accuracy are improving. In large part, this is the result of
my teacher’s often-repeated line: “Good shot — now do
that three more times!”
Like a katana that’s thrust into the fire to be tempered,
I’m being transformed into a new person — a fighter. I’m
hungry for it. I love the energy and adrenaline rush that
accompany sword combat.
Ever since I found out that getting hit is no big deal, I
just allow it to happen. I’m no longer concerned about
being hurt. This knowledge has freed me to focus on
what’s important: stalking my opponent, seizing the
moment, springing forward with my whole body behind
my strike, silencing my mind and relying on my intuition
to act, just letting my body respond with what it knows
how to do.
To get to this point, I’ve invested hundreds of hours
in repeating basic moves, cutting the air with my sword,
cultivating the whipping sound that’s produced by an
unwavering blade that executes the eight directional
cuts of happo giri, performing kata endlessly. I no longer
think it’s strange to spend four hours to perfect one min-
ute of movement.
I have become the weapon. The sword in my hands
is just a tool. It’s important, but the human weapon is
paramount.
It was through sparring with men, and especially with
Dana Abbott, my instructor, that I met this ultimate chal-
lenge. It was through sparring that I got a measure of
myself and the warrior that I am.Katherine de Boda is an Arizona-based martial artist
and writer.son. I was being driven to the edge of my abilities, and as
the martial arts teach, engaging at the edge is necessary
for growth. Only when the student approaches complete
failure does he or she see improvement. The more time
you spend at the edge, the more the edge expands and
the greater you become.
Certainly, my stamina increased. Equally important, my
spirit awakened and learned to fight back. There was a
point at which my spirit had to shift gears from that of a
little girl to that of a warrior. In retrospect, that entailed
abandoning the perception that everything was happen-
ing to me and that I was a victim, and replacing it with
the perception that I could and should take command.
In the dojo and in life, there is always a choice: Give up,
or get up and fight back. In Abbott’s class, I discovered
that my opponent was never the man I was sparring with;
it was myself. In other words, I was battling the enemy
within. That fostered a sense of autonomy within me.
Only I can exercise my free will to take command and
choose my response. No one can do this for me.
When It Clicks
Tears and sweat sting my eyes. My ears are ringing after
being smacked on the head again. My liver aches from
shots to the torso. I view it as a refinement of character, a
way to tap into my energy reserves so I can engage and
re-engage. No matter the obstacle in my path, my spirit,
my will, can find a way through.
Sparring has become a process of improvement. A
chance for me to give my best in every moment. An
opportunity to be offensive at all times, rather than
defensive and then offensive. An occasion to allow my
warrior spirit to guide me.
I’ve learned to let the strikes come in and to be uncon-
cerned about being hit. I now know that I must keep my
eyes open at all times so that I can seize the moment
whenever an opening is created. I’ve internalized the
words of my teacher: “Keep your eyes open! It won’t hurt
any less if you close them.”
I let the openings reveal themselves, and I manage to
land some good shots. I feel as though my speed and
There was a
point at which my
spirit had to shift
gears from that
of a little girl to
that of a warrior.
60 BLACKBELTMAG.COM OCTOBER/NOVEMBER 2019