Michelle Ray’s Blog

Tom and I were walking through Hilo this morning, after our cup of coffee at his favorite coffee shop. He asked me what I had learned in the two days that I have been here.  For those of you that know Tom, you know that one of his gifts is pulling information and thoughts from you.  It would have been very easy for him to tell me what I was experiencing.  But that is not the kind of teacher he is.

So here, maybe more for me than for those who might read this are some thoughts and impressions from my first two days in Hawaii.

To my knowledge, I haven’t seen a single tourist.   By walking to and through town, I smell the flowers; experience the rain on my skin and in my hair.  This is not the place for blow dryers and makeup.  Light rain, and then few minutes later the sun is out.  We walk over bridges and stop to see the water coursing over the rocks.  We have spotted a few turtles swimming in the calm water at the foot of the falls.  Thick jungle right in the middle of town.

I’ve walked on lava. I’ve seen the plume of smoke and flare of fire from a volcano that has killed, and will surely kill and destroy again.  The sun was setting, clouds in the sky tinted with yellow, orange, and purple.  Black lava as far as I could see, I wondered if this is what the surface of the moon looks  like, hard, barren, surrealist shapes silhouetted against the sky.

When I turned around, and we walked back towards the road, bright green, red and gold lights were flickering between the palm trees.  The lights were strung around top of a simple bar, with no walls and no doors.  Nine bar stools, a few were occupied by men enjoying the Monday evening.  We could hear music close by.   Tom asked if it was a private party?  We were told that it was, but we were welcome.

We sat a picnic bench in front of a garage at the end of a road, the volcano within site.  Dogs and children played around us.  A sound system was set up, and we listened to native music performed by incredibly talented natives.  The audience?  Uncle Ralph, the patriarch of the clan.  He sat in a golf cart, his skin almost as dark and craggy as the lava field a few yards away.  A middle aged woman, several teen age boys and girls.  Perhaps eight little girls and boys under the age of 10 were scattered in the yard. 

Gabriel arrived a few minutes after we did, the only other Caucasian in the group.  Tom of course immediately asked for his name and engaged him in conversation.  Gabriel was originally from St. Louis, had bounced around, a few years here, a few years there.  He looked at a map a few years ago, decided he wanted to live in Hawaii, and here he was.  He works in a grocery store a mile up the road. 

When we ate, the teenagers were next to us.  They laughed and chatted, obviously happy to be there.  I couldn’t help but wonder what some of the teenagers would have been doing on a Monday evening in Little Rock.  Plugged in by ear buds to music on iPods, on the computer, watching TV, playing video games?   Would they have been happy to be with family, listening to folk music and just talking?

The open walled garage was painted white, and decorated with street signs and prints of Jesus.  The smell of food wafted on the breeze, the Christmas lights of the bar were within site.  Music.  Dirt under my feet.   Another world.

Earlier, I had walked through a jungle, orchids brushing against my hair as we followed a narrow path.  We crawled through a hole into a cone shaped lava cave.   I’m not kidding, a lava cave.  A natural steam room in the middle of the jungle.   We sat on wood planks fashioned into benches on the lava rocks.  I look up through a small hole at the top of the hot lava walls and could see the blue sky.  Two days before I was in Little Rock, Arkansas.  It is almost more than I can comprehend

We went to a park, with coves and lagoons for swimming.  You’ve heard that expression “sink or swim”?   Tom handed me a snorkel mask and jumped into the water.  It took me a little more time because, yet again, I was walking on lava rocks.  I was being very very careful as I walked.  Once in the the water I put the mask on.  Or I thought I did.

Ummm….about snorkeling.   My last experience was very brief, and in Cancun about 15 years ago.  Needless to say I didn’t know what I was doing.  It is a pretty simple concept, obviously, but I still managed to screw it up. 

So picture this.  I’m in the water, Tom is already swimming around saying “look at that one it’s huge!” and I’m still trying to get the mask on.  I ducked my head under water and just about drowned.  Thankfully I could still stand up.  Tom pointed out that the mask was supposed to go over my nose.  Oh. 

Got the mask on correctly, and again put my head under water.  Right there in front of me was a humongous turtle.  Did you know you can hyperventilate underwater with a face mask and snorkel?  Did you know it is not fun?

All I could think about when I saw the turtle a foot away from me was, does it have teeth? Does it bite?

It drifted away.  Tom was like a little kid, pointing out more turtles, each bigger than the previous one, or at least that is what he said.  I was still adjusting to the snorkeling thing, but I did manage to swim around and follow a couple of the turtles. 

Coffee this morning.  While Tom was on the phone I talked to Jas.  Strikingly beautiful blue eyes with dark skin and hair, and a smile that light up the shop when we walk in.  She is 26 and works two jobs.  She lives a very simple life, as many in Hilo seem to do.   In her free time she surfs.  She named all of the beaches, her face and voice animated.  Work and surfing.  I thought about her counterparts in Little Rock.  Work and …what?  Kids?  Clubs?  What kind of car to buy?   How do I step up the corporate ladder?

Tom and I talked on the way back.  We talked about Jas.  There is a part of me that admires those that find joy in simple, that find joy in nature and just being.   I’m drawn to the concept of escape from the world as I know it. I’m drawing peace and strength from the air and water and soil of this place. 

But I also know that I would become bored and restless.  I have work to do.  I’m still trying to process what that work is, but I know that I want to leave some type of footprint on this planet when I’m gone.  Tom Callos is leaving not just one footprint, but many.   My UBBT team members are doing life changing work.  Brian, Rori, Gary, Joe, Dan, John, the list goes on and on. 

Lately I’ve become very aware of the passage of time.  My body may be edging towards the 52 year mark, but I don’t feel old.  Well, at least not very often.   But I am becoming more cognizant of the fact that I am very probably past my half way mark of time on this planet.  Am I being egotistical to think that I might actually be able to teach, inspire and motivate in some small way?  Am I going to follow a comfortable routine, safe and dependable?  Am I going to take a few leaps, knowing I could soar, or fall flat on my face?

 I want to leave a footprint when I’m gone.  It may have a couple of face plant impressions around it, but I want there to be a footprint to show that I have been here.

  (In my previous post, I described the quad injury and resulting muscle spasms that occurred right after I purchased Little Rock Taekwondo in 2000) 

Two years as a school owner, and I could not train.  I couldn’t teach.  I wasn’t sure I was a martial artist anymore.     I admit, right here, that I am a little competitive.  And it just killed me to see people that started after I did pass me up in rank.  Yes, I know that may be shallow, but it did. 

Also during those two years, some other things were going on that created a little stress.  My husband Charles had a heart attack,   five months later a five way by-pass.    We had another business from which I had semi-retired from when I bought Little Rock Taekwondo.   During Charles’ recovery, I was doing double duty.  A typical day began with me at the surety business at 5am, working through lunch.  Then off to the Taekwondo school from 3:30pm to 9:00 or 10:00pm.  Worry about Charles, about our family, and both businesses kept me on edge.  We experienced 9/11 which not only affected us all emotionally, but affected the martial arts school in a very negative way.   We closed our surety business, and Charles retired.  My former instructor and partner in the Taekwondo school left and moved to Dallas.   We adopted our daughter Keely during this time, and experienced all of the sleepless nights and stress of parents of a newborn. 

 And the leg injury was always there.  Twinges, pain, and spasms when I tried to push myself.  I gained weight.  I can remember the shame of sitting on the bleachers and watching camps, seminars, the US Team tryouts at my school.  I wasn’t participating, I was watching. 

For the first time in my life, I could not defeat an obstacle.  Believing in me didn’t get it.  Focus didn’t get it.  Physical strength, mental strength didn’t get it.  It is not easy for me to give up.  But I did.  Two years of hope and disappointment every time I tried to exercise finally defeated me. 

Then, I read an article about acupuncture.  And I thought, “why not”?  I made an appointment, and met Dr. Martin Eisele for the first time.  He wanted to know what was going on, not just physically, but emotionally.  It took at least an hour for me to fill him in on the soap opera of my life.  I started sessions that day.  Three weeks later, no pain in the quad.

Martin said that the pain and emotional stress that I experienced with and after the injury had all settled in my quadracepts.   The acupuncture sessions released the pain and stress from that area.

I don’t know how it worked, I just know it did.  I was able to start training again. 

I was thirty pounds overweight and woefully out of shape.  All of my staff out ranked me, although none of them had even been born when I received my 1^st Dan in 1978.  All my friends that I had trained with before the injury were ahead of me.  I was the owner of the school; all eyes were on me every time I stepped out on the floor.  It was time to start over again.

Tom Callos sent an email today, with a link to a video by Ira Glass.  I’m going to include the link, but I know most who read this won’t view the video.  Actually, that was kind of the point of Tom’s email, but that is a whole other story…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-hidvElQ0xE

Ira says a lot of important things about the creative process of making videos.  What struck me though, are the parallels between making a video and life.  About making a video and doing just about anything that is important.   One of the points Ira made is that many people stop making videos because their product doesn’t live up to their “taste”.   

Maybe, because I was taking a break from writing new copy for the website, this struck a chord.  Or maybe, it was because I’ve been trying to outline a new curriculum.  Or, because I’ve been struggling with making weekly journal entries.  Or because I….. (Insert just about anything I do here)

 I’ve always been an “outside the box” kind of person.  Artistic to a degree, but not particularly talented.  I like to read, and enjoy expressing myself through writing.  Sometimes the ideas and creativity flow, sometimes I feel like I’m hitting my head against a wall.

I’m reminded of one of those toys that just keeps pushing forward against a wall until the batteries run down.  If you turn it away from the obstacle, it will zoom off.  Until it hits the next obstacle.  Then it stays stationary with wheels spinning, batteries draining until empty.

I’ve got some deadlines I need to meet.  My wheels have been spinning a lot lately, my batteries are getting depleted. 

 I have to acknowledge that my efforts are not going to always match my vision.  That is ok.   But if I don’t continue the effort, I’m never going to get better. 

To be honest, it’s really easier to quit.  I could just be content to settle. To be content with the status quo.  The copy for the website is good enough.  My last journal entry was good enough.  The curriculum we have is good enough. 

 The work I am doing for the Ultimate Black Belt Test is good enough.  My training and physical conditioning are good enough.  My relationships are good enough.

Right now, my finished product doesn’t look anything like my vision. 

Of course, it’s easier to just quit. 

I can listen to the little guy that lives on my shoulder (he’s invisible you know but I think you probably have one too) that tells I’m too busy or too tired or not smart enough or not strong enough or not talented enough or just not good enough to do what I’ve set out to do. 

Or, I can dig deep.  I can look back at what I have done, see the good in it, and use that as a foundation for the next step.  I can listen to the gal that lives on the other shoulder (yep, she’s invisible too) that tells me that I can do it.  She reminds me that I am a black belt, a teacher, a leader, a mom, a friend,  a citizen of this planet and I have ability to do whatever I set my mind to.  Her voice is much softer than the guy that lives on my other shoulder and sometimes I have to really strain to hear her. 

I also have to recharge my batteries.  I do that when I sit on my deck and meditate while listening to the birds sing.  I do that when I read an email from a friend that tells me I have helped him  or her during some difficult times.  Tom Callos recharges my batteries with his emails and videos, as do my UBBT teammates with their journals and their work.  I need to spend more time recharging. 

Recharge.  Think.  Visualize.  Get to work.

This video of my life.  It is a work in progress and I’ve got the camera running every moment that I’m awake.  It can have real depth and meaning, perhaps even move and inspire, or it can be a lot of blank screen and white noise.

My choice.

In April of 2000 we were working on two on one sparring during the noon class.  I was the target, while two of my friends and fellow students were the attackers.  A low kick hit my knee from the side and within seconds on was lying on the mat with incredible pain in my knee.  Within a week I was recovering from surgery for a torn ACL.

The surgery really wasn’t that bad.  I was up and walking around, ditching the crutches within the first few days.  I started physical therapy immediately, and felt pretty good about my progress.

Then, while I was doing one of the PT exercises at the therapy center, I felt a strong sharp pain in my quadracepts.  A therapist was walking by, and I told him I thought I had torn my quad.  “Nah, you couldn’t have done that” he said.  So I did some more reps of the exercise and finished up my session.

The pain continued, but none of the therapists seemed concerned.  But a few days later, I had the first muscle spasm in my leg.  Wow that hurt.  And then there was another.  And another.  Until I was experiencing debilitating leg was spasms periodically during the day and the night.  The Doc told me that he wasn’t sure what the problem was, but that I could not have torn my quad.   He told me to lay off the exercises, and to do massage and stretching during my sessions instead.  I did.  The spasms continued.

By now, over two months had gone by, and I couldn’t walk, sit, or lay down without muscle spasms in my leg.  I went back to the Doc, and he told me he really didn’t know what to do for me, so he was going to have me try Muscular Dystrophy medicine.

As I left his office, I dropped the prescription in to the trash.

One of my student’s parents was an orthopedic surgeon at University of Arkansas Medical Science.  That evening at the school, I told him what was going on.  He called his office and got me an appointment to see him the next day.  Several tests later, the results were in.  I had indeed torn my quad.  But the tear was in an unusual place, the “mushy” muscle beside the tendon.  Essentially, my quad was unraveling, and we were dealing with a very rare injury.  First move was to put me in a full leg cast from the ankle to the groin to immobilize the leg.  In the month of July.  In Arkansas.  I was not a happy camper.  I slept in the recliner for the entire month, it was just too difficult to try to sleep in bed.  Driving my F-150 truck was a challenge, but I became pretty adept at braking with my left foot.  My right foot stayed by the gas pedal since it was impossible to move my right leg.

A month later, the leg cast came off.  Within a week the spasms were back.  I can’t begin to describe how discouraged I was.

Did I mention that I had just bought the school?  I had so much to do, so much to learn, and I was dealing with constant pain and frustration.  I had been working out at least an hour or two a day, and now it was everything I could do to walk from my car to the house.

My Doc didn’t want to do surgery, he would have to cut open the muscle, and the tear was in the part of the muscle that would not respond well to stitching.  Mushy like the part of the chicken breast next to the tendon was the  way he described it.  So the advice was…do nothing.  Don’t exercise, don’t stretch, try to let it heal.  I asked how long this was going to take, and he said he didn’t know.

It took two years.  No martial arts, no running, no biking.  No exercise at all.  Every time I would venture out on the mats to try to work out, the leg would start aching and hurting in the vulnerable area.  If I pushed it, the spasms started again.

The saga continues …next week.