Eliza Bing Is (NOT) a Big, Fat Quitter

by Carmella Van Vleet

We ran through our punches, kicks, and blocks. First, Master Kim called them out in Korean. Then we repeated the command and did it. Lower block, face block, middle block, knife hand strike, front kick, roundhouse, side kick, push kick. Once I got moving, I was too busy trying to remember everything to think about the pain in my behind. Or to worry about Mom and Dad watching. I wasn’t too busy, though, to forget that I was being watched by Master Kim and two other master black belts.

  OW!

  Master Kim got up from behind the table and picked up a kicking shield. He went down the line, giving each student a command in Korean. Even though we had just gone through all of the basic motions, my brain started flipping through channels. And all I could land on was a signal from the Emergency Broadcasting System.

  I was the fourth person. When Master Kim got to me, he said, “Yup chagi.”

  “Yup chagi,” I repeated.

  Relax. You can do this. I mentally went through my flash cards.

  Oh, right. Yup chagi was a side kick.

  I got in my ready stance, pivoted on my front foot, brought my back leg up and around, and shot my heel out and—“Hee-yah-owww!”

  There was a sharp pain in my tailbone. Up until then, we’d been kicking in the air. But kicking the shield was different. I returned to ready position—carefully.

  Master Kim leaned in closer. “Are you all right, Eliza?”

  I blinked my eyes quickly to keep the tears in check. “Yes sir.”

  Master Kim gave me a quick nod and went to the next student.

  I sucked in my breath. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Just give it a minute. And I was right. After a minute or two, the pain faded to a dull ache.

  After everyone had a chance to kick the shield, it was time for poomsae or forms. The white belts started things off with kicho il bo. I discovered that as long as I wasn’t moving too quickly, the pain wasn’t bad. I wondered how my board break would go, though. I would have to snap my kick then. And it would be up against wood, not air.

  I leaned against the wall while the other color belts sat down to watch the higher ranks do their forms. As usual, Madison’s form was perfect. I couldn’t believe Cookie was missing it.

  Master Kim paired us up. Since Rosa and I were both white belts, we were partners. We faced each other and bowed. She looked as nervous as I felt. When Master Kim had his back turned, I stuck out my tongue at her to try to lighten things up. It worked. Rosa giggled.

  “Everyone on this side,” Master Kim said, motioning to my side of the room. “Please grab your partner’s wrist.”

  I stepped forward and grabbed Rosa’s right wrist with my right hand. With a swift pull and sharp, “Hiiii!” she escaped. We were supposed to do it several times while Master Kim wandered up and down the line, watching. Each time I grabbed, Rosa escaped, no problem. I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. I’d never been able to get mine right on the first try.

  When Master Kim announced it was time to switch roles, my palms started to sweat. Too bad my wrist wasn’t sweaty. That would make escaping much easier.

  Rosa reached for my outstretched wrist. I felt her fingers just beginning to wrap around my arm.

  Suddenly my brain went into high gear. Now!

  I closed my eyes, spread my fingers, yanked my arm down and out. “Hup!”

  When I dared to look, I was standing a couple of feet away from Rosa. And my hands were up in a guard—both of them free and ready to fight.

  I’d done it! I’d escaped first try. The trick all along was to move fast. And, shoot, I was good at moving fast.

  Rosa grabbed my wrist a few more times. And when Master Kim came over to watch, I showed him a perfect wrist escape.

  “Good job,” Rosa whispered when it was time to shake hands.

  “Thanks. You too,” I told her.

  DON’T BE NERVOUS, BE AWESOME

  It was time for the memorization part of the test. The students stood at attention, waiting to be called up to the table. There one of the black belts would quiz you. They could ask you as many questions as they wanted. Some students came back after a short time. Others stayed for a long time. That jittery feeling came back.

  Master Kim’s father waved me over.

  “Hello, Eliza,” he said. “Please tell me the definition of taekwondo.”

  Yay! An easy one.

  “Yes sir,” I said. “Taekwondo is the art of hand and foot fighting. Tae means using your foot. Kwon means using your hand. Do means the art or way of life.”

  “Where is taekwondo from?”

  Ha! Another easy one.

  “South Korea,” I answered.

  “Good,” he said. “What does charyut mean?”

  Applesauce. I couldn’t remember. It sounded familiar . . .

  The judge waited with a blank look on his face. And the longer he waited, the worse it got.

  “You do this every class,” he prompted.

  I bit my bottom lip.

  “Charyut!” the judge said.

  Without thinking, I stood at attention. Oh yeah! I felt a little silly for forgetting it for a second.

  The judge smiled. “Kamsahhamida. Thank you. You may return to your place in line.”

  “Yes sir.”

  On my way back, Mom caught my eye and raised her eyebrows as if to ask, “Well?”

  I gave her quick thumbs-up. I can do this.

  I CAN’T DO THIS

  The room buzzed when Flying Ninja Girl and the other teenage black belts helping with the test rolled out a cart of stacked boards.

  Board breaks already? I felt hot and panicky, like I was going to throw up, but I couldn’t tell if that was because I was excited or scared.

  The color belts went before the white belts. And each color had a different board break. The orange belts were first. They had to do ax kicks. Madison was great. Her leg arched high, and then she snapped her heel straight through the board. One of the other orange belt’s heels hit the board and bounced right off. He fell on his butt. He turned pink even though no one laughed.

  Some of the kids broke their board on their first try. Some needed a few tries. One poor yellow belt tried and tried.

  Master Kim crouched into position and held the board out in front of her.

  She was doing a side kick, and it looked like she was strong enough. But her heel kept stopping the second she hit the board.

  “Follow through,” Master Kim told her after her third attempt.

  The girl tried again. Her leg stretched out, and her heel hit the board. And stopped.

  She needs to try to kick Master Kim, not just the board, I thought.

  Holy lightbulb! I could finally see it! What Master Kim was talking about when he said to follow through.

  Kicking at the board only got you to the board. But the board wasn’t the destination. It was just a stop along the way.

  “This is your final chance,” Master Kim told the yellow belt. And then he got into position with the board.

  “Come on,” another student called out. “You can do it!” The rest of us joined in with encouraging words and clapping.

  The girl got ready, took a deep breath, and tried again. Her foot hit the board right in the middle and bounced back.

  Master Kim straightened up. Then he bowed to the girl and handed her the unbroken board.

  “Take your seat,” Master Kim told her.

  The girl looked like she was going to burst into tears.

  I leaned over to the boy next to me. “Does that mean she failed?” I whispered.

  “She’ll get another chance later,” he whispered back.

  Later? Later when? I wondered. I was about to ask the boy, but then I heard my name.

  “Eliza,” Master Kim said. “It’s your turn.”

  “Yes sir!”

  That hot and panicky feeling came back as I walked across the room to where Master Kim was holding out my board.

  The only thing standing between me and my yellow belt was a half-inch-thick pine boa
rd.

  Everyone in the room was watching, waiting.

  And I was thinking, I can’t do this.

  I slowly practiced my push kick against the board, making sure my foot was going to land in the right place and measuring my distance. I repositioned the board one more time, nudging it just a little lower.

  “Come on, Eliza,” Madison called out. “You got this.”

  Others joined in. “Yeah. Piece of cake!”

  The cheering helped.

  Kicking the shield had hurt. I knew throwing my push kick against a board was going to hurt, too. Testing was starting to catch up with me. My tailbone was throbbing. This wasn’t my last chance. This was my only chance.

  I stared at the board. It stared back. You can’t do this, it said.

  And then from somewhere deep inside me, Superhero Eliza spoke up. Oh yeah? Watch this.

  “HUP!”

  Crack!

  THE PART WHERE I GOT A NEW BELT

  Congratulations,” Master Kim said to the students.

  “Please turn around and remove your belts.”

  I set down my board—now in two pieces—at my feet. (I could still smell the pine.) And then I turned away and unknotted my belt. Following Madison’s lead, I placed my white belt around my neck and turned back toward Master Kim.

  I was sweaty, tired, and my butt hurt. But I couldn’t stop smiling.

  Master Kim explained to the audience that it was a tradition for a black belt to tie on a new belt when it was earned. Then he began handing out belts. It seemed like it took both forever and no time at all for him to get to me.

  I watched as Master Kim walked to the table and picked up a yellow belt. My yellow belt.

  He strolled over and stood in front of me. I raised my arms, and Master Kim wrapped the belt around my waist and expertly knotted it. “It is a little stiff,” he said. “But you can break it in.”

  “Yes sir,” I agreed.

  Master Kim stepped back and extended his hand. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  As Master Kim walked away, I couldn’t resist taking a quick look. Yellow was definitely a good color for me.

  ONE MORE THING

  There was a round of applause from the parents and judges as we all stood in our new belts. And then Master Kim asked the students to please take a seat for a moment. I sat down as carefully as I could.

  “As my returning students know,” he said, “I occasionally award special patches after a test. These patches are reserved for students who show outstanding excellence in their techniques or demonstrate true martial-arts spirit. Today I would like to honor one of our students here.”

  Master Kim picked up a small patch from the table and held it in his hand.

  “This student did well today. It was clear she was prepared. And this was especially impressive because last week I received a phone call from this student’s father telling me she had been injured and probably wouldn’t be able to test.”

  My heart jumped a beat, and I felt my cheeks get warm. I glanced at Dad, but he was paying attention to Master Kim.

  “I did not expect to see this student this morning,” Master Kim went on. “I know she was still in pain, but she came anyway and performed to the best of her ability. She showed the heart and determination of a martial artist and for that, I’d like to give this Spirit Award patch to Eliza Bing.”

  I got to my feet slowly and walked to the front of the room. Master Kim bowed and held out the patch.

  I’d never won anything in my whole life. And if I was being called to the front of the room by a teacher, it was usually because I’d done something disruptive.

  I returned the bow. “Thank you, sir.”

  And then everyone started clapping again.

  For me.

  A GOOD MARTIAL ARTIST

  After the test was over, everyone was talking and taking pictures.

  “Congratulations,” Madison said.

  “You too,” I said, pointing to her green belt.

  “Can I see it?” she asked.

  I held out the patch, which was a small white rectangle with a red border and the words SPIRIT AWARD embroidered in the middle.

  “That’s so cool,” Madison said. “I’m jealous. He almost never gives patches to white belts.”

  “But I’m a yellow belt now,” I reminded her.

  She laughed. “Oh yeah.”

  Our parents walked up. Madison’s dad spoke first. “Well done, ladies!”

  “Yes, congratulations,” Mom added.

  Dad wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Madison introduced her father and then announced that she was hungry. Her dad offered to take her out to eat to celebrate.

  “Can we go out to eat to celebrate, too?” I asked Mom.

  “Sure. Why not? You must be starving, too, after all that work,” she said.

  “Well, bye,” Madison said to me. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  “Okay, see ya,” I told her.

  I hated taking off my new yellow belt, but I had to change before going to lunch. I folded it carefully and put it on top of my dobok inside my gym bag. Mom and Dad were waiting outside of the bathroom for me.

  At the restaurant, I got two orders of chicken nuggets and a large pop. (Mom found a booth with padded seats for me.) Mom, Dad, and I talked about the test and where I should I hang up my broken board.

  As I was finishing off the last of my fries and ketchup, Mom pulled a yellow envelope out of her purse.

  “Here,” she said. “This is for you.”

  Inside, there was a congratulations card. On the outside was a Mr. Potato Head and the inside said, Way to go, I-da-ho!

  There was also a gift card to the local mall. For fifty dollars!

  I looked up at Mom in shock.

  She shrugged. “I have some overtime coming to me. Once your tailbone has completely healed, I’ll take the whole day off. I thought we could go shopping. Just us girls. No cell phones this time.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I told her.

  “Yes,” Mom said. “I do. And besides, I want to.”

  I blinked back the tears that came without warning.

  “Got any ideas of what you’d like to buy?” Dad asked.

  The kicking shield I’d made out of Sam’s old quilt and duct tape popped into my mind. I thought about what it would be like to have a real one. I bet we could find a used one on the internet.

  “A few,” I said.

  Mom raised her eyebrows. “Really? Do they involve a certain cake-decorating kit for a certain fall class?”

  “Well, maybe I could save some of the money for that,” I said. “I think I should just keep practicing at home for a while, though.”

  “But I thought you wanted to be a cake decorator,” Mom said.

  “I do. And I’m going to be,” I told her. “In fact, could we stop on the way home and get some ingredients? I have this great idea for a cake in the shape of a broken board.”

  “Of course!” Dad said.

  “What made you change your mind about the class?” Mom asked before she took a sip of her drink.

  “I just wanna stick with taekwondo, too, if that’s okay.”

  Mom coughed and sputtered. “Went down the wrong way,” she squeaked, waving her cup.

  Dad handed her a napkin, then turned to me and grinned. “I think we could probably work something out.”

  “Cool,” I said. “Because a good martial artist never quits.”

  In case you get confused or just want to know how to pronounce the taekwondo words in this book, here they are.

  Your friend,

  Eliza (yellow belt)

  ahnjoe (ahn-JOE): sit down

  annyeon hashimnikka (ahn-young hahs-im-nee-ka): formal hello

  ap chagi (OP cha-gee; the G is hard, like the word go): front kick

  charyut (cha-RYUT): attention

  cheonman-eyo (CHON-ma-nae-yo):
you’re welcome

  choonbi (chun-BEE): ready position

  dan (don): black belt

  dee (DEE): belt

  dobok (doe-BOK): uniform

  dojang (doe-JAHNG): training hall. It means “House of Discipline.”

  hae sahn (hay SAHN): dismissed

  jong yul (jong-YUL): line up

  juchum-seogi jireugi (CHU-shum so-GEE ja-ROO-gee; the G is hard like the word go): riding-horse stance with a punch

  kamsahhamida (gam-sah-hahm-mee-da): thank you very much

  kicho il bo (ki-CHEW ill boo): basic form number one. Il means first.

  kihap (KEE-hahp): yell

  koomahn (khoo-MAHN): stop

  kyoonyae (kyoon-YEY): bow

  mushin (moo-SHIN): having no mind. Mushin is not a Korean word; it’s Japanese.

  poom (POOM): junior black belt

  poomsae (poom-SAY): form

  sabumnim (SAH-bahm-nim): master instructor

  shijak (shee-JAHK): begin

  taeguk il jang (Tae-GUK ill JAHNG): form representing the great principle of Heaven

  taekwondo (tie-KWON-doe): the South Korean art of hand and foot fighting. Tae means to use the foot. Kwon means to use the hand. Do means art or way of life.

  whojin (who-JIN): slide back

  yup chagi (YUP cha-GEE: the G is hard, like the word go): side kick

  yursit (yur-SIT): stand up

  How to count to ten in Korean

  hana (HAH-na): one

  dool (DOOL): two

  set (SET): three

  net (NET): four

  dasut (DAS-it): five

  yasut (YAS-it): six

  ilgop (ill-GOP): seven

  yuldol (yul-DOL): eight

  ahop (AH-hop): nine

  yul (YOOL): ten

  In traditional taekwondo, you have to be fifteen years old to become a black belt, also called a dan. Anyone younger than fifteen is called a junior black belt, or poom.

  Some people think having a black belt is the highest rank you can reach, and once you get it, you’re an expert. But that’s not true. A black belt is just a new beginning. There are different levels, or degrees, of black belt. Each school has its own rules about testing, but in general, it takes three to five years of studying and training to become a black belt. In order to be called a “master” in taekwondo, you have to be a fourth degree black belt. Very few people who do taekwondo stick with it long enough to reach this rank or higher.