When I was eleven, I was awarded my red (brown) belt. At this stage, it was mandatory to break boards to gain further rank. I was okay at forms, and acceptable at sparring, but board breaks were terrifying. There was no grading, either the boards broke, or they didn't. And real pine boards don't lie. If your technique is off, you're going to make a thunk, not a snap. If you're really unlucky, you're going to make a crunch.
Rewind to yellow belt. I was 8 years old, and we were practicing punches. My punches were sloppy, and I didn't care about technique. I was just going through the motions because my instructor told me so. She put a board in front of me and told me to punch it. I made a thunk, and it really hurt. She corrected my technique, and told me next time, the board had better break. Every time we did punching drills after that, I was very cognizant of my technique, and always working to improve upon it.
Fast forwarding back to red belt, we had some options. We had to break the board using an elbow strike, and a choice between a front kick and a side kick. We had three attempts. I requested special permission to use a reverse punch instead of an elbow strike, because it was important to me to prove to myself that I had mastered that technique since being a yellow belt. After getting my parents to sign a waiver, I was allowed to make the attempt, on the condition that I also forfeited my choice to do a front kick and attempted a side kick instead.
During our Testing Ceremony at East Longview Hall, I completed my forms, my one-steps, and my sparring. I got a few minutes rest while the higher ranks went through their tests before the board breaking part commenced. I didn't even really watch, even though the black belts were always fun to watch. I spent the whole time visualizing the punch. When it was finally my turn, I set up my two break stations, just as I had been coached the previous week. After receiving permission to begin my attempt, I lined up the punch, and blew through it beautifully. That was my first board break. Everyone cheered, because my instructor explained why I was doing it, and explained the higher difficulty and risk level. The thing with punching solid objects is the bones in your hand are actually very small and easily broken. If the board doesn't break, your hand probably will.
Riding the euphoric high of the accomplishment and all the cheering, I lined up my side kick, and missed. I made three thunks. My heart totally sunk. After I had accomplished so much with my punch, I failed my test anyways. I still felt proud of what I had accomplished. Following me, my instructor made one of the fully grown black belts attempt a punch, and that resulted in a bloody broken hand. There was some controversy and a lot of hard feelings around that decision, but from where I was sitting, it really illustrated just what I had accomplished.
Now began the Saga of Ty's Side Kick. Much like my punch, I needed to master that kick. Mastering that kick took a long goddamn time. I used to get so frustrated, I almost stopped training. My parents wouldn't let me stop. My dojang had testing ceremonies quarterly, and it took me about 3 years to master that particular technique and actually pass my test. 12 tests later, I finally got some stripes on my belt. In hindsight, it wasn't really fair in competition, because I was the most experienced red belt in just about ever. Once I got some stripes on my belt, I STILL had trouble breaking boards in tests. 2 more years would pass before I received black belt at 16 years old. Of course at 16, I was getting big enough I could easily power my way through a single board, so now I was breaking two.
As a black belt, in practice and in competition, my side kick became famous. I had studied it so much that I could throw a side kick from any position, any stance, with or without a jump, and with or without a spin, and it couldn't be stopped unless you practiced with me a lot. I would find your ribcage or chin every time. I won international tournaments with that kick. Just a couple of months ago, I was visiting a friend I hadn't seen in a long time, and he told me he had heard stories of that kick from a Karateka I used to play with. My battle with the boards had given me an extremely valuable gift.
A year later, when I was allowed to test for my Second Dan, I choked on my board breaks again. They STILL created a mental block for me. I failed another test. I had grown into a liked and respected Student Instructor, and I actually coached a lot of others through their board breaks. I was widely regarded as an expert in the field, but I still couldn't overcome the pressure! 3 months later, I was allowed to attempt again, and this time I made it through on my third attempt, and while I was very happy I passed, I was so upset that boards were STILL a challenge for me.
When I tested for my Third Dan two years later, I was really nervous for my board breaks. I hadn't tested in two years (mandatory waiting period for my rank), and I was going up against my old nemesis once again. I completed all my forms (exhausting), I performed various self defense techniques, and then I sparred with every other black belt and a couple of red belts (super exhausting). I tried so hard to rest while the red belts were completing their board breaks so I would be fresh for mine, but everyone wanted big strong Ty, who had helped coach them in their techniques, to hold their boards. I was exhausted, but I did it anyways.
When my turn finally came, I was still exhausted. My heart rate had come down a bit, but my arms and legs felt like spaghetti. I set up my stations, going with old reliable, a side kick, and a reverse punch. The difference was I was using 3 boards on my reverse punch, and I was spinning during the side kick. Scary stuff, right? Right.
After receiving permission to proceed, I lined up my spinning side kick, and blew the boards into three pieces each. Everyone cheered. I lined up with my reverse punch, but my focus was broken by fatigue. I kept thinking, "I hope I'm not too tired to make this break." I threw everything I had into that punch, lost control of where my elbow was, and my hand bounced. I was awarded with two thunks for one punch. The two men holding my boards fell back a step from the impact. My hand hurt.
My instructor ordered my board holders to drop a board so I was attacking the standard two boards instead of three, and I reset my stations. I lined up with the punch first, because if I didn't make it, there was no sense in wasting the other boards. My hand hurt so bad. After receiving approval for my second attempt, I lined it up, and I hit the boards. Thunk. My hand hurt. I began my final attempt. Thunk. The crowd's groan drowned out my grunt of pain.
I turned to the judges' table at attention, waiting to be dismissed. I had once again failed. Instead of dismissing me, Master Woodson directed some of the other judges to take up a station for another break. I understood the point she was making. I had defeated myself. The boards couldn't defeat me, they were inanimate objects. I had failed another test, but now I was being given the opportunity to show everyone, and more importantly myself, that I really was a good martial artist.
I think the first one was a jumping, turning side kick. Broken.
Knifehand strike, broken (hit one of the board holders on the other side. Sorry).
Axe kick. Broken.
Spinning Heel Kick (sometimes called a Wheel Kick). Broken. (look at the knuckles on my right hand. It hurt a lot.)
Elbow Strike. Broken.
Jump Front Kick, Face Level. (Broken)
Round Kick, Face Level. Broken.
Side Kick. Broken.
Front Kick. Broken.
Palm Heel Strike. Broken.
These breaks were easy. I didn't spend time lining them up, I just did them. First attempt, all of them. I didn't follow the formalities of requesting permission, I just attacked. Master Woodson yelled out a technique, I destroyed the wood. Simple. It felt felt good to get out some of my frustration over failing my test by smashing things. Of course, a lot of these techniques were extraordinarily difficult and nobody attempted them in a test if they could help it. They were flashy and fun in demonstrations, but too easy to mess up for a test. I didn't care. I had already failed my test, so the pressure was off. I was just playing, now. I was showing off and enjoying the attention I was receiving from my fellow students and the spectators. See? When I was coaching you, I knew what I was talking about, I just choke on pressure. Master Woodson either ran out boards or ideas, because I was dismissed.
Spectators from upstairs found me after the testing ceremony to console me, and to tell me they though my instructor was unfair, making me break all those boards as punishment for failing. I told them I was grateful for it. It wasn't a punishment, it was a favour.
Afterwards, during the potluck dinner and awards ceremony, I sat and sincerely cheered and congratulated everyone on passing their tests. This certainly wasn't my first failed test, so there was no envy, no hard feelings, I was genuinely proud of everyone for passing their test, because I had helped teach a lot of them. After everyone else had been called up and given their new stripes or belts and their certificates, my name was called. I was shocked. I had no idea I was getting called. What was going on? Was I gonna have to break something else? My muscles were cold now, and my ass hurt from sitting on that chair, so I hoped not.
The judges had discussed and decided to award me my Third Dan because I obviously had the skill, and once I could ignore pressure, I could accomplish what I needed to accomplish. I was elated! Judging by the picture, I don't think Master Woodson was quite as excited as me, but there it was. I had earned my Third Dan. Nobody could dispute it, because I broke more boards than anyone in that school had ever seen.
Later in life, my instructor and I had a falling out, but that lesson has been such a valuable lesson in life. In my security career, I was always able to handle the pressure of any situation and make the intelligent decision, and in my hospitality management career, I could handle any level of rush in any department. Pressure is nothing. If you know your stuff, you can get through it.
Put your kids in martial arts training. I don't mean martial sports. I don't mean self defense. Find a more traditional art, like Karate, or Traditional Taekwondo (not Olympic). Find a good instructor, and they won't just learn kicks, punches, combinations, techniques, forms, and the like. They will learn how to be a good and successful person. Martial sports and self defense can come later in life. Learn to be a good person, then learn to be a good competitor.
