I started working out when I was thirteen years old, with my father. We never really got along when I was younger but he would take me to the gym to "get some meat on my bones", as he would say.
I had been sporadically very active in Tae Kwon Do for nine years before I ever stepped foot in a gym. I say sporadically because there were many broken bones along the way that hindered my progress. I say active because when I was healthy I was there at least three days a week. At first I loved Tae kwon Do. When I first joined the Karate Kid had just come out and being in martial arts actually made me cool. I liked to fight and I liked learning the weapons. The school I went to in the Bronx put a heavy emphasis on weaponry and the fighter's instincts. I loved every minute of it. Before leaving the school and moving to Rochester I had already broken my first bone but came roaring back with determination. The belt before black belt was what I had before entering the new school.
I never progressed further than this. I won a couple of competitions but I could not advance because of my setbacks. The style of Tae Kwon Do that the new school I attended was slightly different from the one that I started off at in the Bronx. this slight difference made it so that I would have to start all over from the beginning in order to progress any further. I kept my current belt but had to learn all of the katas for the other belts before I could advance to black. This was a little discouraging but not as discouraging as the era in my life that soon followed which I have since dubbed as my "broken" childhood days.
I started off with my left wrist then moved on to my right thumb. Throw a clavicle in there and a nose and that was all in a two-year period of time. It wasn't just the broken bones and the learning of katas that had kept me from achieving the supposed glory of a black belt. The school was not as focused on the aspects of Tae kwon Do that I had loved. Their focus was on flexibility and piece of mind and the fluidity of movements. These are all things that I can appreciate now but could care less about at that time. Besides a new love had entered my life, and her name was football.
It started, for me at least with a game called "kill the man with the ball." Clever, I know. Basically some kid picked up the football and every one hit him as hard as they could. My patented move was the close-line. It was efficient and I liked the squeal it produced. Many a fight were started because of that close-line but I didn't care. It was fun.
One day I came home clutching my right wrist in my left hand. It was twisted sideways and looked like it was about to fall off. I told my parents in the hospital bed that day that I wanted to quit Tae Kwon Do and play football. They nodded their heads and assured me that I would sign up that year. the next day was when I heard it.
"You're too scrawny to play football", my mother said.
"I thought that was just the morphine talking" my father added.
They thought the idea was ludicrous. A skinny boy like myself shouldn't play a rough sport like that. The answer was no at first. My mother insisted that I finished my Tae Kwon Do and not be a "quitter". But I didn't care. I hated the new school and decided to boycott. Every Tae Kwon Do day I came up with some brutal sickness or a lot of homework until finally she said:
"Well at least start going to workout with your father. You're going to get hurt out there if you go out there looking like that."
And this was how it started. We fought the whole time we were there. I knew everything and my father knew nothing and I hated him telling me that I was not doing a particular exercise correctly.
"Keep your elbows stable", he would say, "Pretend your arm in a lever and the bearings are at your elbows. That's the only part that can move."
"Concentrate on your bicep."
"Push yourself."
"You've got another one in you."
"Keep going."
He would push me to my limit and beyond. When my body felt limp and there was not much else I could do he would help push the weight up for me. i would go home exhausted and angry and not talk to him until we went back to the gym but we always went back.
I realized yesterday how much of an effect this really had on me. I was on a squat thrust machine and I felt my leg start to feel like Jell-o and then I heard= something. It was a voice from those childhood days when my "scrawny" body had become too weak to move on any further saying: "Come on Johnny, you got another one in you." And I did.
I had been sporadically very active in Tae Kwon Do for nine years before I ever stepped foot in a gym. I say sporadically because there were many broken bones along the way that hindered my progress. I say active because when I was healthy I was there at least three days a week. At first I loved Tae kwon Do. When I first joined the Karate Kid had just come out and being in martial arts actually made me cool. I liked to fight and I liked learning the weapons. The school I went to in the Bronx put a heavy emphasis on weaponry and the fighter's instincts. I loved every minute of it. Before leaving the school and moving to Rochester I had already broken my first bone but came roaring back with determination. The belt before black belt was what I had before entering the new school.
I never progressed further than this. I won a couple of competitions but I could not advance because of my setbacks. The style of Tae Kwon Do that the new school I attended was slightly different from the one that I started off at in the Bronx. this slight difference made it so that I would have to start all over from the beginning in order to progress any further. I kept my current belt but had to learn all of the katas for the other belts before I could advance to black. This was a little discouraging but not as discouraging as the era in my life that soon followed which I have since dubbed as my "broken" childhood days.
I started off with my left wrist then moved on to my right thumb. Throw a clavicle in there and a nose and that was all in a two-year period of time. It wasn't just the broken bones and the learning of katas that had kept me from achieving the supposed glory of a black belt. The school was not as focused on the aspects of Tae kwon Do that I had loved. Their focus was on flexibility and piece of mind and the fluidity of movements. These are all things that I can appreciate now but could care less about at that time. Besides a new love had entered my life, and her name was football.
It started, for me at least with a game called "kill the man with the ball." Clever, I know. Basically some kid picked up the football and every one hit him as hard as they could. My patented move was the close-line. It was efficient and I liked the squeal it produced. Many a fight were started because of that close-line but I didn't care. It was fun.
One day I came home clutching my right wrist in my left hand. It was twisted sideways and looked like it was about to fall off. I told my parents in the hospital bed that day that I wanted to quit Tae Kwon Do and play football. They nodded their heads and assured me that I would sign up that year. the next day was when I heard it.
"You're too scrawny to play football", my mother said.
"I thought that was just the morphine talking" my father added.
They thought the idea was ludicrous. A skinny boy like myself shouldn't play a rough sport like that. The answer was no at first. My mother insisted that I finished my Tae Kwon Do and not be a "quitter". But I didn't care. I hated the new school and decided to boycott. Every Tae Kwon Do day I came up with some brutal sickness or a lot of homework until finally she said:
"Well at least start going to workout with your father. You're going to get hurt out there if you go out there looking like that."
And this was how it started. We fought the whole time we were there. I knew everything and my father knew nothing and I hated him telling me that I was not doing a particular exercise correctly.
"Keep your elbows stable", he would say, "Pretend your arm in a lever and the bearings are at your elbows. That's the only part that can move."
"Concentrate on your bicep."
"Push yourself."
"You've got another one in you."
"Keep going."
He would push me to my limit and beyond. When my body felt limp and there was not much else I could do he would help push the weight up for me. i would go home exhausted and angry and not talk to him until we went back to the gym but we always went back.
I realized yesterday how much of an effect this really had on me. I was on a squat thrust machine and I felt my leg start to feel like Jell-o and then I heard= something. It was a voice from those childhood days when my "scrawny" body had become too weak to move on any further saying: "Come on Johnny, you got another one in you." And I did.
No comments:
Post a Comment