The “No Belt” Prize for Piece

I began martial arts with preschool children - at age 39.  After a year and a half, we have tumbled, kicked, punched together, and we have groaned through push-ups and sit-ups together. We try to listen and hold still and bow at the appropriate times. I am 5’8” and they are 3 feet, more or less.

 This school year, at the honorable invitation of our Jhoon Rhee Tae Kwon Do Master, I decided, at the age of 40, to try something unusual - train with adults.

Our Master, trainer of both children and adults, is a 4^th Degree Black Belt in Tae Kwon Do, among other things. Her students are aged 18 months to, well, 40 years.

 This fall, she invited the adults in our group (all 7 of us) to compete in the year-end tournament. After injuries, children’s illnesses and general parental duties called, only two of us were able to attend the tournament, and at that, only for two hours.

Nevertheless, when my teammate and I stepped into the gymnasium at a boxing center in Moscow, we both gasped with intimidation at seeing about two hundred children equipped with white Tae Kwon Do uniforms, ready to compete, and their parents, equipped with cameras. The children wore belts of every color, not the least of which was black.

The youngest to compete were the beginners – the “White Belt” three year olds. They demonstrated punches and kicks in sparring competitions in one of three rings. This was, however, no three-ring circus. This was serious business, with judges, scores and medals (and light-up wands for the little tykes).

 You already know who the oldest to compete was. And I am what’s considered a “No Belt;” I wear a white belt, but only because it came with the uniform I ordered on Amazon, not because I have earned it. To earn it, I will need to demonstrate in my upcoming “belt test” that I know some basic forms – certain kicks, punches and movements.

I had agreed to photograph at the tournament and was busily doing so when my name was called to Ring 1. The organizers said to each other questioningly, “Only one competing in this round?” and then they looked at me, “Are you ready?” After my moment of hesitation, during which I was thinking, Go ahead, just skip me, I’m fine, really!, one of them said, “You’re ready.”

 Thus, I, in my no-belt white belt, timidly performed one piece, or form, that of “Appreciation.” I faced my three judges, all black belts, aged 20 to 30 years younger than me, and spent roughly 40 seconds performing in front of lots of on-looking parents and even more kids with colorful belts.

My judges mercifully gave me scores of 6, 7 and 7 out of 10 and graciously bestowed upon me a diploma and a medal of first place in my category, since I was the only one comepting and there was no one else to give it to. I accepted my prize, bowed, and left the ring, humbled.

Industrial Landscapes Photography Exhibition

"Industrial Landscapes" Exhibition at Novotel City Centre in Moscow

During the past two years in Russia, I have explored the ideas of abandonment, isolation, nostalgia and renewal as a result of the transition from Soviet Union to Modern Russia.  First arriving as a Student in Moscow in 1991, just after the August Coup, I have since carried with me a sense of nostalgia about that time and place. 

Moscow is made up of fascinating industrial landscapes.  To me, an Industrial Landscape is really any urban horizon, in which so many elements come into play: Geography, Topography, Urban Planning (or lack thereof), Geometry, History, Perception (which is a reflection of our nostalgia, memory, reality).

I have been exploring these elements, and how we live amidst Industrial Landscapes, and even how we spend our leisure time in and around them.  they are inescapable to the modern urban dweller.  Once I began noticing these in Russia, I noticed them everywhere.  (some examples exhibited here are from Kazakhstan and the United States).

Intriguing to me is the contrast between what is new, unfettered by nostalgia, and what is, old, original, abandoned, half-finished or unfinished.  A traditional location of leisure, such as Moscow’s Serebryanny Bor is contrasted with recently-built buildings in the background.  an old industrial site, such as Seattle’s Gasworks, is turned into a park, filled with bike riders, sun bathers and walking paths.

In some of these Industrial Landscapes we see that the useful life of certain abandoned objects has come to an end, but, in their after-life, they have transformed into symbols which echo a nostalgia, a past, and sometimes, a hope for renewal:  Used tires by the roadside, or an abandoned power line tower lying on its side, not yet removed but replaced by another tower.  In others we see how difficult it is to escape anything industrial, even in our leisure time. 

In cases such as the railroad, an icon of the industrial age, we use it to travel, escape.  And for many, the train and even the Particular station itself evokes a sense of adventure and the unknown coupled with separation and good-byes, and therefore, memories and an inescapable Nostalgia. 

My 9/11 Story (to be written)

Biden Our Time

Vice President Joe Biden said it himself: “The good news is, the Vice President is coming! The bad news is, the Vice President is coming!” as he stood before US Embassy Moscow employees and family members eager to meet him and shake his hand.

It had been a typically atypical morning again: my husband was off to work earlier than usual, our pre-schooler was scolding me for not reading her book about tea parties for a third time in a row, and our toddler was sleeping in unusually late, daring to threaten our timely arrival at the Biden event. She had gone to sleep in a princess dress and so was dressed for the day already, until she urinated on the floor next to her potty just minutes before we were to leave for the event.

No food or drinks were allowed, so while there would be no chance of beklekering, as the Germans say, the girls’ outfits, there was every chance that we would be waiting for an hour and a half with children whining from hunger and thirst. The only thing not unusual about the day was my high level of anxiety about photographing the event, which I had been asked to photograph but declined, remembering my follies from Governor Schwarzenegger’s visit (see previous blog post). Even without the onus of being the event photographer, I was still the self-proclaimed family record keeper and had to live up to my claims as such.

Joe Biden was introduced by Dr. Jill Biden, his lovely wife, who thanked the spouses and families of the Foreign Service officers who dedicate their lives to this line of business. Amen to that, because every time somebody in, for example, Korea (North or South) decides to make some maneuver or provocative political comment, my husband comes home late for dinner, as he follows these issues. Our family dinners and bedtime stories are often directly affected (read: disrupted) by people in far away places who have no idea they are affecting us, but that is part of what diplomacy is about, I suppose.

On the other hand, the late nights and weekends spent by my husband and his boss and colleagues in order to facilitate the VP’s visit to Moscow were rewarded by the very sincere and articulate words of the Biden couple, Joe’s warmth toward all the children present, and his willingness to shake hands and take pictures with everyone. While gathering all the children to some carpeted steps where Joe sat down, he saw our toddler, dressed in a frilly pink tutu and plastic silver tiara and called to her, “Hey Princess, come on up here, too!”

Triathlete Slogs to Finish Line, Chocolate Clenched in Fist

This headline, for better or worse, has not yet made the news at our local paper. Today was the last day of the two-week long Ironman Triathlon, and like a true athlete, I did cross the proverbial triathlon finish line, even sailing past it by a few inches.

It actually took me less than the full two weeks allotted to finish (okay, I finished only hours before the deadline) the 112-mile bike-ride (okay, it was a recumbent, stationary bike and I got through my pile of fashion magazines, looking at the pretty pictures while clocking miles at a very low speed), the 2.4-mile swim (I admit, I did this over 7 different days, inconsecutively), and the 26.2-mile Marathon run (done over 8 different days, also inconsecutively). At the end of each day (if not in the middle or at the beginning), I also consumed squares of milk, dark and white chocolate, and recorded my consumption of these. (Those stats will be brought to you later…)

What I learned from this venture:

• You can do anything you set your mind to, as long as it involves chocolate.
• Never underestimate the power of a good fashion magazine to get you through the rough times.
• Never mix milk and dark chocolates when you are feeling guilty about the milk and are trying to “dilute” with dark, it’s such a letdown if all you really want is milk chocolate!
• Do mix chocolates of any sort with almonds, walnuts, bananas, yes or even honey, in order to dispel any guilt surrounding the consumption of chocolate.
• Don’t run unless you have good running shoes and a good bar of chocolate waiting for you at the end of the run.
• Don’t swim unless you are sure you have a bar of chocolate waiting for you at home.
• Don’t get on that bike unless you have brought Vogue, W, Elle or InStyle with you to the gym and have secured access to a bar of chocolate.
• Never try any athletic endeavor, unless you have a serious chocolate consumption plan in place.
• Also never try such an endeavor without the full support and consent of your spouse (who must also be eating chocolate with you as you go.)
• And lastly, never discuss these strategies with anyone who is a serious athlete or doesn’t like chocolate.

Okay, now I’ll tell you the real reason I did this, chocolate or not: I turned 40 during this triathlon, and I wanted to do it for myself (could I really do it?), as well as for three of the most important women in my life: my mom and her two sisters. I did it for their hearts, and mine.

As for the chocolate, it certainly helped me get to the “finish line.”

The stats are in: 12 squares of white, 33.5 squares of dark, and 56 squares of milk. No, make that 57, as I pop one more milk chocolate heart before the midnight finishing bell.

Chocathlon

I have signed up for a triathlon -- my first ever! Not just any triathlon, an Ironman, one of the roughest, toughest sport combos out there, besides the Tour de France and pregnancy.

This triathlon will be spread over two weeks, unlike “normal” triathlons which start and finish in the same day. Still, two weeks is not very long when you only have 12 hours’ worth of babysitting available during which to attempt participation. Actually, if you think about it, we all do triathlons over time. It might be over a year, but if you swim, bike and run, however intermittently, then you do triathlons!

It is less than two hours before the race begins and I still have not even opened my race packet to see how I am going to divide my swim/run/bike schedule over those 12 hours and some nighttime hours, when the kids are sleeping.

But in order to prepare for this and reduce my risk of injury due to overtraining – a problem most serious athletes like me often have – I came up with the following simple regimen, and I marvel at its simplicity:

1. Avoid the gym
2. Consume large quantities of chocolate

During this triathlon, I will be celebrating my 40^th birthday – yet another valid reason for the consumption of chocolate. I will allow only gifts involving chocolate. This extra consumption and the support of my friends should give me just the boost I need to clinch a victory.

“Triathlete Wins After a Chocolate-Only Diet!” This is the title I am sure will grace the headlines of our local newspaper, and it will, of course, be referring to me. I will go to the podium, take my medal, bow, and wave bars of chocolate with a gesture that indicates, “I owe it all to these guys right here – Milk, Dark and White!”