I'm glad ...

... there haven't been any complaints about my lack of blog posts lately. I have been busy, and complaining might make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm so angry I'm blind with rage:

My gold medal day

I still have trouble believing those words: my gold medal. Me, a National Champion? In a sport? But all I have to do is look over on the table and see it sparkling at me to believe: I actually did it.

There were moments I wasn't sure it was going to happen. This week at Nationals started a lot like last year: I didn't perform as well as I would have liked in sparring, and ended up with a bronze. Last year I had high hopes for forms competition; I was trying this cool new form (for me), and everyone said I was doing it with lots of power. I made a couple of corrections, kept practicing, and went out and performed it without making any mistakes. When it came time for scoring, though, my marks were barely above average: 8.1s, for the most part, with a low of 7.9 meaning one judge thought I was below average. My total score was disappointing, in the low 24s, good enough for third out of four competitors.

I decided this year would be different. First of all, they changed the rules so that I only had a choice of two forms which I knew: Koryo, a first-dan form with which I've never been that comfortable (and never scored very well), and Keumgang, a second-dan form which I really enjoy, but which I'd been told never scores well because it has no kicks. (Instead it has several crane stances, which look really cool and show off your balance if done right.) Last year I didn't do Keumgang at Nationals, and ended up being outscored by someone who did do it—and not as well as I could have done it, I thought.

So this year when I started heading to several competitions, I thought I might as well try competing with it. I wasn't scoring well with other forms, so why not? And on my first try, at a competition in Milan, I won gold, for the first time since I made black belt. So I continued doing Keumgang at other tournaments, and kept getting gold medals, including one at AAU States. So I felt good about my form going into Friday's competition at Nationals. Still, I felt good last year, too, and ended up with bronze.

I didn't know how much or what kind of competition I'd have until I got to the arena. When they read off my bracket, there were five names, but only three ladies there. That didn't necessarily mean anything, because the missing ladies could have been out doing team forms. Five names means someone doesn't get a medal, but I didn't think that would happen to me. The one lady I did outscore last year was there, and I thought I could beat her again. The second didn't look super flexible (they always score well), unlike the third one, who finally showed up after competing in team forms. She looked quick ... potentially a problem. I put that out of my mind, and last year, and just thought about my own form. Finally, when they decided the fifth lady wasn't going to show, they took the four of us out to the ring. I was to compete last, which is always a good thing. Judges can hold back on scores if you go too early, so if you don't let yourself get psyched out by the competition, going last can be an advantage.

When there are more than a couple of competitors in forms, the judges always have the first three perform before they give out scores. So I sat and watched the first three perform, all doing forms I didn't recognize. The quick lady didn't look as sharp as I thought she might, and the other two were slower but had pretty good technique. They went up for their scores: quick lady didn't score well at all, getting a 24.7 total, while the second lady got a 25.3—mostly 8.4s and 8.3s, with an 8.5 in there—and the lady I beat last year got a 25.1. Then it was my turn.

I went in there and let my body take over. I have been doing this form for over three years now, so all I had to think about was making it sharp: keeping my shoulders straight, my hands tight, and landing my feet and hand techniques together. I was nervous, and felt myself quiver during the crane stances, but never let my foot drop. (Everyone says they looked solid, so it was just nerves.) I finished, then stood and awaited my scores. It started well: 8.4, then an 8.5, an 8.0 (only average?), another 8.5, and an 8.6. They throw out the high and low, so my total score was 25.4, a point better than last year.

I wasn't ready to believe it yet. Did I remember the other scores correctly? Was I right that the other girl had a 25.3? If we tied, they would throw the low scores back in; my low score was lower than hers, and that would mean silver. We lined up to bow to the judges, and they had us step forward in order. Quick lady, then last year's lady, then the third lady ... I knew I didn't finish below the other two, was it really true ... and then they pointed me into the first spot. The judge stood in front of each of them and called, "Fourth place ... third place ... second place ..." and then stood in front of me and called, "First place!" I could hear all the Olympian families in the stands behind me cheering. It was real. I won the gold.

It still feels a little surreal. I'll probably keep the medal in my gear bag for a while, just so I can remind myself, yes, you won gold at Nationals. In the meantime, I've got this photo to back me up; I think it can tell you better than I can just how great it feels to be a National Champion. And that's me, believe or not. I do.

photo by Brentwood Digital Photography

My road to bronze—once again, with feeling

It’s at the end of a very long and crazy* day that I’m writing this entry (although I’m posting one day later, because I don’t have free internet here at my fancy hotel). Although my result this year was the same as last year—a loss in my only match, meaning a bronze medal—I feel differently about it this year. A lot of things were the same: I didn’t sleep well the night before, I felt nervous going in, I had trouble with my asthma during the match. But a lot of things were different, too.

Last year I didn’t start training in earnest until January; this year I trained from the beginning of the year, starting in September. Last year I didn’t spar at any other tournament except States; this year I fought at three other competitions. Last year I weighed in at 142 pounds and change; this year I weighed in at just under 126 pounds.** Last year I obsessed about the draw and how many people I might spar, and when I went from getting a bye into the gold-medal round to gaining an opponent, it freaked me out a little bit. This year I tried not to obsess, and just told myself to worry about winning the first match. It turned out I had a bad draw—I was in a group of three and didn’t get the bye, and I’m sure I could have beat the girl who did get it, since I managed at least four points on the gold-medal winner, and she got a big zero—but them’s the breaks.

It’s been hot and rainy here in Fort Lauderdale, so when I woke up feeling a bit wheezy, I knew it didn’t bode well for my match. I was sluggish and I couldn’t move out of the way of the other girl, who left me with some really nasty bruises. (I’m icing the one on my elbow as I type.) Still, I made it into the second round, and scored a really wicked crescent kick to her face, knocking her back. (“You rocked her world!” Miss Laura said.) I just didn’t have the energy to follow up, despite the last few weeks of practicing two-minute rounds on my sparring bag. Result: a repeat bronze medal.

So while last year I had trouble sleeping the night following the match, going over in my head what I could have done differently, this year I think I’ll sleep fine. (For one thing, all the hotel shenanigans have left me exhausted.) I couldn’t help the draw, and I couldn’t help the wheezing. I trained as hard as I could, and I don’t have any regrets.

Besides, I still have forms competition on Friday, and I’m still aiming for gold.

*The craziness involved switching hotels; telling myself that grown women don’t cry in hotel lobbies when the room they reserved isn’t ready, even after an hour of waiting when all you want is a shower, some ice, and a nap; and getting sent to a third and upgraded hotel for free ...

**Since January, I’ve put in the time and effort to lose over 15 pounds, mainly by exercising every day (yay for indoor exercise bikes that let you read while your work) and eating more fruits and vegetables, especially spinach. I could go on and on about the whole weight loss aspect, but it’s not the main story, I don’t think.

Photo of the Week--6/29/09 (special TKD edition)

So I've been in Fort Lauderdale for over 24 hours now, and I've been sprinkled on four or five times as I've been walking around the Convention Center area. As you can see from the photo of the fountain near the center, the clouds keep coming through this area, bringing occasional showers. The forecast for the rest of the week is much of the same: highs around 90 with occasional thunderstorms. So much for "sunny Florida." I actually don't mind; if there's going to be high heat and humidity, some cool raindrops and 10 mph winds make it tolerable.

The convention center is air-conditioned, of course. That should make my match or matches tomorrow tolerable. My part of the competition should be over 18 hours from now. I checked in early today and got weighed in; I was well within my weight class, as the official, calibrated scales seem to show everyone a couple pounds lighter than they thought. (It's a conspiracy between the diet companies and the scale companies, I bet.) They called me back for a re-check at 3 pm, to make sure that my division—which is one of those with fewer than 4 competitors—wasn't decimated by people failing to make weight. It turns out I do have competitors, but I don't know whether there are one or two other people besides me. One other person means one fight, winner takes gold. Two people means someone gets a bye ... I'm not going to worry about it this year, I decided I'm just going to show up, fight the first match (and win), and then worry about what might happen next. Still, I have to admit the stomach is feeling a little twitchy.

So right now I'm just chilling, watching Wimbledon and surfing, before venturing out to find someplace with a decent salad bar. I'll have another report tomorrow night, hopefully with a picture of a nice shiny medal.

Debating my inner voice-of-doubt

This afternoon I'm leaving to head up to the Michigan State AAU Qualifier Tournament in taekwondo. I'll be competing, coaching, and most likely judging. I'm trying to convince myself I don't have any reason to be nervous. It's a tough sell, though:

I'm going to have to spar, and I haven't won a match in competition in a while.
But you've been training much harder this year; you almost never feel like throwing up during Tournament Team workouts any more.
Still, I'm older and slower than a lot of the competitors; last year they made me spar a master (4th-degree) and she was probably ten years younger.
You're faster this year; you've dropped 15 pounds, so you go, girl!
Well, two years ago they combined weight classes and I ended up sparring someone forty pounds heavier, so I might have more of a mismatch this year.
No use worrying about your opponent, just do your best. What about forms competition?
I haven't exactly been spectacular at States the past two years.
You're doing a different form this time! Two golds in the last two tournaments!
I suppose I do look kinda cool doing that form.* I just have to control my breathing and focus.
That's the spirit! It'll be over before you know it.
But then I have to coach. What if I screw that up? Then it's not my performance at stake, it's someone else's.
You know what you're doing, you've been practicing for months, you know your teammates. You'll be fine.
I hope so. I still think I'm crazy, though.
You're challenging yourself! Eye of the Tiger and all that! Keep moving or die!
Um. Now I think I'm definitely crazy. But it'll all be over tomorrow night, so I think I'll get over it. Maybe. Kinda. Sorta. Or at least, until Nationals start at the end of June.

*Awesome photo by Steve Lutowsky at Shadowline Photography.

I have black pants!

Those of you who have me friended on Facebook already saw the weird status update I posted last week: I have black pants! And that's different how? you may have wondered. Is there any woman out there who doesn't own a pair of trousers in black, that most basic of neutrals, that most slimming of colors?

Of course my wardrobe wasn't lacking before last week; it's just that this pair of black pants is special. They're taekwondo pants, and they're symbolic: only official, certified instructors are allowed to wear black pants. That's right: the certified childhood klutz is now a nationally certified instructor of taekwondo. I have a plaque and everything. I have a patch on my arm that says "Instructor." And I have black pants!

Maybe I sound a bit obsessive about the black pants. But hey, look at the uniform. A taekwondo uniform (called a toe-balk) is not designed for the female form. The top is like a big square box with two rectangles attached for sleeves. The pants don't have any curves, either; they're straight up-and-down, with heavy-duty elastic at the waist. So by the time you wrap a belt around your waist, there's a ton of extra fabric underneath. No wonder when people from the studio see me outside of class, they have trouble recognizing me.

So I'm happy to have my black tkd pants. They're a bit more flattering, plus they look cool, almost ninja-like. They hide the dirt when I'm doing take-downs and end up rolling on the ground. And they represent a real achievement: I'm a documented, official, certified instructor. And who would have predicted that?

I can't deny it, I'm a nerd....

Finally, the film experience I know you've all been waiting for! Last spring, as many of you may know, Boy and I were working towards earning our 2nd degree black belts in taekwondo. Part of our requirements was to choreograph and stage a skit to demonstrate some of our skills. (And actually, some of you may remember seeing Boy and I working on possible choreography as far back as August 2007.) Having really enjoyed learning escrima sticks from Master Ron, one of our instructors, we decided to put them in our skit. From there, it took only a little imagination and a bit of fabric to come up with the following, our "Star Wars" themed black belt skit. Enjoy!

Oh say, why can't I N-B-See?

Luckily for my sleep habits and the fast-approaching school year, the Olympics are over. No more staying up til midnight waiting for gymnastics scores or rain-delayed beach volleyball finals. All the spectacle and pageantry are over, and it was a great two weeks of sport. You'd have to be a total grumpus not to be thrilled by Michael Phelps's eight golds and Usain Bolt's sprinting records, or to be moved by the stories of the South African amputee who competed in the open-water swim, or the 33-year-old gymnast who moved from Uzbekistan to Germany to get cancer treatment for her son, and won a medal against competition half her age. The Olympics are full of great stories like these.

However.

I am still quite displeased with much of NBC-Universal's coverage of the games. I understand that gymnastics, swimming, and track score high ratings, and that's why they get the main focus of the prime-time coverage. And this year satellite users actually got a button that took them to a menu where they could choose from several channels that had coverage (something only eight years behind, and vastly inferior to, technology that the BBC used in Sydney). And yet, with all those channels, I didn't see a single taekwondo match on the air. And this, after the Today show showed profiles of the Lopez family, who are the first three siblings to all medal at the same Olympic games.

Apparently, NBC has time to show four replays of every dive in preliminary competition, and a dozen replays of Bolt or Phelps, but not even one two-minute round of a TKD medal match? They weren't even pretending this year to show most events live, so they couldn't edit the competition to give us a little more breadth of coverage? On Saturday afternoon, they figured people would rather watch table tennis, rhythmic gymnastics*, and synchronized swimming** for three hours than see a single, 6-minute TKD match. Why? It wasn't because Americans were challenging for medals in those events, because they weren't. What world are the NBC producers living in? Certainly not the one where mixed martial arts shows draw high ratings and pay-per-view audiences, or the one where 1600 competitors of all ages (and both sexes) competed at a national TKD tournament not two months ago. Sure, TKD bouts on an Olympic level can be a bit slow, because the competitors are so good, but it can't be any worse than the Olympic boxing match I saw last week where the competitors grabbed and held and threw each other to the ground instead of actually throwing punches.

NBC seems totally oblivious to this, as shown in their coverage of the athletes during the Closing Ceremonies. They showed the Lopez family again, saying they medalled, but I had no idea what medals they actually earned, since NBC didn't show them. Then they focused on Bryan Clay, the American gold medalist in the decathlon, traditionally called the "the world's greatest athlete." The announcer said he seemed to be overshadowed in these games by athletes like Phelps and Bolt, and I shouted "DUH!" at the televison, for NBC blew off the first day of decathlon competition, moving it from primetime to late night, and then devoted about two minutes to each of Clay's second-day events before showing the entirety of the last event, the 1500 meter run. But that night they showed most of the marathon live, because there's nothing as exciting as watching guys run through streets for two hours. (Hey, it was LIVE!)

So I guess I'm going to have to wait another four years to see world-class TKD on the television***. Maybe by London 2012 I can get digitally broadcast CBC, or BBC America will offer their own coverage. Or maybe NBC will give us real choice through satellite coverage. You never know, it could happen.

* I'm sure the ladies of rhythmic gymnastics work hard, but to me their "sport" looks like something better suited to the circus, not the Olympics. There's virtually no tumbling, so it's more like dance than gymnastics. (Don't get me started on the idea going around about adding Ballroom Dancing as an Olympic event.)
** And just to be totally inconsistent, I hate it when people make fun of synchro. I actually did this for a year in junior high, and it's very tough.
*** And also "Team Handball." I want to see this because I have no idea how it works. I'm envisioning a dozen guys on a squash-sized handball court. Do they tag team? Take turns hitting the ball? My mind boggles.

Why do I compete? ....

... because it feels so good when I stop. That's what I concluded today, my last day at Nationals, talking with my fellow adult competitors. I mean, is it really worth a week of sleep deprivation? (I've woken up earlier than planned every day this week, and I can't get back to sleep with my brain obsessing over past or future performances.) Is it really worth a week of upset stomach and nervous digestive system? (I'll spare you the gory details, but I had to force myself to eat this morning. I never have that problem.) Is athletic glory really worth it?

Well, I'm not sure. But after I finished competing this morning, I was the proud possessor of two bronze medals, as well as a rejuvenated appetite. I feel pretty good about it. I thought I performed my form about as well as I could; it didn't score as high as I'd hoped, but I still earned a medal, coming in third out of four competitors. Some of the kids on my team were in divisions with 20 or even 30 other competitors, so they weren't as fortunate. They all have a great attitude, and the team as a whole had a great tournament. A couple of golds, three silvers, and a over half a dozen bronzes, all coming back to Michigan. I'll be glad to be home, with some nice souvenirs to remember my week here in Madison.

You win some, you lose some ... TKD edition

So, I've had my first day of competition at the AAU Taekwondo Nationals. It's a huge event, with some 1500 competitors over six days, and I'll admit I was pretty nervous before competition started this morning. I was scheduled to appear at staging for sparring at 8:23 am, which sounds awfully early but since we're in Madison it was really more like 9:23 am (or that's what I tried to tell my body, anyway). The worst part about going into sparring competition is worrying about the bracket: how many people will be there? how many matches could I have to fight? will they really be the same age and size (they reserve the right to combine divisions, after all)? will my body hold out?

Things looked good at first. My division was only three people, and I was scheduled to receive the bye, which automatically put me in the gold-medal round. Only one fight, I thought. I can do that. So we were led out to our ring, where we proceeded to wait. And wait. And wait. They started a group that was staged after us, while we continued to wait. And then they decided to combine another division into ours, which meant I had an opponent in the semi-final round. That would mean two fights to get a gold medal. Hmmm. So, a tougher row to hoe. My new opponent was older than me (not by a lot), a lower rank than me (although there's not really a big difference between new 2nd degree and a 1st degree), and lighter than me. However, she was also taller than me, and looked fitter overall. I thought I had a good chance to beat her. I had been training pretty hard, after all.

Fighting for two two-minute rounds doesn't sound that hard, does it? Well, don't believe that until you've tried it. The first minute is pretty easy, but then you start to get tired. You're trying to throw kicks, and they don't always connect. You have to move out of the way of your opponent's kicks. My opponent was pretty quick, and scored a few kicks on me. I managed to score a head shot (which is two points).

I think this photo is early in the second round (I'm on the right, in the blue corner). I was only down by two points, and she scored a kick on me but then I got another head shot. Unfortunately, that is when my asthma really started dragging me down. I had taken my wheezer (inhaler) when we first arrived at the ring, since it takes 20 minutes to work. But we didn't fight for at least another hour and a half. I didn't want to take another puff (taking too much can make your heart race), because I couldn't be sure it had worn off. Maybe it did, maybe it didn't. In any case, I ran out of gas and couldn't make up the diffference. You win some, you lose some.

After all, even though I lost my only fight, I still ended up with a bronze medal. Other fighters in bigger divisions don't get that consolation. Although I wish I could have performed better, I still feel great about sticking with the training and actually going up for competition. I don't know that I'll try it again—I'm in the upper end of my age division, 35-44, and there's a big difference between mid-30s and mid-40s. But at least I gave it a shot. And if you had told me when I was a klutzy teenager that someday I would be a National Medalist, I wouldn't have believed you.

Oh, and on Friday I get another chance to compete for gold, in forms. So here's to persistence and good luck.

Knees, I'm not listening to you!

Despite what Boy says, my knees insist that I am getting old. Lately they've been emitting more snaps and crackles than a box of Rice Krispies; in fact, sometimes I stop and turn my head, trying to figure out where the baseball game is, because by the sound of it someone must've just whacked a huge home run.

I think my knees have chosen this month to begin talking to me because I've been training pretty seriously for AAU Taekwondo Nationals, which start next week. (Next week! Start panicking!) Almost every Friday night for the past five months, I've been working out with Olympian's Tournament Team to work on my sparring skills. This is a heavy-duty workout, and I'm lucky if I can make it through without wheezing like an old steam engine. (I'm 25 to 30 years older than most of the rest of the team, and asthmatic.) It can be tough, but it always feels great when we stop, and the kids motivate and inspire me.

For this week, the runup to the tournament, the team has been meeting mornings to run in a local park. My knees say, "No running!" My lungs say, "No running!" My doctor says, "Running isn't so good. Bicycling is much better." So I ride my bike the 2.5 miles to the park, and cycle around the paths while trying to avoid crashing into my teammates. Tuesday I didn't count, but I probably rode around 6 miles at the park. Today I did count, and I rode a little over 4 miles. (Plus I saw some kildeer in the nature trail adjacent to the park, and promptly scared them off.) I'm not sure my knees feel any better, but I'm surprised at how good I feel after I finish the ride. (Must be those endorphins I hear "athletes" sometimes experience. Oooh, am I an athlete now?)

So all next week I'll be away at Nationals (although I only compete on Tuesday and Friday), and I'm not sure if I'll be doing much posting in this blog. I'm not sure if I'll be doing much writing. (Chap. 16 still awaits!) Still, it's going to provide me with some great inspiration. Lately, a character has been sitting in the back of my mind, distracting me from Chap. 16. He's a nerd, like I was. He's a total klutz, like I was. He's going to discover taekwondo, like I did. I think we're going to have a lot of fun together ... but I have to make it through Nationals first. Wish me luck!