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.
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