Memoir of a Race Traitor by Mab Segrest

Author:Mab Segrest
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The New Press
Published: 2019-04-14T16:00:00+00:00

11

A Journey We Make Daily

“Ichi! Ni! San! Shi! Go! Roku! Shichi! Hachi! Ku! Ju!” I lay on the dojo floor with ten women, counting sit-ups in Japanese. My mind wandered. How had I let Eleanor talk me into this two years before? She said I had been sick too much, and it would help keep me healthier to work out twice a week in the dyke dojo. Besides, I needed some self-defense training. I had just cut back to half-time work at NCARRV and had begun to pay attention to my health. The first several weeks of karate, I had to fight the impulse to quit. I felt humiliated, trying to get my body to do all the simultaneous things that karate seemed to imply—knee over the toe, fist clenched in Master Shimabukaru’s Number One Fist, butt tucked, shoulders straight, chin up, eyes ahead. And that was standing still! When it came time to move, I could not possibly send all the necessary signals out to my appendages. I … will … never … get … this, I would think through sit-ups, push-ups, and leg lifts, to the count.

But I kept at it. Carol was an excellent teacher. She had her bad days, but most of the time she brought a joy to the workouts, a gift for pushing limits and respecting them at the same time. She could break the most complex moves down into small steps, and I found that if I mastered each step, the larger moves began to come. But it was very slow. Patience, I would counsel. Your mind is not used to being in your body. This requires synapses that haven’t functioned in years.

“Taikyuku shodan,” Carol called, referring to the beginner’s kata.

“Kiotsuke. Rei.” We moved from ready position to the bow. My hands slid along the legs of my gi as I leaned forward from the waist, trying to keep my upper body straight.

“Kamaete. Hajime.” Left into front stance, step in and punch. Pivot right into front stance, step in, and punch. Eyes forward, ninety-degree turn into front stance. My mind began to wander. What will happen in Shelby? What about the Presbyterian grant? Fuck, where am I now in the kata? Oh, yeah, down the middle: step-punch, step-punch, step-punch. Focus, Segrest. Focus.

Carol stepped over beside me. “Like this,” she shifted my hips forward. “Hips square. Now lean that knee out over your toe.” My quads protested vigorously as she nudged me forward. Master Shimabukaru doesn’t get his knee over his toe in the picture hanging in the dojo. Why am I expected to? What will I have for supper tonight? Will Chris be on time for work tomorrow? What in the world is going on with Annie’s day care?

“Yame.” Eyes back to the front, we all bowed. I was glad that kata was over.

Had I lived in another century, I would probably have headed off to the confession booth or on a pilgrimage or to a doctor who would have fastened leeches to the flesh.

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