Are You a Black Belt?

I took up Taekwon-Do in my mid-40s, and it’s generated a lot of questions from friends and family:

• What’s Taekwon-Do?

• Is that like… Karate, or something?

• At your age? Really?

• Do you where one of those funny white robes and everything?

Yes, I’m afraid the outfit is required. It’s called a dobok, and you know, I feel very confident and comfortable wearing it in class, less so if I need to pick up eggs on the way home. As to age, it really helps with flexibility and balance. And though the beginner classes are mostly kids—where I did feel like a fossil—the upper classes are mostly adults or late teens.

Karate is Japanese and it’s centuries old. Taekwon-Do is Korean and it’s only decades old. TKD blends Karate with Korean foot fighting into a distinct martial art of its own. Since the Korean General who created TKD was a lifelong rebel against Japan’s oppression and domination of Korea… I can’t imagine he was fond of comparisons to Karate. Nevertheless, yeah, it’s an innovation and revision of Karate.

Of course, once someone finds out I’m in Taekwon-Do, it’s only a matter of moments before I get the question of all questions, the one no one fails to ask: So… are you a Black Belt?

Even if you don’t know Karate from Jujitsu, or Taekwon-Do from Judo, you sure know that there are belts and that the Black Belts are the big dogs, right?

We all first learned of this hallowed standard—the Black Belt—from TV and movies. And most of all, on the playground where it was spoken of in reverend tones. Did you know Ronnie’s dad is a Black Belt? That means he can kick as high as your head. He can break a 2X4 with a Karate chop. He can climb right up a brick wall. He can kill you just by tapping lightly on your forehead. And when he dies, they have to bury him in China.

These truths were imparted to me in the schoolyard of Braeside Elementary, and I knew them to be as sound and reliable as the elements themselves, so save your scoffing for a nonbeliever.

We also said funny things like: Ronnie’s dad knows Karate. But no one who practices martial arts would ever say they know one. I certainly wouldn’t.

My old pal, Agent Smith, who schools me in every sparring session and will likely test for his 4^th Degree Black Belt in June, wouldn’t say he knows Taekwon-Do either. Even my instructor—Master Arden: 7^th Degree—would probably say he’s still got much to learn too. It’s a discipline, and disciplines are not so much known as followed.

Master Arden compares a Black Belt to a university degree. When you graduate with a Bachelors in English, you don’t know English Literature; you have a foundation, and you’re equipped to learn a great deal more. A Black Belt is also like a degree in that it takes years to get one, it takes work, it takes the right attitude, and no, not everyone will succeed. At least… that’s how it should be.

There are some martial arts outfits out there that tell everyone they can get their Black Belt, some will even guarantee it. We call these “Belt Factories.” As long as you attend and (of course) pay your fees, you’ll get your Black Belt. There are dozens of these joints in every city and it’s clear why. Testing is an opportunity to charge extra fees, and there’s a direct correlation between businesses staying in the black with the number of Black Belts it awards.

Less common are instructors like mine who would sooner sacrifice their business than their standards. I can say with certainty that if Master Grant Arden was on the brink of bankruptcy, needing just one more monthly membership to keep the doors open, and a dude came in all gung-ho to sign up but wanted assurances that participation and attendance would one day put a Black Belt around his waist, Master Arden would very politely direct him to the thriving belt factory down the street.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s always challenging us, and we know he’s going to hold us to high standards. I did a ton of preparation for my Black Belt testing day, and I still felt a few butterflies in the guts. My kids assured me I’d be fine, but I told them: “Listen, I am not sure if the sun’ll rise in the east or west tomorrow, but I can guarantee you Master Arden is not handing me a Black Belt if I don’t perform well today.”

There are seven elements to the 1^st Degree Black Belt test at our dojang:

• Patterns—a series of movements (strikes, blocks, and leaps); there are nine we must perform

• Step Sparring—choregraphed sparring with a partner

• Self Defense—strikes or joint manipulation to escape or incapacitate an aggressor

• Power-Breaking—breaking boards, one hand technique, one foot technique

• Specialty Technique—a leaping kick or hand strike, or a combination where you break at least three boards

• Free Sparring—fighting an opponent

I was most concerned about the power-breaking. We have to break boards of a certain strength to pass, but we are also allowed to set more difficult goals if we wish. Because I’m a decent board-breaker, I set my goal at a level I’ve only been able to break reliably in the last few months. So it’s still hovering at the edge of my ability. If you set your goal too high… that’s a fail. Thankfully, I got them all on my first shot. I had not yet done that in practice, so it was nice to achieve something new in the test.

The final element that I didn’t list is a written reflection with the simple prompt: What Taekwon-Do means to you and your life.

It was due a month before the test, and it’s part of how Master Arden determines if you’re ready for the test. No surprise, it was my favorite part of the process. Like many writers, I may have an idea of what I’m thinking, but I don’t really know until I see it on the page. I thought I knew what Taekwon-Do meant to me, but the act of writing it out revealed a few things I’d missed.

I’m posting that short essay below because I know there’s a lot of curiosity out there as to what it’s like to be in martial arts training. I’ve shared a few day-to-day moments from our classes and tournaments, but what follows is about my internal journey.

My answer was deemed acceptable by Master Arden, so I had the opportunity to test on December 13, 2025. My performance on test day was also deemed acceptable. So, yes, I am now a Black Belt.

Bury me in China.

Sijak!

Walking into Apollo Taekwon-Do was like walking out of a penitentiary.

I began my Taekwon-Do journey as we were emerging from the Covid lockdowns. Dropping in to observe the last few minutes of a class, my eyes darted around, taking in the mirrors, weight racks, and punching dummies. Seeing all the people chatting, training, and simply interacting the way human beings are supposed to—and unmasked, no less—was familiar and yet shocking. It’d been so long.

Starting Taekwon-Do was my family’s way of embracing freedom again and rejecting the imprisonment of Covid. Many people were reluctant to emerge from that dark time, and starting Taekwon-Do with my kids was our statement: We are moving forward.

How appropriate that one of the first Korean words we learn is sijak, the imperative that is both a command and an invitation: Begin! Indeed, my poetic soul was enthralled by the elegant simplicity of our new Korean lexicon: Taekwon-Do—The Way of Foot and Fist; Dobok—The Clothing of the Way; Dojang—The Hall of the Way.

Despite its many evils, Covid days provided a mandated togetherness for families that we actually appreciated. Starting a new journey together was a great way to re-enter society but keep the closeness that Covid had so tyrannically enforced. But when injuries and other pursuits took the kids out of the picture, I was left with the question of whether Taekwon-Do was merely an us thing or a me thing. Turns out, it’s a me thing, and it’s not the external benefits that keep me on this path. It’s the internal ones.

The physical and practical benefits of Taekwon-Do are many. Every medical professional in my life from family doctor to physiotherapist is thrilled that I’m regularly working on flexibility, balance, and core, three critical elements most weightlifting meatheads like me ignore. There’s also the proverb that it’s better to be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war. Since I gravitate to security roles where I’m often issuing directives to large, irritated mammals, these are especially wise words, and Taekwon-Do has very practical applications. Nevertheless, it’s the tenets that remain the far more important part of my personal journey.

I live with a lot of fear. I have ever since I was a kid. It infects all of my decision making and social interactions. Casual observers might think that an indomitable spirit comes naturally to me because I do scary things like venturing into dark wilderness alone, performing in front of large crowds, and confronting people about bad behavior. But anyone who knows me is aware there’s a scared little boy just below the surface of this stern countenance.

I was afraid of my first tournament. I knew there were rules and equipment to protect me, but the idea of a grown man trying to hit me as much as possible for two minutes scared me. I’d always feared the prospect of a real fight as well, but my innate ability to project confidence and competence kept my fight record at a perfect 0 and 0. But there’s no bluffing your way out of a fight that’s scheduled and proctored. Taekwon-Do gifted me with the clear choice of confronting this fear or not participating.

I forged ahead and won my first match. I was soundly whipped in my second, doggedly marching forward into flurries of headshots from my taller opponent. Searching for a silver-lining after the beating, my coach said, “Well… you’re not afraid to get hit. That’s something.” Little did he know.

You’d think my fear would go away. It hasn’t. I feel the same sickening turn in my guts before sparring at tournaments and even in our home dojang. Of the three human responses to fear—fight, flee, or freeze—I’ve been cursed with the most useless: freeze. Whenever I’m threatened, my oldest companion, fear, speaks into every fiber of my being: Danger! Stay back. Watch, and it will pass. This is both poor counsel and outright lies, but Taekwon-Do has forced me to talk back, and I do. When I hear those whispers, I stop, take a deep breath, and I speak my mantra against fear:

Hello, old friend.

I was expecting you.

Listen, I’m going to step into this ring right now, and you’re free to come with me if you like.

But I will not allow you to affect my performance.

Understood?

Whether I mutter it under my breath or envision it in bright letters in my mind, if I can just remember to proclaim those words, I feel a calm awareness settle over me. I imagine that must be what courageous people feel like, and I’m grateful for the taste of it that Taekwon-Do has given me.

It wasn’t long after those first tournaments that I leaned heavily on another tenet. In April of ’22, I realized I was drinking too much. In the corporate world, opportunities for sanctioned overconsumption abound. Half the time, you’re not even paying for your own liquor, and overindulgence is celebrated rather than judged. The watercooler chatter on Monday morning and Friday afternoon is seasoned with stories of imbibing or plans thereof. It’s a significant trigger for someone abstaining. So I got a yellow Post-it note and printed two words in block letters across it with a red marker: Fourth Tenet. I stuck it to the bottom of my monitor for that year. It’s unlikely that anyone seeing it knew what it meant, but when I looked at it or brushed my finger across it, I’d think, I shall observe this tenet of Taekwon-Do: Self Control. I achieved my one-year goal, but a much more difficult test was looming.

In the midst of my color belt training, within days of attaining my Red Belt, I suffered the worst injury of my life, a complete tear of the Achilles tendon in the middle of a match. The rupture wasn’t acutely painful, but in terms of recovery and impact on overall health, it is a significant injury for anyone to endure. Twelve weeks of zero weight on a leg has a disastrous and lasting effect on the body.

As I grappled with what this meant for me, I entered a dark time emotionally. I had been working out regularly and intensely. My maximum lifts and my brutal interval training was turning heads at the local gym. Just a week or two before the rupture, I’d been assigned as the personal bodyguard for Gina Carano at the Calgary Expo, and in a fun photo that someone took of me in that role, I was stunned by what I looked like. Fit and deadly.

The realization that I would come out of my recovery with an entirely different body came slowly. I kept working my upper body, and I tried to find ways to get cardio in, but my lower half deteriorated badly. Not only did my left leg atrophy from no use, but my right side developed painful sciatic symptoms from asymmetrical overuse.

I’m not young anymore. Speedy recovery and 100% healing are things of the past. There’s no one in my life who would think less of me for not going back to Taekwon-Do. The significance of the rupture, the time and effort to recover, the risk of reinjury… all of these are acceptable reasons to quit. The risk of reinjury was the most significant factor. I had nearly a quarter of a year with zero weight on that leg, then an air cast for months following. The mental and physical consequences were severe and lingering, and there were times I considered not going back to Taekwon-Do.

But I felt like I had unfinished business, and I knew I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t walk back into that dojang. It was embarrassing, forgetting steps in patterns that I’d known inside out, fumbling fundamental movements my body used to perform automatically. And it was frightening. Every day, I was afraid I’d spring off that left leg and feel a detonation just below my calf. I still am, for that matter. Last night, I could feel both the tendon and my mind resisting my attempt to dip from a walking stance to start the next motion.

Everyone who practices Taekwon-Do has some meaningful memento of the journey: a first medal, a plaque, or, of course, a Black Belt. My greatest achievement in Taekwon-Do is a small advancement that is quickly forgotten by most practitioners. I was a newly minted Red Belt when my Achilles burst, two levels away from a Black Belt. You must first earn a Black Stripe around your Red Belt before advancing. I’d always seen the achievement of Black Belt on the horizon, but with my weak leg and low spirits, I just focused on that first goal: Earn the Black Stripe, see if you can get that far.

After six months back at training in the dojang, I vividly remember my Black Stripe test, and watching Master Arden wrap that stripe around the end of my Red Belt when I'd passed. For me, it was much more than a few inches of black electrical tape. It was a symbol that I was back again, following The Way, an emblem of resilience and grit. I wouldn’t venture to call myself indomitable, but I have my moments, and that was one.

The Achilles still haunts me. It’s left its physical mark, causing shortened stances and hesitant movements, but that’s not the worst of it. When you’re in the middle of performing a Taekwon-Do pattern, there’s nothing more difficult than getting back on track after you’ve committed an error, and the rupture has interrupted my pattern. I was in a very good workout regimen when it happened, and I haven’t found my groove yet. Cardio, strength, flexibility… the minus points are adding up. But Taekwon-Do is the one tether that’s stayed strong.

I may not be able to force myself to do the strenuous HIITs and heavy lifts I was before, but though Taekwon-Do is a voluminous discipline, it is made up of small movements. I tell myself: Okay, you didn’t get the workout in today, but you can do a pattern. Right? Sure, you can. Then I do. Sometimes it turns into running through all nine that I know. It’s a step in the right direction. And, insofar as one can personify Taekwon-Do, I believe that The Way wants the best for me. It’s urging me on, happy to accept what little I can do for now but also wanting to see me back in top form.

I can only say what Taekwon-Do has meant to me on The Way thus far: freedom, family, self control, overcoming fear and injury. And today, it means finding my way back to being a man of discipline as I pass this significant milestone of becoming a First Dan Black Belt, and with that goal achieved, begin the earnest ascent of a mountainous task where the summit is always receding. With perfection as the target, one never truly arrives. But I am excited!

I did not know what Taekwon-Do would mean to me when I first walked into Apollo, so I can’t know what it will mean to me in the future. I am eager to find out. And so, I believe it’s best to finish up right where I started, with that wonderful word so integral to The Way of Foot and Fist that is both imperative and invitation: Sijak!