"Lighting the Fire Within" 

Dear Master R,

I hope this email finds you well and in good spirits.  You may not recognize my address, but I assure you that what you are about to read may give you an inkling of who sent it to you (don't worry, I have signed my name below, just in case!)  So without further ado, please read on.

           In life, there are experiences which inspire us, intrigue us, and others which stick with us until the very end of our days.  Hearing about these types of stories can light an inner fire, fueling an inner strength that will be with us forever.  Not only have I enjoyed the privilege of knowing a certain story which falls under this category, but I will ceaselessly carry it with me, for it is a part of me.  This unique experience is one that has lit a flame of understanding and determination within me which will never go out, as it has an exclusive origin that few others can claim for themselves.

            It had been the September of my sixth grade year, right after a young girl had been mugged outside of a local cinema.  My parents decided then that it would be beneficial to enroll my petite 5’5”, 95lb. body into Tae Kwon Do lessons, with hopes I would come out learning to defend myself.  To this day, I can still remember walking nervously into the frigid log cabin and shaking hands with my teachers.  More than simply arriving, I can remember vividly the very first lesson, which will forever be engrained into my memory as one of the most terrifying and difficult experiences of my life.  One-hundred push-ups and some unfathomable amount of sit-ups and laps around the room followed by what seemed like volumes of information later, I hobbled out of the building and proceeded to collapse into the back of my mother’s car, utterly exhausted.  According to my parents, however, the next morning was more entertaining than watching me be bent into a pretzel the previous night.  Literally, rolling out of bed was a feat within itself.  As far as moving otherwise, walking the next morning was torturous; my arms feeling as if they had been beaten thoroughly with a meat cleaver and my legs as though they were gelatin being forcefully strained through a colander.  Needless to say, there would be many days to come where I would feel the same way.

            After many more of these basic classes, sparring (hand-to-hand combat with very little padding), and weapons courses, I began to move up in the belt rankings.  Also introduced was the idea of board breaking.  The idea of this tactic frightened me at first, but began to get easier as time went on.  Ultimately, the highest goal was to reach a black belt and gain the revered title of “teacher.”  Over time, I would learn that this would take immeasurable amounts of integrity, patience, and ibuprofen.  Every week I would attend class at least three times for an hour each, and even rise on Saturday mornings to go to Tae Kwon Do.  Sometimes when I thought I was ready to test up to the next belt level, Master Rodemaker and the other instructors’ opinions differed.  Though this response caused incalculable frustrations and sheer annoyance then, I understand now that they were correct to tell me to keep learning and improving, because I wasn’t ready to move on to the next level of skill difficulty.  Over the span of four years, I moved from the beginning white belt to the highly-prized brown belt.  One day after class, Master Rodemaker approached my father and me.  He told us that he believed me ready to test for my black belt.  Inside, I felt a mixture of multiple strong emotions; fear, excitement, anxiousness, relief.  I was being given the chance of a lifetime, and I was only fifteen years old.  My test was arranged for a Saturday in December, and my father and I left for home immediately to inform my mother.  Only a few months remained until the big test day, and I knew that it would take every ounce of concentration and determination to prepare myself.

            The following months included rigorous training and preparation.  All of my forms were being scrutinized and perfected.  My entire knowledge base of self-defense mechanisms was keenly sharpened, and my sparring vastly improved.  Now all of a sudden, completing one-hundred push-ups was a breeze, as were the sit-ups and laps.  Breaking boards became easier, and despite severely bruising my hand while attempting to break a stack of them, I was still able to split through two at a time.  As the anticipated weekend drew closer, I became gradually more nervous.  However, I felt very well prepared in my teachings.  I felt that nothing was going to stop my dream of finishing my training and receiving that glorious black belt.

            If there was only one lesson I learned from that year, it would without a doubt be one that I’d never forget. As humans, we can only control what we are able; however, sometimes the unexpected happens.  Friday morning before the anticipated test, I woke up vomiting with a high fever, my body as limp as a cooked spaghetti noodle.  Needless to say, that day I didn’t go to school.  The stomach flu had been being passed around school that month, and it just happened to infect me the day before one of the most important opportunities of my life.  Talk about poor timing!  All day I barely left the couch, and was too weak to eat or drink very little except water.  That night as I went to bed, I prayed to have enough strength to pull through.  Needless to say, God must have heard my prayers.  When I woke up, I discovered that though my body ached terribly and I was dreadfully light-headed, my nerves were clear and I could focus on my goal.  Refusing to skip one of the most important exams of my entire life, I arrived at the martial arts studio at eleven o’clock sharp, the only contents of my stomach consisting of half a bottle of water over the past two days.  Nothing was going to keep me away from taking this test.

            Regardless of my illness, testing that day was one of the most strenuous and demanding experiences of my life.  Not only did it require extreme amounts of concentration, but also required me to think back to my first few months of learning.  As a group, we went through basic forms and weapon combinations taught to us in the first few months of attendance.  Later we were asked to perform our hapkido, which consisted of breakaways and rapid disarming tactics.  This all was interrupted time and time again by countless demands for infinitive amounts of push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks, and laps.  When the end of the test grew near, all of us became very anticipatory.  Our instructor had joked about having us break cement blocks as a deciding factor in our exam, and our instructor rarely joked.  Lucky for the group, this would be the one time he just wanted to make us sweat, though I really am not sure if it was possible to sweat more at the time.  The test lasted approximately three hours, and when I was dismissed off of the floor, I was greeted with smiles from my friends and family.  Though I was incredibly weary and queasy, I had finally reached my goal of becoming a “sabumnim,” which is Korean for instructor.

            Reaching that goal took four years; four very lengthy, demanding, yet rewarding years.  When I received my belt from Master Rodemaker, tears welled in my eyes.  This was not just a piece of woven fabric; it was my sweat from sparring, my tears of pain, my fiery passion for the sport, my dedication, and my spirit.  This is one of my most esteemed accomplishments, not just because I managed to reach my goal, but because of everything I had to learn to get there.  My black belt is a symbol of my integrity and ability to persevere.  Never will I forget the insight it has given me and the life lessons led me to learn.  It is one of my most cherished possessions because it represents the ability to be taught, learn, and accomplish.  As Master Rodemaker tied that belt around my waist the following class, I swelled inside with pride.  Everything I had been working toward had paid off.  My fire had truly been lit from within.

            Sadly, life draws people in different directions.  I no longer participate in Tae Kwon Do, though I can still remember my defense tactics and weapons training.  There is one idea that Master Rodemaker would always plant in our minds, however.  One day as we were bowing off of the floor, he lined us up and told us, “You all have been given the essentials to begin the journey of life, but throughout, you will need assistance from others.”  Now that I am older, I understand.  At first when I attended classes, I learned the basics of the martial arts.  As the levels advanced, I gained more insight and patience.  These elements only fueled the fire within me to push and look further and deeper into myself.  Without the basic elements and assistance from the instructors, I would have never been able to achieve the ultimate goal; not just that of a belt, but that of a higher understanding of myself.  That is a fire within my soul which will never be put out.

Recently I was asked to compose an essay on the topic "Lighting the Fire Within."  Immediately I thought back to Tae Kwon Do and all of the experiences I had while involved.  Please take my word, Master R, that if you have lit fires even remotely to that which you did in me, this world has become a little brighter from their lights.  My family all says hello and sends their regards.  May God bless you!

Sincerely,

Brittany L. Seymour