The man who taught our class was Sensei Obuaki Ohta.  Ohta-sensei was only about as tall as me and was probably 55-65 years old.  He only spoke basic English terms, most of which were limited to "kick" and "punch."  He would model the kata movements and I would follow after him.  I spoke some Japanese and was able to ask him if I was doing it okay.  Invariably, I was certainly not doing it okay.  He would come over and move my arm, push me into a deeper stance, or adjust my hand or foot placement.  

One day, Ohta-sensei watched me run through my kata and he made a correction to one part.  Focusing intently on that one correction, I tried again.  When I got through, I had corrected that deficiency, only to have him come to me and slightly adjust my thumb.  At that moment, I realized I would never arrive.  Suddenly it became clear to me how a person could work their whole lives to perfect their craft and never fully master it.  This commitment to craft and perfection approached with humility, reached deep into my soul.  

I felt an intense connection and respect for my sensei.  Attending class excited me and I pushed myself.  He invited me to test on two occasions during my time in Japan.  Both times, my son and I were the only non-Japanese people in the whole auditorium.  We were not fluent, so we depended on non-verbal cues and our limited Japanese skills to follow the flow of the students and the guidance of the judges.  We were thrilled to be a part of the culture, both of the country and the sport.  

Unfortunately, our time was too short.  When I was 8 weeks pregnant with my twins, I took my 2nd test but was not allowed to spare for obvious reasons.  By 10 weeks, I had to stop my karate lessons and wound up moving to Okinawa to be near the neonatal intensive care unit in case I had pregnancy complications.  Leaving my training behind was difficult and I longed to return.  Trying to juggle the demands of twins, homeschooling my then 10-year-old son, caring for three dogs, and dealing with everything while my husband was deployed left little time for karate, so I wound up not returning to my beloved sensei and the sport I loved so well.  When the twins were 7 years old, we wound up moving back to the United States.

Back in North Carolina, I searched for a dojo in the Wado style, with no success.  There simply was no option anywhere near us.  I considered another school of karate and opted not to pursue that.  My heart was with Wado.  Children, family life, homeschooling, graduate school, and military retirement kept me busy.  Eventually, I became a working mom as well.  Like this, life continued, and ultimately we relocated back to Texas to finally be closer to family after 25 years away.  

Landing in Dallas, Texas, with twins who were now 9 years old, I began to wonder if we might be lucky enough that there would be a dojo near us that taught Wado.  A quick Google search revealed the Academy of Classical Karate in Plano.  With tremendous excitement, I dove into their website and made a plan to visit. 

Walking into the dojo felt a bit like going home.  I was beyond excited and as I stepped into the class, I felt some muscle memory dusting off the cobwebs.  Because the kids were in the youth class, I was able to join the parents' class and wound up surrounded by others who were equally invested in their kids and karate.  These were not your run-of-the-mill parents.  I had not trained with others my age and it was thrilling to be a part of a larger training group, though I honestly had no real idea of what I was getting us into.

Our dojo is the best dojo in the United States.  I didn't know it at the time but two of the twins' instructors were soon to be members of the first USA Olympic Karate Team.  From the excellence in athletes that the dojo produces, to the world-class coaches, to the opportunity to be a part of the WIKF Texas team, our dojo is firing on all cylinders.  All of this said, what speaks to me most is how committed the coaches are to developing athletes of character.  

The Academy of Classical Karate has 5 Traits of a Karate-ka: Humility, Integrity, Self-Control, Courage, and Courtesy.  I'm so grateful to have others reinforcing this in our kids as well.  We used to stop at the dojo door after every class and I would make the kids recite these principles before leaving for the day.  These are excellent concepts I know will continue to grow in them as they train and deepen their love of both karate and their dojo family.  Many of the people who have been training here have invested 20-25 years of their lives doing so.  The roots go deep and the branches are broad.  I'm thrilled to be a small part of such an incredible group of people.

Does a Progesterone Shot Count as Nutrition?

The reproductive clinic called today and said my progesterone levels are too low. Since I'm going in on Friday to implant the eggs, they need my levels to come up. They said I'll have to give myself shots of progesterone suspended in oil. I nearly went into an anxiety attack thinking about having to stick myself with more needles. I was on the phone crying with the nurse. I wound up having to drive an hour back to the clinic to pick up the medicine and syringes from the pharmacy at the adjacent hospital.

I stood at the pharmacist's window and stared at one of the syringes. I even turned around and showed it to the lady behind me and said, "Do you see this?" She said she's not sure if she could give herself that shot and she's a nurse! The needle was so big to my eyes! I began to feel faint just thinking about having to stab myself in the butt with it! Thankfully, my nurse offered to give me my first shot. I've done the shots in my stomach in preparation for the pregnancy, but those were butterfly needles and fairly easy to do. Seriously doubting my ability to give myself this shot, I decided to head back to the clinic. When Beth, my nurse, came out to get me she hugged me and said she was sorry. I felt comforted.

We stood in a patient room discussing how the medicine is suspended in sesame oil. I started to cry and overheat when she was talking to me about how to give myself the shot. I blurted out that we had to shut the door so I could pull off my clothes. As the door shut, I was already throwing off my baseball cap, exposing my seriously flat hair. Then I yanked off my shirt and was beginning to sweat. Turning around to the bed, I stepped between the stirrups that were protruding from the end. I pulled down the waist of my pants, grabbed the sides of the bed, and began to cry. I said, "Let's just get it over with." She stabbed that needle into my butt like a dart. It didn't hurt at all! I was obviously relieved and began to relax somewhat. Then something strange happened. Right after she stuck me, I found myself wondering if I would need to log the calories from the sesame oil and how I would do that. How many calories are in 1 cc of sesame oil anyway? I couldn't believe I was having that thought! Man, talk about being dedicated to my nutrition! I mean who does that? LOL

Dripping Joyous Sweat

Yesterday I ran. I wasn't the fastest one on the treadmills at the gym, but I might have been the happiest. Who knew that dripping sweat could be such a joyous occasion? Stepping off that treadmill I felt triumphant. I felt like I crossed a milestone and left an old part of me behind. The more I move forward and look at my life and old attitudes in the rear view mirror, the more I can see the old me disappearing out of sight. The choices I make today are healthier than they've ever been. Daily I'm overcoming myself and pushing on to a future that's bright!

Sharing a Legacy of Hope and Perseverance

Today was a beautiful and inspiring day, none of which would have been possible had I not wrestled with my food and exercise demon and come out victorious - had I not come out believing in myself. This moment is brought to you by Spark People and one life changed...no, make that two.

The Marine Corps sponsored a Toys for Tots 5K today on Yokosuka Naval Base. My whole family decided to run it together. The entry fee was a new unwrapped toy for every participant. So, first, we went shopping before heading to the starting line. There were lessons to be learned, but not among the toys.

The horn blew and we started at a good clip, with my son jogging easily and setting a good pace. It wasn't long before he was ready to slow a little, then not much after that when he was ready to quit altogether. He had brought a lime green bandanna to wear around his neck but had taken it off. As he was about to give up, I took the bandanna from him and grasped one end tightly. Handing him the other end, I said, "Come on, I won't let go...we can do it together every step of the way." I wanted so desperately for him to overcome all that held him back and simply persevere.

I spoke to him of children who would benefit from this thing we were doing and of those who walk more than 5 kilometers just to get a drink of dirty water. We spoke of Mt. Fuji and other challenges that life ahead still holds. I pulled and pushed him. I cheered him. I empathized with him. I shared bits and pieces of life wisdom with him. This is not the first time I've told him I believe in him . . ."You CAN do it!" Even still, today was different. Today was that opportunity for him to rise above something bigger than himself and not just to call himself a conqueror, but to feel it in his spirit.

During the last leg, as we could see the finish line, I was giving him a pep talk. I wish I could recall the exact thing I said to him at that moment, but I'll never forget his response..."Yeah, just like YOU believe in me." At that moment, my heart swelled with love and hope - hope that he will embrace those words and grow to be confident, not fearing life's challenges. He confirmed that he truly listens to me and believes me when I've said, "I believe in you."

As we neared the finish line, he told me he was ready to sprint. He let go of the green bandanna we had carried together for the last 3 miles and we sprinted together to the finish line. During the whole race, he never once stopped moving forward. He had his ups and downs, but he never quit and as we crossed that finish line side-by-side, he became a little more of the adult I will someday know him to be.

After grabbing some water and finding my husband, we stood together to listen to the race results. My soft-hearted eight-year-old son said to me, "That was the hardest thing I've ever done - I'm glad I did it." In that moment, I learned the most beautiful truth . . . today he came to believe in himself.

On Top of the World - My Experience Climbing Mt. Fuji

My goal of climbing Mt. Fuji came about quite by accident. Actually, it's my son's fault. While creating my vision collage, he stumbled upon a photo of Mt. Fuji. I thought it would make a great center photo since it was large. As my collage took shape around the photo, it occurred to me that I could make climbing that mountain my goal. Voila! I had my first lofty, long-term goal. At least it seemed pretty long-term at the time.

Just after making my collage, I met a woman on eBay. She was selling some workout DVDs, which I purchased from her. In the process of communicating with her over the purchase, we found some common ground and began e-mailing one another on a regular basis. It is this woman, my newfound friend, who took a leap of faith six months later and flew halfway around the world to climb a mountain with me.

Three days after meeting in person for the first time, we headed out at 12:30 a.m. to catch our bus for Hakone National Park, where Fuji is located. We drove an hour, caught our bus, and rode another three hours to get to our starting point. With walking sticks in hand, we headed out on an adventure that would strengthen the bonds of friendship. Within minutes the rain came.

The path began easily enough. Our bus had dropped us off at station 5 and before long, we were greeted with a nice view, looking down on the clouds. We walked along on flat ground, talking about our strategy for pacing ourselves. Soon enough, the terrain began to change. During our 6-hour and 15-minute ascent, we zigged and zagged upward. We climbed stairs. We climbed steep boulders. We climbed in loose gravel. Occasionally, we stopped for electrolyte water or organic energy bars or to simply take a short rest. The rests got longer and more frequent the closer we got to the top, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

As we ascended, we passed a variety of people going both ways. One Japanese man even had a toddler on his back. I couldn't help but wonder if he had made it to the top. In retrospect, I don't think he did, but at the time I marveled at his accomplishment.

About 20 minutes into our climb, I asked my friend to pray with me. I gave the climb to God. I asked him to give us the strength to climb this literal mountain, as well as for protection. My friend and I spoke briefly about believing in angels. She felt she had received confirmation of a guardian angel just before we got on the bus. After our prayer, my step quickened. I felt a burst of energy propelling me forward. At that moment, I was more sure than ever that the mountain was already conquered, though my body slowed, my head certainly kept up the mental momentum!

We stopped at every mountain hut to have our walking sticks branded with a unique design. With each stamp, I grew more determined. Inevitably, we would stumble across people from our bus and we'd have a brief exchange. Several times we exchanged "ganbatte" with Japanese people. This word means "do your best" or "go for it."

There are ten stations on Fuji, with the tenth at the top. Around the 8th station, my hands began to get really cold and one of my fingers had turned yellow - a symptom of my Reynaud's Syndrome. I worked to get my circulation back, then put on my gloves and kept trucking. Around this time, we rounded the corner of one of the mountain huts and came face-to-face with a steep wall of rocks. My first reaction was, "YES! Let's do this thing!" In fact, this was a scenario that replayed itself numerous times. Each time, I had a similar "oh yeah!" reaction. It was my own way of cheering myself along. It worked for me.

Somewhere about halfway to station 9 I began to experience some altitude sickness. At first, I only felt slightly dizzy. Obviously, the dizziness only got worse the higher I moved. Within about 30 minutes, I also felt nauseous. We stopped, drank, and ate, then began again. We moved more slowly. Though my friend was not experiencing the same effects, she was an amazing support throughout this process. Together, we worked through it taking five steps while breathing deeply, then stopping for two deep breaths. Eventually, I did begin to feel better and our pace quickened somewhat.

For the last 1.5 hours or so, the wind and rain picked up. A storm was rolling in. At times, the wind was so harsh that we had to brace ourselves against our walking sticks and lean heavily into the wind to keep from being blown over. Just when I thought the climb was never-ending, we ascended the last flight of stairs, passing under a red, Shinto tori gate. We had arrived!

We stood in line to have our walking stick stamped with two special red stamps, then stepped out to find the crater. The wind was blowing so hard and fog was covering the crater. It had become dangerous and we were told not to go to the crater. We could not have seen it anyway. We planned to travel around the edge for however much time we had left, but ultimately could not for safety reasons. It was hard to come all that way and not see the crater and the view around Fuji.

After making a quick bathroom break, which was really a squatter, we bought some fresh, dry gloves, took some pictures at the pillar monument, and decided to head down.

Compared to the ascent, the descent was only 2 hours 45 minutes. It was also zig-zagged, though the terrain never changed. It was loose lava, pea-sized gravel. My toes pushed into the toe of my boots. Over time, my big toes became quite sore. In the end, I finished the descent with one cracked toenail and a blister between two toes. Not bad, I think.

During the hike down, I realized we were surrounded by some beautiful plants. They were so lime green that they almost appeared to glow. The rocks were lovely as well - a rainbow of colors, but mostly red and turquoise.

There was one truly inspiring story I saw unfolding on that mountain. On the descent, we passed a young Japanese girl moving very slowly while her family encouraged her. This girl had one foot that was inverted, like a club foot - yet she made it up that mountain! My friend and I wanted to cry. It made all our obstacles pale in comparison.

Once down the mountain, we stopped for something to eat and did a little souvenir shopping. I had an "American dog," a.k.a. corn dog. It was much different from a true American corn dog, but I was thankful for it. Finally, I stopped at the post office to mail a few postcards before heading back to the bus.

I slept awhile on the ride back to base and woke up just as they were playing a video - "Touching the Void." It's a documentary about the perilous and near-fatal climb of two friends. It was an appropriate topic and made me wonder if I could ever do the kind of climbing required to scale a 20,000-foot mountain. I'm not convinced that's an undertaking for me, but I won't rule it out. Like Confucius said, "the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." This was my single step. I'm just not sure yet where the journey will lead. I'm excited to find out!

Climbing Molehills and Mountains

When I was little, I recall my mom saying on more than one occasion," don't make a mountain out of a molehill." She was teaching me to assess a situation honestly, not exaggerating the intensity of the problem.

I believe this attitude has helped me conquer many obstacles in life. Some of them have truly been "molehills," while others have been mountains. My molehills and mountains have consisted of things like moving around the world every three years, deployments, family illnesses, college, miscarriage, molestation at 12, and widowhood at 23.

On August 23, I climbed Mt. Fuji. It was the most physically difficult thing I've ever done in my life. At times I felt my body wouldn't make it. I was pushed to what I thought was the limit of my capabilities, and yet I conquered that 12,388-foot mountain! Though the altitude, wind, rain, and cold took a toll on me physically, mentally those obstacles had become molehills to me. I had given myself no other option than to see the top of that mountain!

If I had stopped years ago and applied this logic and tenacity to my obesity, I imagine I would have conquered that sooner as well. I was perfectly capable of literally climbing a mountain. The problem was that I had turned my weight into a figurative mountain so much larger-than-life, that my mind could not overcome it. Now, I realize that it was my mind preventing me from succeeding at my weight loss, not physical limitations. Turning molehills into mountains helped me defeat myself before I even got started!

So, today is a celebration - a celebration of overcoming great obstacles! I glow with joy for reaching the top of my literal mountain. Mostly though, I glow from the realization that somewhere deep inside me is the strength and fortitude to overcome obstacles both large and small. See, the important lesson my mom taught me is not to determine which is a mountain and which is a molehill, but that I can conquer them all.

The Way of Harmony - My First Karate Exam

It was my first karate exam. Where do I begin? The experience was nearly overwhelming. Maybe it was the fact that I was the only foreigner in the building, surrounded by hundreds of Japanese people, none of whom spoke English during the three-hour event. Talk about complete cultural immersion. It was scary, nerve-wracking, confusing, and yet amazing!

My last karate class had been nearly four weeks earlier because I was traveling. I had questions for my sensei, but with the language barrier, we had a difficult time communicating. In the end, he just said "daijobu," which means "it's okay." He was telling me not to worry. That was a tall order at the time when I was anxious to understand the process and do well. All of the commands were given in Japanese, most of which I did not understand. When the judge approached our group and gave information, I didn't get it. When the person calling out our movements spoke, I mostly had to rely on knowing which move came next, memorization, not understanding her command.

After much observation and intent focus, I took my test. I felt like all eyes were on me - the only American in the room. I felt a combination of anxiety and honor. I wanted to perform my kata beautifully and show the judges, my sensei, and everyone present that I value Wado-Ryu karate for what it is - the way of harmony. Of course, I wasn't feeling as harmonious inside as I should have been. I wanted to be confident, yet not arrogant. In the future, I will be more prepared now that I understand the process. It's not so foreign to me anymore.

The whole experience was awe-inspiring. I'm ready for the challenges that lie ahead. In fact, to help me better understand the way of karate, I've begun reading the autobiography of Gichin Funakoshi. Living in Japan has been an opportunity of a lifetime and now I'm learning a new side of Japanese culture. I've recently begun to understand how a person can dedicate an entire lifetime to the perfection of subtle movements. It is changing my focus, inspiring calmness and patience, and turning me into a more rounded person.

I look forward to the remaining time I have with Ohta sensei. In the beginning, it was about attaining a goal of a particular belt color. Now I'm just so happy to be molded by him, that the belt is of no consequence. It is a matter of perfecting my form. What a beautiful analogy for life in general. Now I must think about all the areas of my life where this can be applied, beginning with my walk with God.

Signed Up For My First 5K

I took a step closer to my goal today. While I was at the gym tonight, I signed up for my first 5K. I'm both excited and nervous. I can't wait to do it - and I can't believe I just said that! Wow, that's a first. I've never enjoyed running, but this about more than running. It's about setting a goal and achieving it.

There's so much to do in this life and so little time. I have begun the pruning process and am fine-tuning my life in order to be more productive. It feels great! (My finger hit that exclamation point key with purpose!) Tomorrow is another day and I need my beauty rest. As the song says, "so long self, I've found somebody else!" Tomorrow I'll continue getting to know this woman I've found. She's strange and new to me. :)

Skiing at Mt. Naeba in Niigata, Nagano Prefecture, Japan

It has been 20 years since the last time I went skiing. Arie has not skied for more than 10 years and has been talking about going for a long time. We finally decided to take a trip and visit Niigata, Japan, for a couple days to ski on Mt. Naeba. Unbeknownst to us at the time, Mt. Naeba is the most popular ski resort in Japan and widely considered to have some of the best conditions.

We rented our ski gear from Outdoor Recreation on base, reserved our hotel through ITT (Information, Tickets, and Tours) on base, and then headed off to buy our Shinkansen tickets (the bullet train). We were excited about our newest adventure and it didn't disappoint.

Our first train left Yokohama at 5 a.m., which got us up early. After almost an hour on that train, we got off in Tokyo and reboarded the Shinkansen headed to Yuzawa, Japan. When we arrived it was snowing with some flakes the size of quarters. Koen marveled at the site and was bouncing off the walls. We waited around the station for a bit for our bus to come and take us to the hotel. While we waited, Koen found a candy he wanted to try - a chewy, fruity, grapefruit-flavored do-dad that turned out to be quite good. It's a new favorite of his.

The bus took about 50 minutes, during which we played and goofed around with Koen. We had a ball and hadn't even put our skis on yet. Our bus pulled up in front of the hotel and we piled out ready for lunch and ski lessons. The hotel had many restaurants and we decided on curry, which has become our family standard favorite. A few tables away, people were soaking their feet in the hot spring foot bath. What a combo! Lunch and a foot hot spring with a view of the ski slopes. Pretty neat.

Once Koen was settled in with his ski instructor, Arie and I set off to get in as much as we could while we had the chance. The slopes were perfect powder - the best I've seen in my limited experience. I think I've only skied maybe 5 times, this one included. I was quite surprised that I never fell while I was skiing, though I did fall once while I was standing still watching Koen's lesson. Then Koen made it number two when he skied into me, knocking us both over.

The first day we skied until about 8:00 pm, nearly missing every dinner the hotel had to offer (restaurants close at 9 pm there). We did manage to hurry into a yakiniku place and have a great meal before collapsing in our twin beds.

The second day my legs from the knee down were so sore from the boots (ill-fitting, but the only option I had) and from using muscles I forgot I had. I tried my best, but I couldn't make my mind overcome the pain, so I didn't ski that day. Arie spent the late morning and afternoon skiing while Koen and I explored on our own. We went snowmobiling first together, and then Koen rode his own kid-sized machine. Later, he was pulled on a raft behind a snowmobile. He loved it! We wound our way through a maze of igloos and stopped for a bit inside an especially large one to enjoy some hot mochi with azuki bean sauce. It tastes a little like a hot, but chewy marshmallow topped with a sauce that tastes like sweetened, liquidy, mashed pinto beans. It doesn't sound appetizing, but it was lovely and we felt like we were taking part in a special moment. Mochi is a special Japanese dish that is eaten year-round, but especially for New Year's.

We broke for a quick lunch, and then Arie and Koen were off to do some more skiing together. Koen had a blast and Arie did a great job skiing backward and helping him practice. I never knew how well Arie could ski. After nine years of marriage (as of January 1) I'm still learning new things about my husband. It's refreshing.

So, now Koen has decided that skiing is his favorite sport after soccer. Arie has decided that after retirement we need to live within an hour of a ski resort. As for me...I'm thrilled no one broke any bones and I'm ready to commit to a life of skiing. I never thought I'd say that, but I really loved it. Isn't it interesting how you change as an adult? I don't recall enjoying skiing as much when I was a kid. It's nice to know that some things do change.

The trip back home was nice, quick, and uneventful except for the old Japanese man who kept falling asleep and leaning over on Koen on the train. The look on Koen's face was priceless and after a time it became quite funny.

Back home, I realized yet again, that there is no better way to appreciate your blessings until you no longer have them. In other words, I'll never complain about my mattress again! We had a blast and we're happy to be home.