by Nicholas Yurisak
“But Mom, I don’t want to.” I sighed as she turned off the latest episode of Pokemon.
“You’ll thank me one day. Now get in the car,” she said, as we piled into her green minivan.
We drove across town on streets I had never seen to reach a place I had never been. That Thursday evening in the autumn of 1999 forever changed my life—it was the day I officially began my lifelong journey in martial arts.
As a first-generation, first-born child, I always felt the weight of being a leader for my family. But there was one problem: I was scared of my own shadow. I was often picked last in gym class, sat alone at lunch, and my speech impediment left me feeling insecure. Little did I know that when I slipped into a rice-paper-thin starter karate gi and clumsily tied a white belt around my waist, everything was about to change.
We pulled up to a massive brick building, with tanks and jeeps parked out front.
“This is an armory base for our military,” my mom explained.
We walked inside and were greeted by two soldiers in uniform.
“Which way is the kids’ karate class?” my mom asked.
“Up the stairs and to the left,” one of them replied.
My nerves spiked. We followed the noise and entered a room where a dozen adults were
moving in perfect synchronization—what I would later learn was kata. Children sat on the sidelines, waiting their turn to strike at invisible opponents. As I went to sign my name on the attendance sheet, my hand jerked as I heard the karatekas shout kiai at the crescendo of their
choreography. I was really trembling. Every part of me wanted to leave. But an hour later, after completing my first class, I walked out smiling. Something inside me had shifted. I took my first step in grasping the way of the empty hand.
Fast forward a decade: now a teenager, I stood in front of my dojo as my classmates erupted in cheers. My name was called, and I was officially recognized as the newest black belt. Thousands of hours of training had led me to that moment. I stood tall with confidence. I am not the same person that once walked in this dojo.
Today, more than twenty years later, I train Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Muay Thai, and most recently, Judo. I remember discovering Judo several years into my karate-do journey. My former senseis would revere judokas and asserted that despite Judo being a newer martial art than karate, it was the only one that continued the traditional values of the Japanese martial arts. The theory of Judo is simple: by adjusting your energy and movement to evade your opponent’s attacks, you will trigger them to lose balance, reduce power, and leave them susceptible to being
dominated.
I’m thankful to have been the winner of IJC Martial Arts’ raffle contest awarding me with a month’s worth of free Judo classes. My takedown game has improved, my defensive strategies solidified, but most importantly, my affinity for martial arts has never been higher.
As I write this, I reflect on all the times I’ve wanted to quit. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve bled, I’ve sweat, I’ve cried. But every challenge has shaped me into who I am today.
I now drive myself to Judo classes. I cross the street on my own as I enter IJC’s dojo. I no
longer am afraid of what’s to come. Once again, I put on a white belt, and look up to my senseis for guidance in the gentle way.
Looking back, my mother was right. I am thankful to be a lifelong student of martial arts. And, like the masters who came before me, I strive to live by the principles that have guided generations of martial artists:
“Seek perfection of character
Be faithful
Endeavor
Respect others
Refrain from violent behavior.”
Oss!