I have a black belt in failure, just so ya know

I'm five feet tall. I've been told that I look like I weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet, but this was several years ago so unfortunately quite out of date. I have trouble doing things like, you know, opening soda bottles. Which is why, if you didn't know this already, your jaw is going to drop on the floor momentarily, like the craniofacial orifices of numerous individuals did when I gave individual Great Reveals.

I actually have a black belt in karate.

Yes, I can shatter boards with my fists and/or feet, and yes, it hurts.

Yes, I can take you down to the ground in 2.5 seconds. I actually did it to Dan once, because I'm super clumsy, and that's why I take 2.5 seconds and not 0.5 seconds to take you down.

Yes, I do know where to hit you to make you hurt and/or die, and this is where clumsy actually comes in handy.

Yes, I can mangle more Korean words than you will probably mangle in your lifetime, I can mangle them pretty good, too. Also, Ko Hwan means groin area, just so you know.

The road to black belt, in my type of karate, was long and hard, although less hard and less long than the more hard-core martial arts that focus on beating each other up every class in hand-to-hand combat. For me it took about six years full of blood, sweat, and tears (and more blood, and pain, lots and lots of pain), lots of practice, and an impressive amount of conditioning that I can currently only dream of while lying on my couch watching Gangland. Strangely, given my general avoidance of movement, I loved it. I could break some boards, kick someone in the palm, do a couple of 360 degree roundhouse kicks, get myself a Fruitopia from the soda machine, and go home and not move for three days.

I was sixteen when it was black belt testing time.

The first thing us apprentices had to endure before the actual black belt test (held outside of Philly with a couple hundred candidates), was the dreaded pre-test, so named because, uh, because, yeah. The black belt pre-test was designed by the instructors for the sole purpose of scaring the lazy out of you. It was rumored to be so tough and so nasty that candidates fainted dead away from the pain (thankfully the rumor was blown way out of proportion, but my friend did throw up during the ordeal). You had to do 100 push-ups! Followed by 100 crunches! Followed by 100 jumping jacks! Followed by suicides! Followed by the actual warm-up to the pre-test! It was awful! We would die! All die!

Once we actually took the pre-test, I'm unhappy to report that we actually did have to do 100 push-up, followed by 100 crunches, followed by 100 jumping jacks, followed by suicides, followed by the actual warm-up. But we all survived, probably by summoning the mystical power of some ancient Korean karate-god, but whatever. We passed.

After the pre-test, we started practicing for the actual test. The black belt test had two components. The first task was the physical performance test. Could you, indeed, remember all 52 moves to the karate form and perform them flawlessly while nameless karate instructors from the greater Philadelphia region turned their ice-cold stares of judgement upon you? Great, you pass!

But it was the second component that I knew was a total lock-up.

It was a written test. It was a hundred multiple-choice questions long that asked you things like "What was the date that the Grandmaster opened his first studio in the United States?" and "What is the meaning of the color red in the Korean flag?" (the blood of us black belt candidates, if I remember correctly). And who was the nerdiest karate student to ever roam the earth?

Surprisingly, not me. It was my karate idol, Mr. Cuddy, who was the coolest 60+ year old black belt ever. I came very close to his expansive knowledge of Korean mangleizations of various karate stances, but he always knew just a little more than I did. In fact, he gave me a challenge before the day of reckoning arrived.

"Grace, I don't mind telling you that I got a 99 on the written test. That's the highest score that anyone who trains in our studio has ever received. I want you to at least get in the 90s, because I know you can."

Game on, Mr. Cuddy, game on!

Buoyed by my recent success at the pre-test, I trotted off fairly happily in the general direction of Philadelphia with my mom, who somehow got lost in Willow Grove for an hour, so then I wasn't so happy. We got there in time, but barely.

Maybe I was flustered, or maybe I was just pulling a Grace and being as awkward as humanly possible without actually playing Starcraft, but I had a really hard time with the physical test. I knew I could do it, I had passed the infinitely-harder pre-test, but I was having a difficult time keeping up with the rest of the candidates. On the plus side, I totally owned the written test. Take that, Mr. Cuddy.

A few days later, in class, my instructor gently broke the news that my physical performance had not been up to par even tough I had passed the written test, I had to have passed both the physical and the written test to receive my black belt, and long story short, I failed my black belt test and generally sucked at life. Oh, and I was apparently the first person ever from our studio who had failed the actual black belt test. Never fear, however, I could try again in six months.

Being sixteen, I cried. A lot. Being Grace, however, my stubborn soon kicked the tears in the behind and I got right back on track. I was determined to pass that test. I would. My sheer determination would make me pass the test.

Six months later, I took the test. And this time, I passed the physical part! Obviously, I had found my groove this time around, although I didn't really know what was different. Except that this time we had driven around Valley Forge for thirty minutes before the test, but aside from that, not much.

Once again, in class a few days later, my instructor pulled me aside.

Oh no.

"Grace, I've got something to tell you about your test," he growled, ominously.

Oh no.

"Let's get the big part out there first. You passed your test!"

Oh thank heavens, the ominous growling was just my hungry stomach.

"And guess what? You got a better score than Mr. Cuddy on your written test!"

Ah, recognition! I brightened up a bit more.

"You got a perfect score, 100/100. And there's one more thing!"

One more thing? Could I even take the pressure?

"The testing board couldn't report your first score since you didn't pass the physical test, but you got a perfect score on that test, too. You actually had two perfect scores."

I fainted dead away.

No, not really, but I was really, really proud of myself. Now I could gloat about it. Muahaha. Take that, Mr. Cuddy!

So, yes, well, my body does currently resemble the torso of the Pillsbury Dough Boy at the moment, but I am actually still a black belt and can toss you on your back at any time! Not only that, but I'm a black belt with records. I'm the only person at our studio to ever receive two perfect scores on the written portion of the test! The only possible way for someone to beat my record is if they fail the physical test twice, in which situation they might die of shame, so that record isn't falling anytime soon.

Guess what, guys, I'm an award-winning black belt in Tang Soo Do!