What I learnt from karate - by Dr Lee Wei Ling
I have always been a physically active tomboy.
By Secondary 1, at the age of 12, I had started training in swimming under Mr Neo Chwee Kok. He was a strict coach who believed in the theory of "no pain, no gain".
I like physical challenges and, as we trained with boys, to be able to keep up or even overtake them was something worth suffering for.
Soon after, my best friend in Nanyang Girls' High School persuaded me to join the Singapore Karate Association.
The majority of the other trainees were men. There were only three or four other girls and women. What the men did, we did too. But in sparring, we paired up with female trainees where possible.
Occasionally, there was an odd number of female trainees, and one would spar with a man.
Though we could hold our own, I sensed that the men probably pulled their punches. Not only were they physically bigger, but they were also obviously stronger.
I especially enjoyed training on rainy days when the dojo was wet and slippery. Then our Japanese sensei would take all of us running. I always outran the men and had to hold back to make sure I remained with the rest of the group.
There were regular gradings and I moved through them until, at age 15, in Secondary 4, I passed my grading for black belt first dan.
I found the Straits Times newspaper clipping on this. The headline was "Her tough exterior hides a feminine touch", describing how concerned I was when another trainee was injured and bled. I have not the slightest memory of this.
At grading time, one concentrates on one's karate moves. I have always been very intense in anything I do, and can block out all thoughts except those relevant to the present challenge.
I got my black belt and continued to train at the Singapore Karate Association.
Once when I was in Pre-U 1, while sparring with my best friend, I blocked a kick with my left hand, but was slightly off the mark.
My friend's foot struck my clenched fist on the knuckles instead. There was immediate pain, but I have always had a high pain threshold, and continued until the training session was over.
Looking carefully at my hand later, I saw a protrusion - probably a bone had fractured and two fractured pieces formed an angle.
When I got home, I showed my hand to my mother, and she was quite upset. She managed to get an orthopaedic surgeon at the Singapore General Hospital to see me.
An X-ray confirmed the fracture, but I did not need a plaster cast. My arm was placed in a sling just to avoid unnecessary jolting.
Mama insisted I stop karate. I did not argue with her as I was in an officer cadet course for school army cadets, and was still training in swimming and long-distance running.
With my plan to enter medical school, and hence the need to do well in my A-level exams, some extra-curricular activity had to be given up.
What was the consequence of my four years of karate training?
To Mama, it was the fracture. To me, as it was my left hand, the fracture didn't bother me much.
I was then in Raffles Institution, when it was in Bras Basah Road, and every morning after the flag-raising ceremony it was physical education. My choice for PE was running.
I usually overtook the boys running on the path surrounding the school grounds. The boys didn't like it. They liked even less being overtaken by a girl with her arm in a sling.
But I got more than that from karate. My mental and physical discipline, which had always been strong, got stronger.
Even if a physical challenge seemed insurmountable, I would tackle it, believing that mind over matter would win the day. Many times I won. Occasionally I lost.
But losing never dented my faith in mind over matter.
The other consequence of my karate training was the self-confidence that if I were physically attacked, unless the attacker was armed, I would fight back and might win.
With this frame of mind, I did some pretty reckless things, which included running around Central Park in New York before dawn so that I could complete my exercise routine before attending the medical meeting which had brought me to NYC.
Once, in a ghetto in Cleveland, Ohio, where I was the only non-African American, I refused to give an African American woman three dollars because I suspected that she would use the money for street drugs.
I refused even when she said she had a gun. I confronted her, waiting to tackle her the moment she moved. She was slightly taller and considerably more muscular than me.
Fortunately, a bus came by and I ran onto it. She grabbed my hand, but I yanked it away. She did not follow me onto the bus.
I have hiked alone multiple times, knowing I might get mugged, robbed or worse, but believing I could outrun or fend off any attack. I have been able to undertake many adventures alone without anxiety or fear.
I guess I have lived my life my way, and my training in karate helped me achieve that.
So what are the lessons I learnt? Enjoy life but work hard; no pain no gain; and, taking risk makes life more exciting.
I don't think this is suitable for people with a more sedate and cautious temperament, but it was right for me.
The hours in the dojo, sweating and feeling tired, were well worth the time spent away from academic activities. I would do it all again if I were young again, fracture or no fracture. Physical and mental discipline is crucial to surviving and enjoying life.
The writer is director of the National Neuroscience Institute.
The Sunday Times 18 Mar 2014
I have always been a physically active tomboy.
By Secondary 1, at the age of 12, I had started training in swimming under Mr Neo Chwee Kok. He was a strict coach who believed in the theory of "no pain, no gain".
I like physical challenges and, as we trained with boys, to be able to keep up or even overtake them was something worth suffering for.
Soon after, my best friend in Nanyang Girls' High School persuaded me to join the Singapore Karate Association.
The majority of the other trainees were men. There were only three or four other girls and women. What the men did, we did too. But in sparring, we paired up with female trainees where possible.
Occasionally, there was an odd number of female trainees, and one would spar with a man.
Though we could hold our own, I sensed that the men probably pulled their punches. Not only were they physically bigger, but they were also obviously stronger.
I especially enjoyed training on rainy days when the dojo was wet and slippery. Then our Japanese sensei would take all of us running. I always outran the men and had to hold back to make sure I remained with the rest of the group.
There were regular gradings and I moved through them until, at age 15, in Secondary 4, I passed my grading for black belt first dan.
I found the Straits Times newspaper clipping on this. The headline was "Her tough exterior hides a feminine touch", describing how concerned I was when another trainee was injured and bled. I have not the slightest memory of this.
At grading time, one concentrates on one's karate moves. I have always been very intense in anything I do, and can block out all thoughts except those relevant to the present challenge.
I got my black belt and continued to train at the Singapore Karate Association.
Once when I was in Pre-U 1, while sparring with my best friend, I blocked a kick with my left hand, but was slightly off the mark.
My friend's foot struck my clenched fist on the knuckles instead. There was immediate pain, but I have always had a high pain threshold, and continued until the training session was over.
Looking carefully at my hand later, I saw a protrusion - probably a bone had fractured and two fractured pieces formed an angle.
When I got home, I showed my hand to my mother, and she was quite upset. She managed to get an orthopaedic surgeon at the Singapore General Hospital to see me.
An X-ray confirmed the fracture, but I did not need a plaster cast. My arm was placed in a sling just to avoid unnecessary jolting.
Mama insisted I stop karate. I did not argue with her as I was in an officer cadet course for school army cadets, and was still training in swimming and long-distance running.
With my plan to enter medical school, and hence the need to do well in my A-level exams, some extra-curricular activity had to be given up.
What was the consequence of my four years of karate training?
To Mama, it was the fracture. To me, as it was my left hand, the fracture didn't bother me much.
I was then in Raffles Institution, when it was in Bras Basah Road, and every morning after the flag-raising ceremony it was physical education. My choice for PE was running.
I usually overtook the boys running on the path surrounding the school grounds. The boys didn't like it. They liked even less being overtaken by a girl with her arm in a sling.
But I got more than that from karate. My mental and physical discipline, which had always been strong, got stronger.
Even if a physical challenge seemed insurmountable, I would tackle it, believing that mind over matter would win the day. Many times I won. Occasionally I lost.
But losing never dented my faith in mind over matter.
The other consequence of my karate training was the self-confidence that if I were physically attacked, unless the attacker was armed, I would fight back and might win.
With this frame of mind, I did some pretty reckless things, which included running around Central Park in New York before dawn so that I could complete my exercise routine before attending the medical meeting which had brought me to NYC.
Once, in a ghetto in Cleveland, Ohio, where I was the only non-African American, I refused to give an African American woman three dollars because I suspected that she would use the money for street drugs.
I refused even when she said she had a gun. I confronted her, waiting to tackle her the moment she moved. She was slightly taller and considerably more muscular than me.
Fortunately, a bus came by and I ran onto it. She grabbed my hand, but I yanked it away. She did not follow me onto the bus.
I have hiked alone multiple times, knowing I might get mugged, robbed or worse, but believing I could outrun or fend off any attack. I have been able to undertake many adventures alone without anxiety or fear.
I guess I have lived my life my way, and my training in karate helped me achieve that.
So what are the lessons I learnt? Enjoy life but work hard; no pain no gain; and, taking risk makes life more exciting.
I don't think this is suitable for people with a more sedate and cautious temperament, but it was right for me.
The hours in the dojo, sweating and feeling tired, were well worth the time spent away from academic activities. I would do it all again if I were young again, fracture or no fracture. Physical and mental discipline is crucial to surviving and enjoying life.
The writer is director of the National Neuroscience Institute.
The Sunday Times 18 Mar 2014
