Thursday night we held a color belt test in the dojang. I was testing for my black tip along with the two little prodigies Violet* and Karim, and Noah, whom I mentioned in a previous post, who was testing for bo dan. My boyfriend and I arrived there early so I could warm up and cram in a little flying kick practice. I had a talk with Noah about exercising some control during takedowns as my boyfriend glowered protectively in the background. We agreed not to kill each other and practiced our one-steps before the room became too choked with students warming up.
Apparently the gaggle of yellow belt boys who rushed in had been free-basing their Halloween candy before the test. Soon the room was filled with giggling tumbling little monsters as my instructor scurried around angrily trying to keep them from bashing themselves into the mirror.
We had to wait for five white belts, four orange belts, and about five thousand yellow belts to test, so I thought I would provide a good example to the group and show how an advanced belt sits quietly at attention. I perched prissily in half lotus, a smug smile of content on my face. That went out the window about ten minutes into the test. There’s only so much one can take of watching kids with glassy stares fumble through blocks, kicks, and a hot mess of forms and one-steps. Thirty minutes into the test I was rolling my eyes at my boyfriend and pointing an imaginary gun at my head.
Two hours later it was finally my time to test! Thankfully my hips hadn’t tightened up too much and I was able to scramble to the middle of the floor without tripping over myself. Violet and Karim had tested together, much to the entertainment of the crowd. The kids whooped and cheered as they expertly threw snappy blocks and tossed each other to the ground. I wondered why everyone had to make a fuss over them since I saw them do it all the time in class, but my boyfriend reminded me later: they’re six. I often forget that.
Noah and I tested together although we did our forms separately and did different kicks. Thankfully I did not have to do my sad rendition of a jump spin kick. (Okay, the right side isn’t so bad). I was proud of how I performed my form, and jazzed it up a bit when I could. (Hint, breathing helps keep you from rushing) I was nervous during one-steps as usual, but got through it without forgetting anything and did a decent job of landing properly during a face-forward takedown. Breaking was a fun crowd-pleaser as usual. I did a palm-heel strike, jump side kick, and turning back side kick. All those years of smacking my steering wheel in rush hour traffic had prepared me well. My biggest concern was messing up my left and right during flying kicks. Thankfully I didn’t have to do a flying turning back side kick. Right now the closest I can muster is a tour jete from my college ballet days.
Finally it was over and my sweet long-suffering boyfriend and I went home, happy that I only have one more color belt test until the Big One.