One of the images most associated with “karate” styles is the breaking of boards. When people find out what I do, the conversation almost inevitably steers toward the question of “so how many boards can you break?” I have always found this a peculiar question, because if you have never broken a board, you have no frame of reference. If I say one, four, or eight, does it change your impression? Can I just start making up numbers, and what number will the person finally find it implausible and call me on it? But I digress.
While sensational, at first glance it seems a peculiar practice and certainly not the greatest use of environmental resources. Admittedly, it can be fun, but for many that would hardly justify the expense and the risk of injury. There are certainly detractors, and most scoffers are quick to utter the famous Bruce Lee/Bolo Yeung line “boards don’t hit back.” Hard to dispute that, even if they sometimes feel like they do. The superficial answer is that it is a demonstration of skill and technique. That is partly true, but there are other ways to demonstrate proficiency that saves both the tress and many a holders’ fingers. Obviously we do it as part of our tests, so we still believe there is a practicality in it. So perhaps we need to explain our position a little better…and to do so, indulge me in a story.
GM Choi once told a story about a unique training experience while he was in high school. His instructor, GM Hae Man Park (current head of the Chungdokwan) took him out on a walk to the Bluehouse (the Korean version of the Whitehouse.) There was an armed guard (I believe it was an M-16) standing at attention outside a gate. GM Park told the young protégé to walk up and knock the guard out. If GM Choi failed in this task, assaulting a military guard would presumably be met with lethal force. GM Choi’s life was seemingly on the line.
At this point, a little more backstory is helpful. GM Park was also the TKD instructor to the presidential guard at the Bluehouse (GM Choi went on to become a bodyguard himself, in part because of this connection). GM Park likely knew the guard in question. Perhaps this was more a lesson or test for the guard than for GM Choi. Perhaps arrangements were made in advance for GM Choi to not get shot. Or perhaps GM Park assumed he could intervene before things went south. I don’t know. Perhaps none of that was the case, but I would like to think there was some type of safeguard. But GM Choi certainly didn’t know that.
GM Choi likely thought that if his aim was off, he would get shot. If he telegraphed or changed his technique, he might get shot. If his confidence faltered, or if he even looked suspicious walking up, he might get shot. He had to be totally clutch, and the outcome was clearly defined. And by the way, he succeeded.
As quoted earlier, boards don’t hit back, much less shoot back. But breaking still requires one to be clutch. The outcome is still pretty well defined, more so than just hitting a target. If your focus or technique is a little off, you still hit the bag. In contrast, if you’re off a little, the board won’t break. There is no ambiguity of “that looked decent but not great.” You either break or you failed in your task, and there is discomfort from a failed try. Certainly not the stakes involved in the story above, but there is still more at risk than just the promotion: the embarrassment of not breaking, pain and possible minor injury if you don’t break. There are enough repercussions to cause students to get nervous and to falter. Sometimes the students break the boards; sometimes the boards cause the students to break. Breaking requires confidence and trust in yourself, enabling you to commit fully to the technique. If you doubt, if you hold back, you won’t break. I can remember having mental blocks about certain breaks going through the ranks, and learning how to “never retreat in battle,” persevere, and find a way to finally break through.
If you think I am going to make this into a metaphor for life in general, then you are starting to get it. We are hardly the first to make that connection. Motivational speaker Tony Robbins (a TKD black belt in the Chungdokwan lineage) has had ordinary people break boards at his conferences as an analogy for breaking out to new pinnacles of performance. During testing, some other schools have the students “name” their board as some other barrier in their life they would like to smash through.
Yes, the symbolism can get a little cheesy—just because lil Johnny broke his board to get his green belt doesn’t mean he will no longer struggle with keeping his room clean—but there is value in trusting the process of becoming more clutch. If I can quell my nerves and quiet my self-doubt in order to break a stack of boards in front of bunch of people, then giving a speech in front of crowd just isn’t that big of a deal. If I can laser in my focus and commit fully to the task of breaking, then I should be able to recreate that effort in other important tasks where I only get one shot at it. When the board becomes more than just a metaphorical barrier and actually keeps us from passing our tests, then we learn to accept failure as part of the process in ultimately achieving our goals.
No, boards don’t hit back. They don’t make good sparring partners, but they can still be excellent teachers.
Gentry Martial Arts--the rants of a martial arts eccentric 