So, when I mentioned earlier that I didn't test in front of Grand Master Kim until I was about a brown belt, well, that was a lie. But I will remind you that this blog is based in non chronological fact, which means, I won't remember every little detail. Also, there is a small story explaining my extreme avoidance of tests in front of Grand Master Kim....
The first time I met Grand Master Kim was when I tested for my green belt. My do bok was entirely white, including the collar. Whenever a white belt tests in front of Grand Master Kim for her yellow belt, this white belt is bestowed with the gift of her name written in Korean on the collar of her do bok. All of the other yellow belts testing with me that day had their names written on their collars by Grand Master Kim. So, I knew that I had to at least get my name written down before anyone got suspicious that I was doing only the makeup tests.
At the testing, we all lined up before the ceremony began and Grand Master Kim walked between our rows with a permanent marker, ready to etch those who had not been etched before. I stood there, waiting in anticipation. I was nervous to meet the head honcho and test in front of him, but I was also excited to try and do my best. So, when Grand Master Kim came to me with his important permanent marker, he lifted it to my collar, glanced at me, and asked for my name.
"Sha--" background talking and noise --"osh." I said, entirely interrupted. Grand Master Kim was about to ask me to repeat it, but I wasn't quite done yet. "And McCosh is spelled 'M'...'C'...'C'...'O'...'S'...'H.'"
He stared at me, his eyes slanted, yet somehow blank as he registered what I had just done. Then, I thought about it. As soon as it donned on me, I wanted to slap my forehead and walk away in shame. I mumbled at him "Shannon McCosh," where he proceeded to write "Shannon McCosh" on my uniform... in Korean. And this was just the beginning of the evening, but hey, at least he was polite enough to let me finish without interrupting me.
Testing, for me, brought on such nerves that every time I had to do it, if I let my grip on the situation become too grave, I knew that I would be making an ass out of myself at some point. After I spelled my Scottish last name for Grand Master Kim to spell on my uniform, that's when I didn't see him again for a long time.
But now it's time to talk about when I tested for my high red belt, in front of Grand Master Kim. I had two other students testing with me for the same belt. Together, we had to perform Taeguk Yuk Jang in front my sabumnim, one of my favorite black belt instructors, and Grand Master Kim. And, as usual, I was a ball of nerves, on the edge of tears, wishing I didn't have to get up in front of everyone. Pathetic, I know.
But, alas, the time came. The three of us stood up, lined up, and assumed jun-be, ready stance. My sabumnim read the form name to us, then told us to begin, going by our own count. Taeguk Yuk Jang was very different from the other Taeguks for me, and I was really unsure of how I felt about it. So, in the middle of the form, I forgot a move. I mixed up where my hands and feet should have gone for the step forward into a high ridge hand/knife strike. The other students kept up the pace. So, I quickly fixed my mistake and tried to catch up, my stomach filling up with dread and shame. Then, it happened again. I forgot the move. I was so flustered with the form and myself for being such a fool! I couldn't catch up and I felt like an idiot for forgetting the form!
I threw my hands up and walked away. I walked to the edge of the mat, praying that they wouldn't fail me, trying to choke back tears so that I wouldn't look more like an idiot. When the other two students were done, the three judges graciously allowed me to do the form again, on my own. I performed it mistake-free. In hindsight, I'm really surprised, and grateful that they didn't just fail me right then and there. But, luckily for me, my sabumnim was forgiving as well as understanding. Plus, it didn't hurt that I had told him about my nerves before the test.
As awful as that experience was, I look back and still have some mixed feelings on it. I wonder why I made such a big deal out of it and why I psyched myself out. But I also appreciate it. It showed me the character of the men judging me and the compassion behind that character. I found that after that test, the other tests weren't so hard. I was still nervous, but I knew in my heart of hearts that I'd do it.
I decided that life's too short for being so uptight. So, I rolled up my sleeves, loosened up these old gears of mine and just a sprinkle of confidence started shining during my testings. I didn't quite realize it at first, but the more confidence I got in Tae Kwon Do, the more that confidence started sneaking into other aspects of my life.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Black, Broken, and Blue Belt
I thought I was alone, but "It's your turn. Hey, Shannon. It's your turn. Hey..." jerked me out of my day dream and back into the real world. Suddenly, my visions of sitting at home and lounging in front of the T.V. were ripped from my retinas and the poor pupils fell upon dirt, grass, and hot sun.
It was March-ish and I was outside my high school in the baseball field for P.E. class. The sun was beating down, my hair was in my face, and I was really not wanting to play soft ball for 20% of my grade.
But, alas, the time had come. I left the side of my good friend and went up to the plate. It was my turn to bat. Full of confidence that I was going to miss the pitch and safely run back to the side lines, I geared up and tightened my grip on the bat.
She threw the pitch, I drew the bat back, then swung it forward, and it
...hit!
The ball tapped the tip of my bat and trounced lazily in some direction I didn't care to watch. I threw the bat on the ground and bolted to first base. I landed safely, but I felt particularly bold that day.
I saw second base. I looked for the ball. The ball still hadn't been gathered by my opponents. So, with one leg stretched in front of the other, I ran for second base, I ran for the goal, and I ran for glory.
After a million lengthy, time consuming strides, I hit second. Literally. I hit second base, tripped, and fell.
I fell on my shoulder, my arm crumpling beneath me, and I heard a loud "crunch." I ducked, rolled, and jumped back up onto my feet and yelled, "Safe!" to which the pitcher (or someone) responded, "No, you're not." I hid my sorrow, admitted defeat, and then happily returned to the side lines and my friend.
I started walking back to my friend, casually swinging my arms in stride, but when my right arm swung, it didn't feel right. It ...hurt!
Worry wrenched throughout my stomach like a dull knife; what if I had dislocated my shoulder?? My path to out of the way was disbarred and I went to the teacher. I told the substitute teacher of my feared ailment, and he directed me to the school physical therapist.
I had my friend escort me (mostly to get her out of playing soft ball) and we went to the physical therapist's office. I told her what had happened and she poked and prodded asking whether or not this poke hurt or that prod didn't.
Then, she turned her back on me and started scribbling. "So," I said hesitantly. "What should I do now?" Without turning to look at me, she responded: "Nothing until you've seen a doctor."
Distraught, I took her advice none the less and went to the insta-care. There was more poking and prodding by an actual doctor this time, and then an X-ray. And sure, enough, my collar bone had snapped in half upon impact. Thanks to shock, not a tear was shed.
Did you know that it only takes 8 ounces of pressure to break your collar bone? So, when I saw the X-ray, I wasn't really surpirsed. Especially not after I recalled that unappetizing crunch.
It took six weeks for my bone to reattach to itself and that meant six weeks of no tae kwon do.
I was a green belt at the time. I just got it and I had two months to get ready to test for my blue belt. So, I spent my broken days writing left-handed and attending TKD on the side lines. I would watch my peers deliver the one step sparring techniques, taeguk sam jang, and the various kicks we needed to learn for board breaking.
I watched and practiced what I could, until six weeks passed, and my six week incarceration was up. I immediately returned to Kim's Academy and began performing what I'd watched my cohorts do. I had two weeks but I told my sabumnim that I wanted to participate in the next test. He was a little dubious considering the time I had and how I'd busied myself being broken for the first half of it. But, I still had two weeks and he let me train for the testing.
I came into the do jang almost everyday for those two weeks and practiced. When the time came, I felt ready. I handed over my testing fee and application, slapped on my green belt over my white do bok, and stood ready for anything.
I delivered. I did taeguk sam jang expertly (in my mind, that is) and did my three one-step sparring techniques, and broke my particle wood with an axe kick as if I'd had the full two months. When the test was just at its end, I felt on top of the world. Everyone was lined up, awaiting the results. One by one, everyone around me had their names called by my sabumnim. If your name was called, you passed. Finally I heard my name. Grinning, but trying to be stoic, I stood and received my new blue belt.
Then, my sabumnim stood, congratulated us all and instructed us to don our brand new belts. After all the pleasantries had ended and the participants were returning back to their parents, my sabumnim dropped by and grabbed my attention. He was nothing but smiles, as usual, but this time there was something a little deeper in his joy. "I had a feeling you could do it, and you passed with flying colors," he told me and gently patted my shoulder. And what was nice about that compliment, other than the fact that it was a compliment, was that, all along I had a feeling that I could do it, too.
I was starting to believe in myself.
It was March-ish and I was outside my high school in the baseball field for P.E. class. The sun was beating down, my hair was in my face, and I was really not wanting to play soft ball for 20% of my grade.
But, alas, the time had come. I left the side of my good friend and went up to the plate. It was my turn to bat. Full of confidence that I was going to miss the pitch and safely run back to the side lines, I geared up and tightened my grip on the bat.
She threw the pitch, I drew the bat back, then swung it forward, and it
...hit!
The ball tapped the tip of my bat and trounced lazily in some direction I didn't care to watch. I threw the bat on the ground and bolted to first base. I landed safely, but I felt particularly bold that day.
I saw second base. I looked for the ball. The ball still hadn't been gathered by my opponents. So, with one leg stretched in front of the other, I ran for second base, I ran for the goal, and I ran for glory.
After a million lengthy, time consuming strides, I hit second. Literally. I hit second base, tripped, and fell.
I fell on my shoulder, my arm crumpling beneath me, and I heard a loud "crunch." I ducked, rolled, and jumped back up onto my feet and yelled, "Safe!" to which the pitcher (or someone) responded, "No, you're not." I hid my sorrow, admitted defeat, and then happily returned to the side lines and my friend.
I started walking back to my friend, casually swinging my arms in stride, but when my right arm swung, it didn't feel right. It ...hurt!
Worry wrenched throughout my stomach like a dull knife; what if I had dislocated my shoulder?? My path to out of the way was disbarred and I went to the teacher. I told the substitute teacher of my feared ailment, and he directed me to the school physical therapist.
I had my friend escort me (mostly to get her out of playing soft ball) and we went to the physical therapist's office. I told her what had happened and she poked and prodded asking whether or not this poke hurt or that prod didn't.
Then, she turned her back on me and started scribbling. "So," I said hesitantly. "What should I do now?" Without turning to look at me, she responded: "Nothing until you've seen a doctor."
Distraught, I took her advice none the less and went to the insta-care. There was more poking and prodding by an actual doctor this time, and then an X-ray. And sure, enough, my collar bone had snapped in half upon impact. Thanks to shock, not a tear was shed.
Did you know that it only takes 8 ounces of pressure to break your collar bone? So, when I saw the X-ray, I wasn't really surpirsed. Especially not after I recalled that unappetizing crunch.
It took six weeks for my bone to reattach to itself and that meant six weeks of no tae kwon do.
I was a green belt at the time. I just got it and I had two months to get ready to test for my blue belt. So, I spent my broken days writing left-handed and attending TKD on the side lines. I would watch my peers deliver the one step sparring techniques, taeguk sam jang, and the various kicks we needed to learn for board breaking.
I watched and practiced what I could, until six weeks passed, and my six week incarceration was up. I immediately returned to Kim's Academy and began performing what I'd watched my cohorts do. I had two weeks but I told my sabumnim that I wanted to participate in the next test. He was a little dubious considering the time I had and how I'd busied myself being broken for the first half of it. But, I still had two weeks and he let me train for the testing.
I came into the do jang almost everyday for those two weeks and practiced. When the time came, I felt ready. I handed over my testing fee and application, slapped on my green belt over my white do bok, and stood ready for anything.
I delivered. I did taeguk sam jang expertly (in my mind, that is) and did my three one-step sparring techniques, and broke my particle wood with an axe kick as if I'd had the full two months. When the test was just at its end, I felt on top of the world. Everyone was lined up, awaiting the results. One by one, everyone around me had their names called by my sabumnim. If your name was called, you passed. Finally I heard my name. Grinning, but trying to be stoic, I stood and received my new blue belt.
Then, my sabumnim stood, congratulated us all and instructed us to don our brand new belts. After all the pleasantries had ended and the participants were returning back to their parents, my sabumnim dropped by and grabbed my attention. He was nothing but smiles, as usual, but this time there was something a little deeper in his joy. "I had a feeling you could do it, and you passed with flying colors," he told me and gently patted my shoulder. And what was nice about that compliment, other than the fact that it was a compliment, was that, all along I had a feeling that I could do it, too.
I was starting to believe in myself.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Stuff White-And-A-Half Belts Like
WHUD!!
Is what it started with. It was my second month in pursuing my dream to become like Jackie Chan and I had my white belt. As a matter of fact, it took at least a month to just get my do bok (that's uniform) because I started to work right away at Kim's Academy of Tae Kwon Do.
The do bok alone cost $40, so I got my mom's signature to decorate the dotted line at the bottom of my permission slip - which was really more of a waiver - and I started to work immediately after that to earn my first step to being a martial artist.
But I digress.
WHUD was where it started. I had just mastered the amazingly tough, amazingly talented round house kick, with the aid of my best friend, at our school's all-annual Festival of Roses. Not the proper place, I suppose, but I got it done. And now that the round house had been kicked into submission and submitted to my memory lobe, I was ready to move on to the jump front kick. Along with this kick mastery, I was bestowed with the gift of a stripe. A green stripe, to be exact, placing me at the impeccable white 1/2 belt. Which meant that now, I was prepared for anything.
It was at the do jang. I was in my do bok, with my wondrous white belt. And my homie, Daniel, was by my side. I ran, jumped, lifted my knee, then thrusted out my second leg, executing the kick expertly. Gravity came into effect and I started to come down from my kick, I could feel my feet land back on the ground, like a cat dropped over a balcony.
Except, I didn't. Cat-like, I was not. My feet kept traveling in front of me and I landed flat on my back. WHUD. However, I was unabashed and unleashed a healthy guffaw that fogged up the crisp Saturday morning. This unabashed laugh mostly came from the fact that Daniel had done the exact same thing not moments before I did. When he hit the ground, I laughed. Unrelenting and immediate.
Daniel and I were tight back in the day, he was one of my first TKD-related friends. Then, one day, when I returned from a vacation in Estas Park, Colorado, he was gone. I never saw him again. But, not to fear, my best friend showed up pretty regularly and she was a black belt. That meant that she and I were always partnered up in class! She helped me with all of my basic kicks: front, round, side, and back; as well as with my white belt curriculum.
Now, you may not believe this, but back then I was a relatively shy person and I didn't like crowds. So, as much help as I got from my best friend, the other black belt instructors, or chogonim, and even the master of the school (that's sabumnim), I was never quite ready to ever test for realzies.
See, testings are celebrations. They're huge and exploding with energy. There's always the nerves of testing and the adrenaline, but then it's followed by you performing, entertaining, and succeeding. It's very surreal. At least, for the shy Catholic school girl it was. Which is exactly why I avoided these huge celebrations.
The regular tests were held in in the presence of Grand Master Kim. If you couldn't make those, you were invited to partake in the make up test at the regular school in Sandy, in the presence of my sabumnim. I intentionally missed the tests that were in front of Grand Master Kim for, like, ever, but especially for my yellow belt testing.
Here's the belt line up from Kim's Academy of Tae Kwon Do: white, yellow, green, blue, brown, high brown, red, high red, deputy 1, 2, 3, 4 and then finally black. I think I avoided Grand Master Kim until I was at least brown belt.
But, of all the memories I've listed before you, I think this one is a cherished one. One day, after class was over, after I'd earned my do bok and white belt, the sabumnim was showing me how he wanted me to clean the floors. It was a fairly simple Swiffer, but I looked up at him as he strapped a wet cloth to the Swiffer's mop end, and said, "I don't know if I made this clear enough before, but I really appreciate you allowing me to clean your do jang in exchange for classes here." He didn't react necessarily one way or the other. But after he had told the Swiffer what it was about to do, looked at me and said, "And it's because of that attitude that I think you'll make it all the way to your black belt. Even as a white belt, I can tell that you have black belt spirit."
I think I grinned ear to ear for the rest of the night after he told me that. It made getting that white.5 belt and all the belts beyond (in and out of Grand Master Kim's supervision) completely possible.
Is what it started with. It was my second month in pursuing my dream to become like Jackie Chan and I had my white belt. As a matter of fact, it took at least a month to just get my do bok (that's uniform) because I started to work right away at Kim's Academy of Tae Kwon Do.
The do bok alone cost $40, so I got my mom's signature to decorate the dotted line at the bottom of my permission slip - which was really more of a waiver - and I started to work immediately after that to earn my first step to being a martial artist.
But I digress.
WHUD was where it started. I had just mastered the amazingly tough, amazingly talented round house kick, with the aid of my best friend, at our school's all-annual Festival of Roses. Not the proper place, I suppose, but I got it done. And now that the round house had been kicked into submission and submitted to my memory lobe, I was ready to move on to the jump front kick. Along with this kick mastery, I was bestowed with the gift of a stripe. A green stripe, to be exact, placing me at the impeccable white 1/2 belt. Which meant that now, I was prepared for anything.
It was at the do jang. I was in my do bok, with my wondrous white belt. And my homie, Daniel, was by my side. I ran, jumped, lifted my knee, then thrusted out my second leg, executing the kick expertly. Gravity came into effect and I started to come down from my kick, I could feel my feet land back on the ground, like a cat dropped over a balcony.
Except, I didn't. Cat-like, I was not. My feet kept traveling in front of me and I landed flat on my back. WHUD. However, I was unabashed and unleashed a healthy guffaw that fogged up the crisp Saturday morning. This unabashed laugh mostly came from the fact that Daniel had done the exact same thing not moments before I did. When he hit the ground, I laughed. Unrelenting and immediate.
Daniel and I were tight back in the day, he was one of my first TKD-related friends. Then, one day, when I returned from a vacation in Estas Park, Colorado, he was gone. I never saw him again. But, not to fear, my best friend showed up pretty regularly and she was a black belt. That meant that she and I were always partnered up in class! She helped me with all of my basic kicks: front, round, side, and back; as well as with my white belt curriculum.
Now, you may not believe this, but back then I was a relatively shy person and I didn't like crowds. So, as much help as I got from my best friend, the other black belt instructors, or chogonim, and even the master of the school (that's sabumnim), I was never quite ready to ever test for realzies.
See, testings are celebrations. They're huge and exploding with energy. There's always the nerves of testing and the adrenaline, but then it's followed by you performing, entertaining, and succeeding. It's very surreal. At least, for the shy Catholic school girl it was. Which is exactly why I avoided these huge celebrations.
The regular tests were held in in the presence of Grand Master Kim. If you couldn't make those, you were invited to partake in the make up test at the regular school in Sandy, in the presence of my sabumnim. I intentionally missed the tests that were in front of Grand Master Kim for, like, ever, but especially for my yellow belt testing.
Here's the belt line up from Kim's Academy of Tae Kwon Do: white, yellow, green, blue, brown, high brown, red, high red, deputy 1, 2, 3, 4 and then finally black. I think I avoided Grand Master Kim until I was at least brown belt.
But, of all the memories I've listed before you, I think this one is a cherished one. One day, after class was over, after I'd earned my do bok and white belt, the sabumnim was showing me how he wanted me to clean the floors. It was a fairly simple Swiffer, but I looked up at him as he strapped a wet cloth to the Swiffer's mop end, and said, "I don't know if I made this clear enough before, but I really appreciate you allowing me to clean your do jang in exchange for classes here." He didn't react necessarily one way or the other. But after he had told the Swiffer what it was about to do, looked at me and said, "And it's because of that attitude that I think you'll make it all the way to your black belt. Even as a white belt, I can tell that you have black belt spirit."
I think I grinned ear to ear for the rest of the night after he told me that. It made getting that white.5 belt and all the belts beyond (in and out of Grand Master Kim's supervision) completely possible.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
(WTF) Does This Have to do with Tae Kwon Do?
So, there I was. Standing there, outside the door, the "open" sign gleaming at me, flickering irregularly. My best friend was supposed to be there, but she was grounded for incorrectly praying the rosary. It was just me, standing in my clod-hopper shoes, knee high socks, plaid skirt, and navy blue sweater over my white, button-up Oxford shirt.
You guessed it: Catholic School.
Now, what's funny here is that I had spent the afternoon praying the rosary the wrong way along with my best friend, except I hadn't told my mom about the two demerits I got for it. And in an attempt to escape the wrath of matriarchy as well as the strict fist of Catholic education, I gathered up my courage and now stood outside of Kim's Academy of Tae Kwon Do.
I could think of a million reasons as to why I wanted to march in there and sign up for classes: it would be awesome, I'd been there before with my best friend, it was something to do, I could be like Jackie Chan. But one thing was stopping me.
I didn't have any money.
And while you think, "of course you don't have money, you're just a kid!" What I mean is, I couldn't get any money. Things were tight at home and I didn't even want to propose the question.
But I knew I had to try something! So, I gathered my green, plaid skirts about me, kicked up my white, dirt-encrusted socks, and entered. A small bell announced my presence, and I headed straight to the office. I knew whom I was looking for.
He stood tall, dark hair, dark eyes, and he surely wasn't Asian. This was OK with me, as a declared 13-year-old Catholic school girl, I didn't mind. I'd met him a few times before, but that didn't make asking any easier. I cleared my throat and waited for him to notice me.
When he did, he smiled and welcomed me. "And how are you today, Miss McCosh?" he asked jovially. "Oh, I'm all right," I responded casually. "Can I talk to you?" I asked, a little more quietly. He smiled, nodded, and closed the door to the office.
I shifted my weight uncomfortably from one foot to another. He waited patiently. "I was wondering if..." I started, faltered. I felt the confidence start to shed, like I was a St. Bernard and it had been three years since I'd gotten a new coat. He still smiled at me and waited. "I've been coming in a lot with my friend, as you know, and I've decided that I really want to start taking classes here."
His smile broadened. "That's wonderful! We'd love to have you!"
"...But I don't have the money." I finished. We were both hushed now, awkwardly letting the silence settle in and make itself comfortable. "But," I continued, kicking silence out of the nest it made for itself. "I would like to offer services in cleaning the school for you, in exchange for classes. I'll do whatever needs to be done, if you'll let me." I didn't really expect a wise business man, such as the owner of a Tae Kwon Do school in Salt Lake City, Utah to say "yes" but...
"That sounds like a great idea," he beamed at me. "Let me just get get you some paperwork." I almost started in on my saddened acceptance of his decline, until the beam he used to smile hit me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. It was a truly euphoric feeling.
But you were expecting that answer, weren't you? This is a story, after all.
And this story is based completely in non-chronological fact. My name is Shannon and I am a second Dan black belt. I've taught Tae Kwon Do for many years and am currently pursuing my third Dan.
At least, slowly pursuing it. I'm on my third Tae Kwon Do school, master, and association, all under the World Tae Kwon Do Federation (WTF).
It's been seven years since my little anecdote took place and this blog, "A TaeKwonDo Story," is here to detail those seven years, illustrating what the South Korean martial art of Tae Kwon Do has done for at least one person, me.
You guessed it: Catholic School.
Now, what's funny here is that I had spent the afternoon praying the rosary the wrong way along with my best friend, except I hadn't told my mom about the two demerits I got for it. And in an attempt to escape the wrath of matriarchy as well as the strict fist of Catholic education, I gathered up my courage and now stood outside of Kim's Academy of Tae Kwon Do.
I could think of a million reasons as to why I wanted to march in there and sign up for classes: it would be awesome, I'd been there before with my best friend, it was something to do, I could be like Jackie Chan. But one thing was stopping me.
I didn't have any money.
And while you think, "of course you don't have money, you're just a kid!" What I mean is, I couldn't get any money. Things were tight at home and I didn't even want to propose the question.
But I knew I had to try something! So, I gathered my green, plaid skirts about me, kicked up my white, dirt-encrusted socks, and entered. A small bell announced my presence, and I headed straight to the office. I knew whom I was looking for.
He stood tall, dark hair, dark eyes, and he surely wasn't Asian. This was OK with me, as a declared 13-year-old Catholic school girl, I didn't mind. I'd met him a few times before, but that didn't make asking any easier. I cleared my throat and waited for him to notice me.
When he did, he smiled and welcomed me. "And how are you today, Miss McCosh?" he asked jovially. "Oh, I'm all right," I responded casually. "Can I talk to you?" I asked, a little more quietly. He smiled, nodded, and closed the door to the office.
I shifted my weight uncomfortably from one foot to another. He waited patiently. "I was wondering if..." I started, faltered. I felt the confidence start to shed, like I was a St. Bernard and it had been three years since I'd gotten a new coat. He still smiled at me and waited. "I've been coming in a lot with my friend, as you know, and I've decided that I really want to start taking classes here."
His smile broadened. "That's wonderful! We'd love to have you!"
"...But I don't have the money." I finished. We were both hushed now, awkwardly letting the silence settle in and make itself comfortable. "But," I continued, kicking silence out of the nest it made for itself. "I would like to offer services in cleaning the school for you, in exchange for classes. I'll do whatever needs to be done, if you'll let me." I didn't really expect a wise business man, such as the owner of a Tae Kwon Do school in Salt Lake City, Utah to say "yes" but...
"That sounds like a great idea," he beamed at me. "Let me just get get you some paperwork." I almost started in on my saddened acceptance of his decline, until the beam he used to smile hit me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. It was a truly euphoric feeling.
But you were expecting that answer, weren't you? This is a story, after all.
And this story is based completely in non-chronological fact. My name is Shannon and I am a second Dan black belt. I've taught Tae Kwon Do for many years and am currently pursuing my third Dan.
At least, slowly pursuing it. I'm on my third Tae Kwon Do school, master, and association, all under the World Tae Kwon Do Federation (WTF).
It's been seven years since my little anecdote took place and this blog, "A TaeKwonDo Story," is here to detail those seven years, illustrating what the South Korean martial art of Tae Kwon Do has done for at least one person, me.
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