An essay inspired by a blackbelt test in Taekwondo that I went to observe. |
The essence of Taekwondo is the perfect kick. Roundhouse, spinning hook kick, even something to simple as the front snap kick—it doesn’t matter. They all amount to the same thing when you achieve that one moment of grace. Power, speed balance—they are all necessary for any component of martial arts. Take all those components and put them to practical application. A combination of focus, strategy, power, speed, balance, technique, and judgment. And therein lies sparring, the true heart of taekwondo. Many people never become skilled at it, but others go on to become masters at techniques, and come into full understanding of how sparring really works. First, there is the dance. The circling, feinting, darting in and out; the intricate footwork as the two opponents size each other up. Then there comes the first few blows; tentative, measuring. A moment of hesitation, of perfectly poised tension—and then a flash of movement, the flurry of blows. Strike, block, strike again, all in the space of a breath, and then a moment of circling, recovery. Then they dart back in with lightning speed. Blow. Block. Counterattack. The firm thump of impact, and the slight jarring as it shoots up your limbs. The rhythm that develops, that moves almost faster than the eye can see. That’s what sparring is all about, slipping into the instinctive rhythm that your body already knows. The pure reactions of defending yourself and then striking back. It is a base-level instinct amplified, taken to a higher level—perfected, honed, and measured. Many people spend lifetimes trying to achieve it, and most of them do. It takes years of dedication to reach a level higher than the average person, and much sweat and pain. But in the end, the efforts are worth it as you come into a new understanding not only of the martial art but of yourself as well. And after all, isn’t that the purpose of any study—understanding? |