The Black Belt Path by Chris Walkenhorst For every person, some events are so special that one is not about to forget exactly when they happened. For me, one date that stands out is Saturday, June 26th, 1999. For on that day, after five long years of training and effort, I attained the rank of First Degree Black Belt in the martial art of Taekwondo. That night I was inducted into a very elite brotherhood. As a little kid, I got bullied and picked on a lot. It was easy to get a reaction out of me, so it made me a favorite target of the bullies at my school. I never understood was what made them come after me in the first place. I never directly went up to them and asked them why they tormented me. Later on, they would verbally tear me apart, though I hadn’t even looked at them funny. This experience would be one of my reasons for taking up the art. After witnessing a martial arts demonstration at my school, I asked my parents if I could start lessons. And through some twist of fate, the school that we chose was the home of the demonstration team that came to my school that first time, headed by former World Champion, Oren Gautreaux, and 1992 Bronze Medalist, Terry Poindexter (later Gautreaux). It was the beginning of a relationship that continues to this very day, thirteen years later. My first lesson, a private one, was in July of 1994. I received my uniform, and learned my first two techniques, the basic punch, and front kick. After the first two lessons, I became a white belt and graduated into the main class. As a child with Attention Deficit Disorder, I found paying attention a big challenge. Most people would have thrown their hands up and have just written me off as a lost cause. That wasn’t true with the Gautreauxs. They saw something special in me, and over the years they drew it out. Life at the Gautreauxs’ was so enjoyable partly because of the multiple side activities that came with the school. I competed in The Kansas City Classic Taekwondo Tournament, one of the largest in this part of the country. Fighters from across the Midwest gathered for the Classic. I may not have walked away with any gold medals, but I did come away with a lot of experience that helped me to further polish my technique. Another event that cemented my love for the art was our annual demonstration at the Fall Fun Festival held every September. We’d have a booth, a float in the parade, and the demo itself. I always got such a great feeling being out there, showing off my stuff for the entire crowd. If we could get a big rise out of the audience, then it was a good day’s work. A local dance studio would often go on either before or after us, and we forged something of a partnership. A few of us would participate in their competition teams, and they’d use our facilities to practice. The Black Belt Cycle was five months of the hardest labor that made our final fruit taste all the sweeter. It all started on my 16th birthday, February 26th, 1999. Mrs. Gautreaux’s birthday present was a two-hour run, and it had to be completed in 21 minutes or less. That first time was pure hell for me. Even though I had been taking lessons for five years by that point, I had no real physical conditioning and so I was crying in agony with every step. But I soldiered on and barely made it. Friday nights fell into this basic pattern: Run up at a local track, get dinner, and then return to the school itself for a class to polish our moves. Pretests each month helped to gauge our progress on one part of the curriculum, basic hand and foot techniques, self-defense techniques, and poomse, or “forms.” Forms are a prearranged sequence of movements designed to show the technical and more graceful aspects of the art. A form is plotted out like the steps in a dance, and doesn’t change, but is repeated over and over again. The purpose behind this repetition is that it will be ingrained in the student’s mind and help build muscle memory and how exactly to do the technique. It all culminated with the Black Belt weekend. On Friday night we gathered at the school, and an exhausting three hours were spent going through literally everything we learned from White Belt onward. Seeing Master Gautreaux and the rest of the senior staff staring us down from their table made me sweat. The only words out of our mouths that whole night were “Yes sirs and ma’ams.” Saturday took us to a nearby state park to embark on endurance training for exactly one hour. I had so little physical conditioning that I had to really reach down deep to keep up. It was the longest hour of my life. That night we had our promotion ceremony, but it was more like a rock concert. Each of the ten of us read an essay that we wrote about what the black belt meant to us. Because Star Wars: Episode I had come out just a month before, I used the movie as the basis of my essay. I compared the Jedi padawan apprentices to the colored belts in the school; attaining a black belt would be like becoming a full fledged Jedi Knight. We each then gave a solo performance—and that was our special time to show what we could do. We took the Black Belt Oath by candlelight, swearing that we would uphold the principles of what the belt stood for, modesty, courtesy, self-control, perseverance, and indomitable spirit. The moment that belt was cinched around my waist was like a rebirth for me. I had reached a new plateau. So many believe that black belt is the end of the line. I say with conviction that it’s just the opposite. It’s only the beginning. I now hold the rank of Third Degree Black Belt. Thirteen years have passed since I first passed through that door, and I still love it. I’m committed to the Black Belt path, and will be forever. Chris Walkenhorst is from Blue Springs. He hopes to be a novelist specializing in fantasy and science fiction. Copyright © 2006. Do not reproduce without permission. Home Contents