on being an overweight martial artist
“you don’t look like a martial artist”
I recently injured myself in taekwondo class and had to see a doctor and get X-rays. the visit was pretty routine, check your height, weight, blood pressure, and then sit in a room forever until the doc comes in so you can explain why you’re there, even though you already explained it to the receptionist, and to the nurse who checked your vitals, and to the X-ray technician
so as I was telling the story for the umpteenth time, doc interrupted me and said “you don’t look like a martial artist.” I paused and asked him what he meant. He replied, “well, you’re not all cut and muscular, how long have you been doing this?? why did you start?”
He meant it lightheartedly but those words cut deep. Because the answer was that I originally started martial arts training to lose weight, and since then I’ve continued training out of love for the art and the desire to grow in it, but it made me feel like a failure because I haven’t lost all the weight. And I’ve been training for 2 years. shouldn’t I look like a martial artist by now?
but then I started thinking, what does a martial artist even look like? no, I don’t have six pack abs or bulging biceps. I’m generally warm and inviting, even to strangers, so I’m not that intimidating. actually, I can be pretty clumsy sometimes (I’ve spilled my coffee more times than I can count) so unless I have my belt around my waist you may not know that I train, everyday.
but in the dojang my heart pounds and my face glistens with sweat. my feet bounce and my hands are up. my kihaps are loud and command the attention of the whole room. my kicks are strong with the full force of my weight behind them. not only do I know my poomsae form, but I know yours too and I’ll run it with you if you need a refresher. it ends kick/low block/punch not low block/kick/punch. I love to spar (especially full contact), even if I’m not good at it yet, and I won’t miss any opportunity to practice. yes, I’ll go another round. sure, I don’t need a break. when we’re practicing kicks or doing an exercise, I’m a dedicated partner and will make sure you finish strong too, even if that means forgoing my turn or doing extra sit-ups. I praise first (“nice kick!”) and critique second (“a little higher!”) and only if it’s requested.
I bow to the mat and greet my masters properly. I don’t speak out of turn, and I defer to the wisdom of the upper belts, even if I think my way would be better. when my grandmaster praises me, I smile wide, and when he scolds me, I listen and correct the behavior. while I may be sassy at times, I’m teachable and appreciate any correction I get because it means they’re watching me and paying attention. I study the Korean language intensively, as well as the roots of my forms and art
the other day my instructor told us to raise up our intensity since we’re all advanced belts. everyone in the room was at least a blue belt except for me. he looked me right in the eyes and said “you’re yellow for now but a black belt in heart.” I can’t describe how that made me feel!
so what if I’m still overweight? maybe it’ll take me another 2 years to lose the rest. maybe I don’t visibly look intimidating, muscular, or what others think of when they think of martial arts. that doesn’t matter.
what matters is that I am trying. the dojang is a sacred home to me, a place where I can overcome any fear or obstacle with enough determination and practice. the students are my family, we laugh and cry together. my grandmaster is like a father I never had, caring not only about my progress in his class but also in life in general. I am a martial artist, even if I don’t look like one.
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