Enter The Dojang

I paused at the doorway, my heart was pounding fast, it was just moments before my first lesson in the Korean martial art of Kuk Sool. 

As I walked through the entrance little did I know at the time that the next few steps would literally change the entire direction of my life?

My initial thoughts were, would this martial art live up to all of my expectations or would it follow a similar pattern to that of my previous Judo lessons? 

Before starting out my mother had already predicted that I would last only ‘three’ lessons, - if nothing else I just wanted to prove her wrong.

Upon entering the Dojang, which was also primarily used as a Labour Club meeting hall, I immediately sensed an air of discipline within the room. It felt distinctly different to the last lessons that I’d encountered at the previous club. Here there was a lot formal bowing and other formalities, which had to be observed.

The other members greeted me warmly and I was introduced to the main black belt Instructor, who subsequently invited me to participate in the class straight away. 

I later referred to this induction as the ‘sink-or-swim’ method, similar to being thrown in at the deep-end of a swimming pool before actually learning how to swim.

My nerves diminished as I followed closely along with the general warm-up routine. I found myself in the front row and was encouraged to imitate the movements of the Instructor who was teaching at the front.

After practicing a few basic kicks and punches, we carried on with some wrist escape techniques, similar to the moves that got me enticed in the first place.  We then proceeded in performing some pre-arranged movements, which I later discovered were called Forms or Hyungs in Korean.

At the end of the lesson we all gathered together and formally bowed-out to complete a superbly structured session. I just couldn’t believe how quick the two-hour class had flown by and I returned home feeling thoroughly inspired.

My second lesson followed a very similar format; warm-up exercises, kicking and punching drills self-defence techniques etc. Everything went swimmingly well and although I found some of the moves quite difficult, I somehow muddled my way through.

Once again I felt excited as my third lesson approached, however I still had this nagging doubt in the back of my mind about what my mother had said- “You’ll only last three lessons.” It haunted me! Surely 'history' wouldn’t repeat itself – would it?

I was now beginning to recognise the general structure of the lessons. However during the third lesson it was announced that there would be an addition… Sparring at the end of the evening. What the heck was sparring I asked a friend standing nearby? “Oh that’s where you get to hit each other,” he jokingly replied.

All of the students, including myself were instructed to sit around the mat. I got to watch the first two practitioners take to the floor. It looked really exciting as they moved strategically back and forth, throwing a combination of kicks, blocks and punches. There was minimal contact, which made me realise that this was a match of skill rather than just brute force and ignorance.

The instructor called the two guys too attention; they bowed toward each other and left the mat.  The next two participants entered the arena. Back and forth they moved. I was totally impressed with the ability of each student, taking care not to cause each other any distress.

Although the sparring that I’d witnessed seemed very controlled, it also looked very effective at the same time. As the instructor worked his way through the pack, it eventually came to my turn. I realised that the only other person who hadn’t been on the mat, was this tall, slimly built, blonde chap.  He was a blue belt (intermediate level) and had over one year’s more experience than myself.

I hesitantly walked onto the mattered arena, bowed and nervously smiled at my opponent. He smugly grinned back, not saying a word. In that instance I immediately knew that he wasn’t going to let a complete novice get the better of him.  

We started off slowly, keeping direct eye contact with each other and throwing the odd kick and punch. To begin with I actually matched his every move, repeating most of the things that he did. At this stage I was pleased to be holding my own against a much more experienced opponent.

The idea of respect and fair play didn’t last long. Suddenly with one swift movement my blonde haired opponent unleashed a turning-backside-kick that I never saw coming. The blow hit me full force in the mid-section.  The next thing I knew I was on the floor holding my stomach and desperately trying to catch my breath.

The senior instructor quickly attended my needs, knowing that I was really in discomfort. He made my opponent sit down, reprimanding him for his lack of control. I was eventually helped to my feet and marched off the mat like a wounded soldier returning from battle.  

At this point I knew that history had virtually repeated itself, once again the curse of the ‘third lesson’ had happened. Despite my physical discomfort the only thing that I could think about, were those five words, which my mother had said – “You’ll only last three lessons.”  It was this fact alone that made me return back, ready for my next lesson.