Yesterday, I was given a test invitation sheet by my sensei. On this sheet was the fee I was to pay for the privilege of testing and when it was due. This is in addition to the rather hefty sum I already pay to take classes. I was a little surprised to find that I owed a fee at all, because the test is merely a progress check–it doesn’t result in a new belt. It’s the last test I have to take before testing for my black belt, something I’ve been working toward for more than 10 years.
Then my sensei took me aside and told me that I would not be allowed to test for my black belt until I lost a significant amount of weight.
I received a gastric band in the summer of 2007, after many years of trying to get my weight down to “normal.” I lost 70 pounds, but I haven’t lost anything else in over a year. My dream of losing enough weight to run again, to know a day when my knees don’t ache, to be something approaching attractive to men again hasn’t come true. It looks like it may never happen. I may have to live the rest of my life in pain and alone.
For 12 years, karate has been a part of my life. I was not always well enough to attend classes, but when I didn’t, I missed it. I worked hard to get healthy enough to return to the dojo. When Hal died, I had to decide whether to move out west to be closer to my family or stay in the area. One of the reasons I stayed was karate; I didn’t want to leave my dojo and my sensei until I earned my black belt. It was important to me that my sensei, who had been teaching me since I wore a blue belt, put that belt around my waist. It’s a loyalty thing.
For me, at my weight, to take a karate class, I have to plan my day very carefully. I have to be well rested, so I can go on “fresh” knees and get through an hour on my feet. I have to clear my schedule after class, because I need several hours to recuperate. I could work less hard in class, give less than 100% effort, but that’s not my way. I work as hard as I can. On the days I train, I go to bed exhausted and wake up still tired.
The problem is that since Hal died, being tired means being depressed, and being depressed means that I’m thinking about killing myself. I am–and this is not an exaggeration–taking a chance with my life every time I attend a karate class.
And here’s what I don’t understand. A few months ago a fellow student earned her black belt, although she can’t seem to remember how to do a proper block, seems to always be off-balance, and constantly has to be reminded that her stances are too narrow. How is it that this woman is worthy of a black belt, but I’m not? It’s not as if she’s in terrific shape. She’s fat. She’s just not as fat as I am.
Why should I go to class if I can’t get promoted? Why should I continue to give my money to my sensei if I can’t progress? It seems stupid.
Tomorrow, instead of going to class, I’m going to put away my gis, my sparring gear, my weapons. I expect that cleaning these things out of my closet is going to be as difficult as it was to clean out all of Hal’s clothes and bag them for donation.
I’m heartbroken.
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