Posted by DevilDoll on October 15, 2002 at 16:16:57:
I navigated through a crowded alley in downtown Pusan, searching for the 'dojang' a friend had described. Since first sampling kuk
sool some two years before, I had dreamed of immersing myself in it here in the land of its birth. Farther into the alley, characters
spelling out 'kuk sool won gymnasium' finally appeared on a plain white sign above a staircase in a run-down concrete building.
I glanced around the third-floor dojang, unconsciously focusing on all that was negative. The air was tainted by the stench of
rubber cement wafting up from the sweatshop one floor below. The light blue ceiling of the training hall had been stained by
leaking rain water, which in certain places reached down to the uneven, vinyl-covered floor.
The training equipment also left much to be desired. Chained to a rafter was a half-filled, well-worn heavy bag held together with
duct tape. Buckets of concrete and antique grinding stones in the corner served as makeshift barbells, and neatly folded uniforms
were hung from nails along three walls, colonies of pungent mold enjoying their dampness.
Lunchtime had left the place deserted, but before I could bolt for the door and search out a more modern facility, a young
woman popped out of the office. She explained the art and the school in 'Konglish,' an odd mixture of Korean and broken
English, and insisted that I stay, talk to the instructors and observe a class. Not long after, three instructors moseyed in. I doubted
whether these men, all obviously under 30, could have enough experience to teach martial arts. They began talking about their
school and its routine, and concluded with a simple and direct remark: 'You must practice here!'
I explained my teaching schedule and indicated that I could study from 3:00 to 4:30 in the afternoon. That a 3:00 class did not
exist was no problem, one would be formed for that time slot. Tuition varied according to each student's financial situation. In
my case, it would be about $31 a month, plus uniform and registration fees. Everything sounded perfect, so I signed up, eager to
begin.
Lower Ranks
The following afternoon, I arrived early to catch up on some long-neglected stretching. Three other students showed up during
the next 30 minutes. The first lesson was how to properly enter the dojang, bow to the flag and instructor, and how to reverse the
process when ready to depart. Soon after, I went through the basic kicks, punches, blocks and stances. The instructor constantly
reminded me that methods from my stateside taekwondo class did not belong in a kuk sool won dojang, or in Korea, for that
matter.
Next came a set of exercises that would better fit a gymnastics class--cartwheels, handsprings and somersaults. This was 'nak beop,'
or falling techniques, and kuk sool seemed to include every possible variation.
The first days produced more than the usual aching muscles and sore bones, and as a result, I skipped a class. The reaction in the
dojang was shocking. One student asked if I had been too busy with my job to practice. An assistant surmised that I was too
accustomed to American dojang operating only three days a week. My instructor demanded to know the reason for my absence
and then reiterated that class was to be attended daily, not just three or four times a week. Soon after, I began to feel what he had
hoped: a sense of normality on days I practiced and a sense of guilt on days I did not.
Some three months and a yellow belt after starting, I was used to training five or six times a week. Only two students persevered in
the class: a waiter named Lee and myself. We performed 300 to 400 kicks per session, along with seemingly endless repetitions of
the joint locks and throws that made kuk sool famous.
Since the last exam, I was forbidden the luxury of speaking English. My instructor ordered me to memorize the martial arts
vocabulary I was force-fed in class, along with the grammar needed to string the terms together. Although my ability to
communicate grew steadily, at times I felt left out because of the language barrier. During explanations of martial philosophy or
intricate techniques, I was easily lost.
Most of the time, however, I could follow the instructions. Even when I could not, peripheral vision revealed what my classmate
was doing. On those occasions I thoroughly messed up a routine, my instructor was quick to physically 'enlighten' me with a slap
to the head or a kick to the offending limb.
Higher Ranks
The exams for blue and red belts came and went as Lee and I slowly climbed the kuk sool ladder. We devoted many class hours to
performing the art's smooth, circular 'hyung,' or forms. The individual techniques grew increasingly complex as we progressed,
and the hyung proved quite difficult to remember. When our instructor felt particularly antagonistic, he would order the two of
us to perform all the hyung we knew, starting from the white belt form. As soon as one of us made a mistake, no matter how
minute, we were forced to start over from the first form.
One day our instructor was asked about a Jackie Chan kung fu film that was playing, and we spent the class discussing and
duplicating some of the fantastic techniques from the screen. In particular, Lee said that he found Jackie Chan's trademark
jump-and-rebound-from-the-wall kick amazing. The instructor smiled, walked to the nearest wall and executed the technique
perfectly. We spent the next three days trying to learn the maneuver.
At our request, we were taught some of the kuk sool won weapons techniques earlier than usual. An elegant hyung with the art's
straight, single-edged sword was taught first. Next came single and double fans, both of bamboo and iron, which we transformed
into effective weapons ready to attack the vital points. Actual strikes to the unprotected wrists, ankles and neck constantly
reminded us of the devastating power available in such unlikely items.
Momentary Disappointment
The black belt exam was approaching, and rigorous drills in all the requisite forms and falls took place daily. Hundreds of 'su'
(techniques) involving wrist locks, pressure-point strikes, escapes and throws were burned into memory. I wondered if having
learned the su not as verbal explanations but as silent images of motion would help or hinder efforts to organize my knowledge
for the anticipated exam day.
Two months before the test, the director of my language institute informed me that job commitments would require relocation
outside Pusan. After devoting so much time to the pursuit of a kuk sool black belt, it came as a severe blow. I left the city and
moved to a nearby industrial complex, but no dojang lay within busing distance.
Constant rationalization followed, but efforts to accept my fate met with little success. The search for a new instructor led to a
series of meetings with a philosophical monk involved in the Buddhist martial arts. After explaining my misfortune one day, he
asked, 'What meaning is there in a black belt?'
I gave it some thought before answering, but the expression on the monk's face betrayed his dissatisfaction with what must have
been a mundane reply. The monk continued, 'A black belt is just a symbol that shows off your skill to others. Having it or not
having it in no way affects what you have learned. If you wear a red belt today, or a black belt tomorrow, is there any difference in
yourself or your skill?'
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