Would you like to link to
this website? Please use
one of the buttons below. Thank you!
Webdesign & contents
by ClaireWorks.
Copyright 2000-2001
Beverly Claire L. Fangonon.
All rights reserved.
All graphics & photographs
by ClaireWorks,
unless otherwise indicated.
Hardee Har
A slice of life of the clumsiest girl in town. What happens when she decides to take up martial arts? Nothing awe-inspiring, but the whole thing turned out to be rather entertaining. This essay was written by an awkward fifteen-year old (me back in '94), presented here for your amusement. By the way, my first names are "Beverly Claire"; some just say "Claire", some call me "Bevs" or "Beverly"--whatever's the choice, we're talking about the same person.
Judo, Me and My Chicken Heart 11 January 1994
"What are you doing here?" the voice inside my head named Cumback T. Y'ursenses queried.
"I'm not so sure myself," I muttered, the words coming out low and unintelligible. Pivoting heavily on an unsteady heel I continued leaping ala frog, making an effort to avoid collision with the girl ahead of me. I could imagine my friend Kerry Anne regarding me with a mixture of shock and disapproval, saying very sweetly afterwards, "You know, Bevs, I'd rather you paint."
Having been born all elbows and knees, my kind was a chair's best friend, seemingly born to sit. We are smart, charming, and prefer embroidery to tennis. You see us on the sidelines but never on court. So when I entered the YMCA building and into the gym instead of the library, I knew all logic has left me.
"Ready, fall." Ten times seemed a thousand as I complied and landed in a clumsy tangle of arms and legs. There goes the imaginary judoka in the pristine white judogi falling gracefully without a grimace. My head-crashing, butt-landing summer affair with Judo had just begun. (My summer affair with that really cute blackbelter instructor, though, has not.)
I came home aching from the nails of my toes to the roots of my hair, assuming I'll never make it till midnight. After moaning and groaning in bed for half a century, my sister gently suggested that I write my Last Will and Testament.
Yet inspired by something bordering on insanity I came back for the next session. And the next.
If anybody deserved not a Medal of Valor for courage in face of chickening out it had to be me. Me, an average teen-ager who seldom tried anything because of this...Fear of Failure. Small wonder I was scared stiff with this new sport, unathletic girl that I am. And small wonder I am scared stiff with trying out just about anything I'm not already good at. Chickening out was my way of protecting my fragile self-esteem. A failure was the last thing I wanted to be.
Perhaps it was the tumbles we did all the time, but somehow I came to realize that in this day and age it doesn't help being a chicken at all. It dawned to me that all my life I've been taking a step back because I was afraid to take a chance. I was afraid to try.
No, there was no miraculous turn-around that made me fall madly in love with judo. I did not find it a most satisfying sport after all, like the way those fairy tales end. (About that cute blackbelter, there was not an iota of a fairy tale romance developing between us either.) I find nothing lovely in flying way across the room for a simple front roll, or ending up sprawled all over my back with arms flailing about, unsure which side is which.
And no, this realization did not transform me to a Miss Dare All. My motto did not instantly switch from "A cautious man is a safe man" to "He who hesitates is lost." I still have my wattles and feathers. But at least I have admitted what was wrong with me. Step 1.
"Go, Beverly."
Positioning myself for a hip throw, I yanked. The guy--my practice partner-- did not budge an inch.
"Bend your knees and spring." "Pull his arm harder." "Use your foot." Coaching from the sidelines.
I tried again. No. Again. Wham.
So there is nothing remarkable in going to judo club three times a week. Yet for this person here, it is a milestone for a chicken heart. Step 2. Overcoming the Fear by actually grappling with it.
In this rat-race world where timid guys do finish last, I guess it's important to dare a little, to risk a bit. *Sigh* And it took me all these years to see that.
OK, so I may never win any tournaments and that cute blackbelter will never become my boyfriend (Liven up! He's years older than you anyway. And besides, you are no competition to that pretty brownbelter), but then I managed to grit my teeth and finally try. That, in my case, is already something.
It doesn't hurt to try. Easy for them to say. But I've found out that it is true, after all. I guess it really doesn't hurt to try. I think it would help a lot of I keep this in mind as I slide down the banister of life--not only in sports but in all other matters as well. OK, so the splinters may point the wrong way. And the bruises may take ages to heal. But then again it is better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all.
Postscript. Clamping my teeth to keep them from chattering, I tried to get my heart off my throat. It was my first tournament after a month of intensive judo and I was a cross between pre-fight nervousness (normal) and stark terror (not normal). That cute--and very nice--blackbelter came up to me just minutes before my first round match.
"Nervous?" he asked. I nodded dumbly. My heart was pounding mad not so much for him smiling so kindly at me (That charmingly boyish smile!) but for my impending death on the judo mat.
"You'll do fine," he patted me on the back reassuringly.
Judo tournament in Baguio City. L-R, Divina, Sheryl, and myself. You'll notice that only Sheryl looks happy. Divina and I were near tears because we didn't get the gold. Click to enlarge photo.
You got it--I was beaten to a pulp. But everybody was pretty nice about it all. No smirks or snide remarks; just encouragement and "next time"s. I ended up a soupy dish all right, but I will be looking forward to that next time. What a help it would be if I plant firmly in my mind that whoever tries his best--win, lose or draw--is a winner.
Talk back!
Please use the form below to comment on the above article. Your input will be posted on this page within 24 hours. Thank you for your time! (Note: '**' means the field is required.)
Readers' Comments (none)
Related Link Grand Sumo @ ClaireWorks.Net - (intrasite link) Sumo is the great-grandfather of Judo. Now you know why I got so into sumo in the first place. ClaireWorks.Net's most popular section.
