College Admission Essay

By Rachel Tornheim

I tighten my fists and narrow my eyes at the invisible enemy in front of me. The sweat drips from my face and soaks through my crisp white gi. I struggle to breathe as I have been taught - in through the nose and out through the mouth - and bounce to the music, anticipating the instructor’s shout.

“Move!”

My body springs into action. Backfist, reverse punch, front ball kick, hook, uppercut, double palm heel to the ribs. On the last strike I kiai with the rest of the students. Our yells fill the room, louder than the traffic outside and louder than the din from the stereo. The sound pounds inside my head. Drawing back, I assume the on-guard position. I am ready.

Karate has been a part of my life since 1994. My mom had been encouraging me to take up martial arts ever since she realized that my tiny size would make me an easy target, but it wasn’t until seventh grade that I felt physically threatened and decided to sign up for karate classes. Although I no longer feel in danger at school, karate has not gone the way of figure skating, horseback riding, and piano. It has stayed with me and become a part of my identity. I have paid for my brown belt with sweat and occasionally blood, with anxiety before tests, and with hours of exertion and exhaustion. My training has given me the ability to defend myself, a necessity for a four-foot-ten, slightly built woman entering the twenty-first century.

But karate has left me with more than aerobic and defensive abilities. Because of my physical limitations, defending against an attacker does not come easily to me. I cannot count the number of times I have been unable to evade the plastic knife wielded by my opponent or the number of bruises I have received from fists, feet, and knees. My aversion to failure and reluctance to trying unfamiliar things are obstacles I face in other aspects of my life, obstacles that my experience with karate has helped me to overcome. It has taught me that when you get knocked down, you get up again and keep fighting. Karate has boosted my confidence too. I have sparred with a professional body-builder, and there’s nothing like the rush I get from bringing a 200-pound man to the floor!

As we kneel and meditate before each class, the teacher instructs us to clear our minds and leave our problems of work, school, and family outside the dojo. At first I don’t think it’s possible to, for an hour, avoid worrying about the freshmen I need to tutor, the science project that isn’t finished, or the 6:45 AM flight I need to catch for this weekend’s debate tournament. But somehow, every time, I forget these concerns. For one hour, I am only a karateka, a warrior.

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